#Jon is not a cinnamon roll

[bodyhorrorprincess]

photo creds to berrrrrack on Pinterest

[fanartsandstuff]

Please Let Them Be Little Bit Evil

[pain-is-too-tired]

Jonathan 'Jarchivist' Sims and Annabeth Chase would be best friends.

I stand by that.

[neko-sufis-world]

Jon my innocent cinnamon roll OwO

[coconut530]

Stephpotterdrawtober Day 13: Stranger

[fissions-chips]

Fuck it, I’m assigning snakes for everyone so I can draw more gorgons:

Tim- Eastern Indigo Snake

Reasoning as follows: Very big, very rare- they’re unfortunately endangered :’(- and glossy black + exceptionally pretty. They are neither venomous nor constrictor but instead what is known as a ‘thrasher’ which feels weirdly fitting for Tim.

Butler- ‘Arctic’ Boa Constrictor Imperator

One of the classic examples of ‘big, heavy snake’, but one with a bit of a better reputation than anacondas or retics. They (usually) have a much calmer temperament. Also I just like that there’s a gray morph since Butler doesn’t strike me as particularly colorful.

Jon- Leucistic Eastern Diamondback Rattlesnake

It’s a rattlesnake and it’s ivory white, enough said

Angeline- Piebald Albino Royal Python

Really I would say anything nonvenomous would be fitting for Angeline, but alas, this is the only snake I could find with this particular morph (there are retics that are albino pied but their patterning is different- also these guys are a lot friendlier looking)

Foxy- Palmetto Corn Snake

It looks like confetti. I feel that is reason enough.

Arno- Rhinoceros Viper

It is colorful and punk-looking. Look at it. It’s got little nose horns. It’s perfect.

Britva- Kaznakow’s Viper

I’m including him because I got curious and I genuinely didn’t realize Russia had so many vipers. This thing looks like it would hurt me and I’m assuming since I’ve seen it listed multiple times as ‘the deadliest snake in Russia’ despite that also being where the Saw-Scaled Viper is found, that it’s venom packs a mean punch. Also that pattern is just really neat.

[procrastiel]

This man actually described someone as being a ‘cinnamon roll’ during a public interview.

Fellow tumblrinas, I think we’re, slowly but surely, taking over the world.

@neil-gaiman talking about Good omens and Michael Sheen at the British library ♥️ About Aziraphale : "Michael having just become this cuddly cinnamon roll creature of pure love and joy, and knowing that everybody was just gonna want to cuddle him for 6 episodes until I let him break their hearts."

Full recording here :

[mysticlael]

My most famous thing ig Bat inco quotes

Roy: Sorry it took so long to bail you out of jail. Jason: No, it was my fault. I shouldn't have used my phone call to prank call the GCPD.

Dick: Ladies, gentlemen and Dami, I want to show you the greatest thing your eyes have ever beheld! Damian: A cat? Dick: No. Damian: A kitten? Dick: No! Damian: A kitten with a little hat on? Dick: NO! Damian: Consider me uninterested

Barbara: I’m not like other girls. I’m way, way worse.

Jason: Come on, B! How any times do I have to apologize? Bruce: Once! Jason: ...No.

Jason: *banging a pen on the table out of frustration* Roy, trying to focus on a project: Stop that. How would YOU feel if I banged you on the table? Jason: I— Jason: I don’t know the correct answer to that question.

Kon: I'm sorry. Please talk to me. Tim: Kon: Hello? World's most amazing person?? Sweet pea? Precious cinnamon roll that's too good for this world, too pure? Tim: 'Sorry' doesn't bring back my fucking M&Ms.

Tim: God has let me live another day and I'm going to make it everyone's problem.

Duke: Okay, who's turn is it to give the pep talk? Dick: It's Cass' turn. Cass: Don't die. Dick, wiping a tear away: Truly inspirational.

Jon: Fight me! Damian, standing behind him and holding a knife: *mouths* Do not.

*The squad's reaction to being told they're the chosen one* Bruce: I will not let you down. Steph: Sounds fun. Cass: K. Jason: No, I'm fucking not. Tim: Do I have to be? Dick: Please God, I am so tired.

Steph: I dare you- Dick: Jason is not allowed to accept dares anymore. Steph: Why not? Jason: "I have no regard for my own or others personal safety", as some would say.

Bruce: Tim, is that my mug you’re drinking out of? Tim: No, it’s mine. Bruce: It... looks just like the one I have... Tim: You don’t have one like this anymore.

Damian, eating a meal: I poisoned one of our glasses… but I forgot which one. Jason: The way this dinner is going, I pray to God that it’s mine.

Steph: I think we can be evil. As a treat. Cass: We? Steph: We. :)

Tim: I don’t even have time to tell you how wrong you are. Jason: Okay? Tim: … Tim: … Tim: Actually it’s gonna bug me if I don’t, so—

Dick: Litte Wing, it’s a shooting star, let’s make a wish! Robin!Jason: I wish for good grades. Dick: Nerd. Jason: Nevermind, I wish upon the shooting star to fall down at a 30° velocity aiming for Dick. :) Dick: Jason…

Jason: Clownery. Tomfoolery. Absolute fuckery, I am going to revoke your life privileges.

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Neil Gaiman and Roz Kaveney at the British Library event Why We Need Fantasy 20.11.2023 :) ❤

Neil: Good omens Season One was, for me, an exercise in adaptation. I'd taken something, and I wanted to turn it into something else. Good Omens Season Two, on the other hand, was just an absolute joy, because now I knew I have Jon Hamm, and I can get him to do this stuff, and he's going to be walking naked through Soho at the beginning, and everybody is going to think they're going to hate him, and instead, he's going to be this marvelous, goofy figure that they will all love but kind of hate themselves for loving, but not know if he's a bad guy, but they'll love him anyway. And over here, I will have my Crowley, and I know that I can get David Tennant to do anything now, there is nothing that he will not go for. And so I can ask him to do things that are even more ridiculous. And then over here, I've got Michael Sheen, and everybody in the whole world just wants to..., you know, it is now forgotten by humanity that once upon a time, Michael Sheen was thought of as that actor who plays the really creepy people.

Roz: Yeah. I saw him in Kingdom of Heaven the other night and thought, oh, that was Michael Sheen.

Neil: That was Michael Sheen.

Roz: The evil priest that gets killed.

Neil: He used to play... I mean, he used to play creepy people, and everybody knew that if you want a good, slimy serial killer person, you go for Michael Sheen. Currently - I got a phone call from him the other day - a little Marco Polo video message from him with the strangest haircut I've seen, and I get strange messed... you know, hair, but this one, and he's playing Prince Andrew, so he's absolutely capable of still bringing in the creep. But, you know, Michael having just become this cuddly, cinnamon roll creature of pure love and joy and knowing that everybody was just going to want to cuddle him for six episodes until I let him break their hearts. I'm sorry. Perhaps he will-

Audience member: No, you're not.

Neil: Not even the tiniest bit. There is no sorrow in that.

Roz: I was in hospital when I saw Good Omens Two and the moment I finished watching it, I texted you and said, 'You magnificent bastard.'

Watch the whole event here :).

[riveracheron]

just by giving us office shenanigans, the magnus protocol is simulating the terrifying creeping dread of early magnus to me.

theyre making alice so silly and sam so sweet “cinnamon roll” and gwen so adorably bratty because they Know we know its gonna hurt.

they’re playing on our knowledge of this franchise to curate such a secondhand sense of “Oh Fuck” just waiting for it all go to shit. it’s terror they dont have to explicitly allude to because they Know we know. so good.

i just know they made sam make cat noises in his sleep to up his “awww sweet fandom baby. sweet cinnamon roll” factor Just because we know they’re going to destroy him

they saw the way we write precanon and gave it to us on a knowingly poisoned silver platter. sam is fanon martin, alice is fanon tim, gwen is fanon jon, celia is fanon sasha. but all their cute office shenanigans are soured now by Oh God Oh Fuck. its *genius*. even though we dont know the characters too well they are familiar. they are familiar and we love them already because they are familiar. their pain is familiar too and we know its coming.

. and colin is there to be our Reminder that this isnt a cute sitcom anime. colin is living in the horror genre . he is our Reminder so we don’t get too comfortable.

archives was so good at slow burn upping the stakes. protocol is Not Doing that for obvious reasons but the fear it illicits is the same creeping dread feeling.

[damian-lil-babybat]

So you are telling me, that the son of the most devoted love team couple of all time that spans decades and multiverses, that Clark's other love interest was always a copy pasted of his one true soulmate (why give her name Lana? why?)...that same son, named after the most wholesome grandfather who love his wife to their twilight years....that Jonathan Samuel Kent IS BEING SPECULATED FOR POLYAMORY

Gosh!!!! I've been wanting that for Bruce for a long time, coz the man has hundreds of kids, and been almost married twice (possibly still is)...but never had a devoted solid life partner like Clois does.

But nooo give it to Jon.. my sunshine boy, who was not allowed to be a boy, and now in a mature relationships with more mature nature.

and do not give me the excuse that he was half alien and Kryptonian could be different social relations...His father is FULL KRYPTONIAN and he looked up to his Ma and Pa Kent like the holy scriptures of what good man and partner and human should be like!

...I can't. Please no more. 😭😭😭

Actually TK supersons are not good, there are many issues with his stories but he already said he not gonna write them seriously just silly stories so I can throw my brain to read it

The point is I heard DC will make Jon has a poly relationship.... if it's true then from now on, the only supersons in the main continuety I supported are TK supersons stories, canon Jon does not exist to me anymore

I'm truly disappointed now

[avanillaskyline]

I've been going through tma recently at the request of my girlfriend. She has, on multiple occasions, showed me the Jurgen Leitner rant. I know I'm not very far into it yet (MAG 53), but I'm under the impression he's getting a bad rep.

Like, we're dealing with a setting where people literally get eaten by the sky and evil worms that burrow into people and kill them in minutes. We're dealing with a setting where Fuckhands McMike can banish literally anyone to the Backrooms (and stab Jon??? Because he feels like it?????) and yet we hate Jurgen because he liked literature. ok. I am SURE there's more awful people out there than a silly lil fucked up book collector

Dude just wants a cool library and I support this, even if he's a little messed up. If he got his hands on the Necronomicon I firstly, wouldn't be surprised and secondly, would support him.

But I'm not buying it. Someone in the setting's gotta be worse

Like... Tim? No, Tim's an absolute himbo fuckboy, we can't hate him. Who else? Sasha's been kinda funky and off-putting since Mag 40 but hasn't been evil, Martin's our bestest cinnamon roll boy, and Jon's just a dedicated lil guy who gets beat up because the world hates him for no reason. We just met that new girl, Basira? She's got good vibes and I'd probably kill for Gertrude

Who else is left?? OH, ELIAS. He owns the archives and told off Jon to "not stalk his coworkers" (ok fun police), which is offensive to both me and Jon, so he automatically goes in the "bitch-ass mf" category and I do not like him

Jon's suspicious of him and SO AM I

(I'll reblog this when I get further in with more details, no spoilers please)

[dreamersworldduh]

Hello! First of all I love all your stories ♥♥♥ Well, I wanted to make a request (if it's not bothering me) although I don't know if you write about Jon Kent, but well in this case. You could write a Jon x male reader story where the reader is a son of Trigon and like him he maintains control of his father like Raven.And Jon is like the reader's "anchor" that allows him to keep Trigon prisoner and then at some point Jon is hurt which causes the reader to lose control out of anger. Which makes him attack all his teammates and enemies and Jon controls him being the cinnamon roll that he is lol. That the reader and Jon have a relationship but keep it a secret, until that moment where Jon will not care about anything, only saving his boyfriend. I hope I have not bothered you, I apologize if so.

BOUND BY DARKNESS, ANCHORED BY LOVE

• JON KENT x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — Being the son of Trigon is an unimaginable burden. Trigon, a demon lord with immense power, casts a vast shadow that affects everything. Carrying his bloodline means not only inheriting his legacy but also becoming a vessel for his darkness. This struggle feels like a curse, with a constant battle within your soul. Every day is a challenge to maintain control against Trigon's tempting influence.

Jon Kent is your anchor, helping you stay grounded amidst chaos. He sees you for who you are and not just as a representation of Trigon's terror. Jon's unwavering faith in you shows you that your choices define you, not your lineage. His presence makes the internal war more manageable, providing hope that being Trigon's son doesn't have to dictate your life. With Jon, you're not just surviving; you're truly living, and for that, you are grateful.

WARNING! Suggestive Langauge. Violence.

WORDS! 5.8k

AUTHOR'S NOTE! It’s not bother to write! Thank you for so much for requesting, I hope you enjoy this ✨🫶🏽

Being the son of Trigon is a burden that defies comprehension. Trigon, a demon lord of unfathomable power and celestial tyranny, is a name that echoes across dimensions, conjuring fear and despair in all who hear it. To carry his bloodline is to inherit not just his infamy but the unrelenting darkness that defines his essence. It's more than a legacy; it's a curse, a war fought within the deepest recesses of your soul. Trigon's influence is not abstract or distant—it's alive, a seething force that courses through your veins, threatening to overwhelm you at every moment. Every breath, every thought, is a battle to resist the pull of that chaos, a desperate balancing act between light and shadow, humanity and monstrosity.

Your sister, Raven, bears her own connection to Trigon, but her mastery of discipline has allowed her to channel his power with precision and control. Through years of focus, meditation, and sacrifice, she has shaped herself into a weapon wielded by her will. You, however, are a different story. Your bond to Trigon is far more volatile, your powers raw, untamed, and ferociously destructive. Unlike Raven, whose strength is tempered by resolve, your abilities are a storm—wild and furious, a force that defies containment. You are not merely powerful; you are a cataclysm, a walking paradox of creation and destruction. Your struggle is not measured in quiet moments of focus but in primal, ferocious conflict. There is no margin for error in your existence. One lapse, one moment of surrender, and the devastation would be unimaginable.

The battlefield of your mind is no less treacherous. Trigon is always there, a shadowed presence at the edges of your thoughts, his voice a chilling whisper that weaves through your consciousness. He promises dominance, tempts you with visions of power, and mocks your efforts to resist him. The mental strain is relentless, a grinding weight that erodes your resolve. Some days, the effort feels unbearable, the temptation to let go—to embrace the storm within you—almost too strong to fight. But even in the darkest depths of despair, there is one constant, one anchor that keeps you from surrendering: Jon.

Jon is more than a partner; he is your lifeline. In the chaos of your existence, he is the calm at the center of the storm, the steady hand that keeps you tethered when the world feels like it's crumbling beneath you. Where others might flinch at the raw intensity of your power, Jon never falters. He doesn't fear you, doesn't shy away from the turbulence that rages within you. His presence is unwavering, his resolve a mirror to your own. He meets your tempest with quiet strength, his patience and understanding carving out a space of peace in a life otherwise defined by conflict.

As a comrade, Jon understands the weight you bear. He fights by your side, witnessing the devastating toll your powers take on both you and the world around you. He knows the stakes of the battles you face, the enormity of the threats you must repel. But as your lover, Jon's role transcends the battlefield. He is your sanctuary, the only place where you can lower your defenses, where the constant struggle fades and you can simply be. In his eyes, you are not a harbinger of destruction or Trigon's heir. You are just you. He sees past the chaos, past the shadows, to the person you strive to hold onto. His love reminds you of the humanity you fear you've lost, grounding you in a way nothing else can.

It is because of Jon that you find the strength to stand against your father's influence. In a life consumed by darkness, he is your light, a beacon that cuts through the oppressive shadows threatening to consume you. When the fight feels insurmountable, when the weight of your existence feels like it will crush you, Jon is the reason you keep going. His belief in you, steadfast and unshakable, inspires your own belief that you can win this war—not just for the world, but for yourself.

Without him, the battle would feel like an endless, futile struggle, a war against an adversary you could never hope to defeat. But with Jon at your side, the impossible feels within reach. The darkness remains, a looming and constant presence, but it no longer feels like an inevitability. With Jon, you remember why you fight. You remember what's worth saving—not just in the world you've sworn to protect, but in yourself.

Working alongside the Justice League is no ordinary job—it's a monumental responsibility, one that demands unyielding dedication, constant vigilance, and the ability to put the fate of the world above your own personal concerns. The stakes are always unimaginably high, and any lapse in focus could mean the difference between triumph and disaster. For you, this isn't just a duty—it's a standard you hold yourself to with unwavering commitment. That's why, when you and Jon decided to take the next step in your relationship, secrecy wasn't just an option; it was a necessity. It wasn't a decision made on a whim, but one born from a shared understanding of the pressures you face as heroes and as members of the League.

Balancing a relationship against the backdrop of constant battles, cosmic crises, and a world that never stops needing saving is already challenging. Adding the Justice League's watchful eyes into the mix would only complicate things further. You know your teammates well, and you can already predict their reactions if they were to find out about your relationship. Take Clark, for instance—Jon's father, the ever-principled Superman. He would approach the revelation with his trademark combination of earnestness and protectiveness, fumbling through advice about love and responsibility while trying to reconcile his paternal instincts with his respect for you as a peer. The thought of Clark, awkwardly yet sincerely attempting to deliver a "heart-to-heart" about dating his son, is enough to make you shudder—and laugh, if only privately.

Barry, of course, would be a whirlwind of jokes and teasing before anyone else could even process the news. He'd rattle off quips at lightning speed, leaving a trail of laughter—and mild annoyance—in his wake. Hal, never one to miss an opportunity to needle someone, would chime in with smug comments and suggestive grins, probably making a crack about office romances or "following in Superman's footsteps." And then there's Bruce—stoic, inscrutable Batman. He wouldn't say much—he rarely does—but the subtle lift of his eyebrow or that infuriating, knowing smirk would speak volumes. It's easy to imagine the two of you exchanging exasperated glances while Bruce stands silently, exuding his usual air of calculated disapproval.

The women of the League wouldn't make things any easier. Diana and Zatanna, for all their wisdom and camaraderie, would dive headfirst into your private life with relentless enthusiasm. Diana's curiosity, tempered by her warm-heartedness, would lead to endless questions about your connection, your dynamic, your plans for the future. Zatanna, meanwhile, would take a more playful approach, combining genuine interest with her penchant for mischief. You can already picture her crafting magical scenarios to "test your compatibility" while Diana plots some extravagant bonding activity meant to honor your relationship. Their intentions would be well-meaning, but the thought of being the center of their collective attention is exhausting.

But it's not just the teasing and prying that concerns you. What you and Jon share thrives in the quiet moments—the stolen seconds of connection in a life otherwise dictated by chaos. It's in the subtle, shared glances exchanged during tense missions, the fleeting but meaningful words spoken during a debrief, or the rare, precious nights when the weight of the world lifts just enough for you to be alone together. These moments are fragile, like treasures hidden in plain sight, and the thought of losing them to the relentless scrutiny of the League is unbearable. If your relationship were out in the open, those moments of intimacy would be harder to protect. The jokes, the questions, the interruptions—they'd chip away at the sanctuary you've built together.

Your need for privacy isn't about shame, or mistrust, or a lack of faith in your teammates. It's about preserving something rare and sacred in a life that so often demands sacrifice. As heroes, your existence is defined by duty and obligation, by the constant call to put others above yourselves. But your relationship with Jon is different. It's yours—something untouched by the demands of the world, something that brings light and meaning to the chaos around you. It's a reminder that beneath the masks and capes, you're still human, still capable of finding beauty and solace amidst the storm.

For now, the world sees you as comrades, warriors fighting for justice in an endless battle against darkness. To the League, you and Jon are allies, partners on the battlefield. But in the moments you steal for yourselves, behind closed doors and away from prying eyes, you're something infinitely more. You're each other's anchor, a refuge when the weight of heroism becomes too much to bear. What you share isn't just love—it's a lifeline, a reason to keep fighting, a bond that reminds you why the battle is worth it.

And that bond? That's worth every ounce of secrecy, every careful glance, every hidden touch. Because in a life dictated by duty, protecting the part of your world that feels most like home is the greatest act of heroism you've ever known.

Those moments with you are Jon's anchor—the rare, fragile pockets of tranquility that defy the relentless chaos of your lives as heroes. In a world where danger seems omnipresent and the weight of responsibility never lifts, those stolen interludes with you become his sanctuary. They are his reminder of what he's fighting for, of the strength and solace he's found in you. They're more than moments of reprieve; they're the essence of what keeps him grounded, what makes it all worthwhile.

Jon cherishes the way you both manage to carve out time for each other, no matter how demanding your lives become. It's not about grand, theatrical gestures or sweeping declarations; it's the simplicity of the connection you share that means the most to him. He treasures the quiet evenings spent recovering from grueling missions, where words are few, but the companionship between you speaks volumes. The two of you might share a meal in comfortable silence, exhaustion melting into a mutual sense of solace. Those moments of quiet, unspoken understanding remind him that, in a life full of noise and chaos, peace can still be found—if only in your presence.

One of his favorite memories is the time you both sat side by side on the Watchtower, gazing out at the Earth spinning below. Your shoulders had been close enough to touch, a faint warmth radiating between you that neither of you acknowledged but both of you felt. The enormity of the universe had seemed so small in that moment, dwarfed by the quiet bond you shared. No words were needed. The stillness, the weightlessness of the moment, was enough. Jon carries that memory with him, a reminder of the unshakable connection that transcends words.

It's the way you let your guard down with him, even if only for fleeting moments, that Jon holds closest to his heart. You, who bear the burden of unimaginable responsibility, allow yourself to be vulnerable with him in ways you never do with anyone else. He treasures the soft curve of your smile when you think no one is watching, the rare but melodic sound of your laughter that seems to make the air lighter, and the way your hand lingers just a moment longer in his. Those subtle, fleeting acts of intimacy—so small yet so profound—are the things Jon finds himself replaying in his mind during the toughest days. They are glimpses of a side of you that belongs to him alone, moments that feel like a gift amidst the turbulence of your shared existence.

The late-night conversations, though, are what Jon cherishes above all. Those are the times when the rest of the world falls away, leaving only the two of you in the stillness of the night. He loves the way your voice softens in those moments, unburdened by the weight of the day, and the way you share pieces of yourself that no one else gets to see. You talk about your fears, your dreams, and the quiet hopes you keep hidden from the world. In those moments, he feels as though he's seeing the most authentic version of you, unguarded and real. It's during these late-night talks, when your words are a quiet murmur in the dark, that Jon feels closer to you than he ever thought possible. Those whispered confessions, spoken in the safety of each other's presence, are more precious to him than any victory on the battlefield.

Even the smallest gestures from you linger in Jon's mind long after they pass. The way your fingers brush against his when you hand him something, leaving a fleeting spark of warmth. The way you murmur his name, soft and full of a quiet affection that sets his heart alight. The way you instinctively lean into him when you're close, as though his presence alone offers you a sense of peace. These moments may seem insignificant to others, but to Jon, they mean everything. They are proof of the bond you share, a bond that remains unshakable in the face of all the challenges you both endure.

For Jon, these moments are more than just fleeting respites from the chaos of your lives—they're everything. They're the foundation of what you've built together: a relationship rooted in trust, fortified by love, and sustained by the quiet, stolen moments you create for one another. In a life filled with battles, uncertainty, and the ever-present shadow of danger, those moments remind him of what he's fighting for. They give him strength, hope, and a reason to keep going, no matter how dark the world becomes.

With you, Jon has found more than just love. He's found a sense of belonging, a home in a world that often feels fractured and unforgiving. And in those rare, precious moments of peace, he knows he has found something extraordinary—something worth protecting at all costs.

The room is quiet, wrapped in a fragile cocoon of warmth and stillness—a rare sanctuary in your chaotic lives. The television hums softly in the background, its flickering light casting muted shadows across the walls. Whatever show is playing has long since been forgotten, its dialogue fading into white noise as you both savor the fleeting comfort of simply being together. You're curled against Jon, your back pressed to his chest, his strong arms draped around you in an embrace that feels at once protective and tender. His warmth seeps into you, a grounding presence in a world that so often feels unstable.

Your head rests against his collarbone, and his fingers trail lazily along your arm, tracing aimless patterns that send pleasant shivers through your skin. It's in moments like these that the weight of the world feels lighter, the relentless demands of heroism pushed to the periphery. Here, in the safety of his embrace, there are no battles to fight, no masks to wear, no shadows threatening to swallow you whole. It's just the two of you, a rare and precious quiet that you both cling to.

Jon's lips brush against the curve of your neck, feather-light at first, as if testing the waters. When you lean into him, a small gesture of encouragement, he doesn't hesitate. His kisses grow more deliberate, his lips pressing firmly against your skin, lingering with an intensity that sends heat coursing through you. One of his hands slips to your waist, his grip tightening as he pulls you closer, while the other moves to rest against your chest. The tenderness of his touch contrasts with the raw, magnetic pull of his lips on your neck, and you can feel the world outside this room slipping further away.

The TV becomes nothing more than a distant hum, the glow of the screen forgotten as your senses focus entirely on him. His breath is warm against your skin, and you tilt your head instinctively, offering him better access. He takes it, his teeth grazing your neck in a way that sends a shiver down your spine, followed by a gentle, soothing kiss that makes your heart race. His touch is electric, grounding you while simultaneously making you feel as though you're floating.

And then it happens—a faint, pulsing glow catches your attention from the corner of your eye. At first, you try to ignore it, unwilling to let anything intrude on this rare, precious moment. But as the glow intensifies, flickering like a heartbeat, a cold dread creeps into your chest. You glance down and see it: the pendant. Its cursed, crimson light spills into the room, its glow erratic and insistent, a dark reminder of the power tethered to your very existence.

The air shifts almost instantly. The warmth of the room is replaced by a chill that seeps into your bones, the moment of intimacy fractured by the suffocating presence of the darkness you can never quite escape. The pendant's light grows brighter, its ominous flicker casting long, jagged shadows across the walls. You can feel it, like a cold hand gripping your heart—the stirrings of Trigon's influence, clawing its way to the surface.

Jon notices the change immediately. His lips still against your neck, and his arms tighten around you, protective and grounding. "What is it?" he asks, his voice soft but edged with concern. His hands, once playful and tender, now hold you with a steady firmness, as though ready to catch you should the darkness drag you under.

You don't answer right away. Your gaze is locked on the pendant, its glow pulsing in time with the faint, malevolent presence stirring within you. It's not the first time this has happened, and you know exactly what it means. Trigon's essence—his shadow—is awakening, drawn to the vulnerability of the moment, eager to remind you that it's always there, lurking just beneath the surface.

Your chest tightens as you feel the beginnings of his presence creeping into your mind, a dark whisper that threatens to pull you under. It's like a tide rising, insidious and unstoppable, and you can already sense the fight it will take to push it back. Gritting your teeth, you focus on the warmth of Jon's embrace, willing yourself to resist. Not now. Not here. Not with him.

Jon's voice cuts through the haze, calm but firm. "Hey," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple. "I'm here. You're okay. We're okay."

His words anchor you, pulling you back from the edge. You take a shaky breath, focusing on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the solid warmth of his body against yours. Slowly, the glow of the pendant begins to fade, its pulsing light dimming until it's no more than a faint, ominous flicker. The air grows lighter, though the shadow of Trigon's influence still lingers, an ever-present reminder of the battle you can never truly escape.

Leaning back into Jon, you finally find your voice. "It's him," you whisper, your tone heavy with exhaustion. "Trigon... he's stirring."

Jon's hand moves to cover yours, his fingers intertwining with yours in a gesture of quiet strength. "Then we'll deal with it," he says resolutely, his voice steady despite the shadow of unease that hangs over you both. "Together."

Though the moment of peace has been stolen, the intimacy shattered by the relentless intrusion of the darkness you carry, Jon's unwavering presence remains. His arms around you, his voice grounding you, remind you that you're not alone in this fight. Closing your eyes, you let his words and his touch steady you as you prepare yourself for the battle ahead—the one within, and the one that will inevitably come.

Your bond forged is in love and trust but sometimes tested by the overwhelming fear of losing each other. That instinct is as natural as breathing, yet in the heat of battle, it often borders on overzealous. Neither of you can help it; keeping the other safe isn't just a priority—it's a necessity. That protectiveness was on full display during a recent mission with the Justice League, one that escalated into chaos faster than either of you could have anticipated.

It began with Felix Faust, the ever-ambitious sorcerer, whose reckless pursuit of power led him to tear open an unauthorized portal to a volatile magical dimension. This wasn't a minor disruption in the fabric of reality; it was a gaping wound, spewing malevolent creatures and destabilizing the surrounding area with chaotic energy. The portal's influence threatened to spiral out of control, drawing more and more destruction with every second it remained open. The Justice League was stretched thin, battling the endless onslaught of creatures that poured from the rift, but the real danger lay in the portal itself. If it wasn't sealed soon, it would consume everything in its path.

That's when Raven and Zatanna called out to you, their voices cutting through the chaos. They needed your help. Their combined magical prowess wasn't enough to close the tear, and they needed a third to stabilize the spell. You didn't hesitate for a second. You knew what was at stake, and your unique connection to magic made you the perfect choice to assist. But Jon's reaction was immediate, his protectiveness flaring to the surface as soon as he realized what stepping into the heart of the rift would mean for you.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice steady but tinged with unease as he placed a firm hand on your shoulder. His piercing blue eyes searched yours for any trace of doubt, his concern evident in the tightness of his jaw and the tension in his posture.

You nodded confidently, offering him what you hoped was a reassuring smile. "Raven and Zatanna need me," you said, your tone resolute. "This is the only way."

Jon didn't move, his hand lingering as though he could physically anchor you to him. "If anything happens—"

"Jon," you interrupted gently, your fingers brushing his. "I'll be fine. I promise."

You could see the war in his eyes, the conflict between trusting your abilities and the gnawing fear of letting you step into such danger. But eventually, he gave a reluctant nod, his hand dropping away as you turned toward Raven and Zatanna. You could still feel the weight of his gaze as you moved toward the swirling chaos of the portal, the air around it charged with unstable magic.

The closer you got to the tear, the heavier the atmosphere became. The energy radiating from the portal was oppressive, a chaotic blend of light and shadow that threatened to pull everything into its maw. Raven and Zatanna were already in position, their voices a steady rhythm of incantations as they worked to contain the rift. You joined them without hesitation, summoning your own power to weave into theirs. Together, the three of you created a fragile balance, a barrier against the portal's expansion.

Jon was supposed to be focusing on the battle, helping the League fend off the endless creatures that poured from the rift. But his focus kept drifting back to you. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to be at your side, to shield you from the unpredictable surges of magical energy that flared around you. He trusted you—he trusted your strength and your skill—but that didn't silence the fear gnawing at the edges of his mind. Between every punch, every blast of heat vision, his eyes flicked toward you, his heart racing each time the energy from the portal crackled too close.

Your protectiveness wasn't any less fierce. Even as you concentrated on the delicate spellwork, your gaze darted to Jon whenever you had a spare second. Watching him fight the monstrous creatures that spilled out of the rift filled you with equal parts pride and anxiety. He was a force of nature, his movements precise and powerful, but every time a creature lunged at him, your breath caught in your throat. You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to focus. The portal had to be closed, or none of you would make it out alive.

The strain of the spell began to take its toll, the three of you struggling to keep the chaotic energy in check. Sweat beaded on your forehead, and your arms trembled under the weight of the magic you were channeling. Through it all, you felt Jon's presence in the periphery, his protective instincts a constant undercurrent even when he was meters away. It was as if the bond between you transcended the battlefield, his silent promise to watch over you steadying your resolve.

Just when the portal's energy flared dangerously, a creature broke past the League's defenses, hurtling toward Raven and Zatanna. You acted without thinking, summoning a burst of raw magic to intercept the creature before it could disrupt the spell. The backlash from your magic sent a wave of energy rippling outward, momentarily destabilizing the rift..

Everything seemed to be under control—until Felix Faust turned his dark magic directly on you, Raven, and Zatanna.

You felt the shift before you saw it, the air growing oppressive, thick with malevolent energy that seemed to coil and writhe like a living thing. Faust's magic lashed out in a torrent of chaotic force, black tendrils streaking through the air, aimed directly at the three of you. The onslaught was relentless, designed to shatter your concentration and disrupt the delicate balance required to seal the portal.

Without hesitation, you raised a shimmering barrier of protective light around Raven and Zatanna. The shield absorbed the brunt of Faust's attack, but the force of it reverberated through your entire body like a series of thunderclaps. You gritted your teeth, pushing back against the overwhelming energy, even as you felt the strain begin to sap your strength.

"Keep working!" you shouted, your voice sharp and resolute, cutting through the chaos. Raven and Zatanna exchanged a quick glance before nodding, their chants never faltering as they refocused on stabilizing the rift.

The barrier held, but barely. Each impact sent cracks spiderwebbing through its surface, the shimmering light flickering under the pressure. Faust's dark magic was relentless, a tempest of hatred and destruction, and it demanded everything you had just to keep it at bay. You knew it was a gamble; diverting your focus from the portal to defend against Faust's assault was dangerous, but letting his magic reach Raven and Zatanna was not an option.

Across the battlefield, Jon noticed the sudden shift in energy. His sharp eyes found you instantly, his expression darkening with concern as he saw the way your barrier strained under the force of Faust's attacks. He was locked in combat with the monstrous creatures pouring from the portal, but his focus kept drifting back to you. Each glance fueled his urgency, his strikes growing faster, harder, as he fought to clear a path to your side.

But before Jon could reach you, a streak of malevolent energy shot across the battlefield, slamming into him with unrelenting force. The blast knocked him off his feet, and he hit the ground hard, a sharp, agonizing cry tearing from his throat.

The sound sliced through you like a blade, wrenching your attention away from Faust. Your eyes snapped to Jon, and the sight of him sprawled on the ground, his body wracked with pain, shattered something inside you. Your grip on the barrier faltered, and for a moment, everything went still.

Then the rage came.

It erupted from the deepest recesses of your soul, raw and uncontrollable, a tidal wave of fury that surged past the barriers you'd spent a lifetime building. The infernal power of Trigon, always lurking beneath the surface, seized its opportunity. You felt it surge through your veins, molten and all-consuming, igniting every nerve in your body.

Your skin flushed an unnatural red, glowing with an ominous, fiery light as veins of molten energy spread across your body. Your eyes multiplied, each one blazing with otherworldly intensity. The pendant around your neck, the cursed vessel of your father's power, pulsed violently, its crimson glow flooding the battlefield with eerie light.

The transformation unleashed a fiery manifestation of your rage—a phoenix of living flame that exploded into existence around you. Its wings unfurled, scorching the ground beneath them as it let out a piercing, unearthly screech. The battlefield seemed to shrink in its presence, all eyes drawn to the inferno rising from within you.

Felix Faust faltered, his confidence evaporating as he stared at the infernal spectacle before him. You turned your blazing gaze on him, your voice low and guttural, laced with barely restrained wrath. "You'll regret that."

The phoenix surged forward, its flames consuming everything in its path. Faust's spells disintegrated in the heat, his defenses crumbling as he scrambled to retaliate. But it was no use. You overwhelmed him with a fury he couldn't match, and within moments, he was on his knees, powerless and terrified.

But the victory brought no relief. The flames didn't wane; instead, they surged outward, unchecked and all-consuming. They devoured everything in their path, their relentless hunger fed by the raw fury coursing through you and the insidious whisper of Trigon's influence. His voice curled through your mind like smoke, a low, serpentine hiss that twisted your anger into something darker, more destructive.

Why hold back? This power is yours. Let it consume them. Let it consume everything.

Your heart pounded as the lines between yourself and Trigon blurred, the boundary of your own will and his malevolence fracturing under the weight of your unleashed rage. The fiery phoenix that had erupted from you seemed to grow larger, more feral, its flames casting an unholy glow across the battlefield. It screeched, its cry a harbinger of ruin, as it lashed out indiscriminately.

Raven was the first to step forward, her expression steady but her movements cautious. Her voice, calm but urgent, cut through the chaos. "This isn't you. You have to stop."

For a moment, her words seemed distant, muffled beneath the deafening roar of the flames and the insidious pull of your father's power. The rational part of you—the part that still clung to who you were—tried to grasp her voice, but the intoxicating pull of destruction drowned it out.

The Justice League wasn't far behind. They moved in unison, encircling you with precision, their intent clear: containment. Batman's voice rang out, sharp and commanding, a tone meant to cut through any chaos. "Stand down!"

But you didn't hear him. Or rather, you didn't care. The phoenix-form responded instinctively to their approach, its flames flaring brighter, hotter, as it lashed out at anyone who dared come close. Superman and Wonder Woman led the charge, their combined strength barely enough to withstand the inferno. The League's efforts, coordinated and powerful, were falling short against the primal, unrelenting fury of Trigon's unleashed influence.

Somewhere in the chaos, a glimmer of who you were fought back, screaming to regain control. But the voice of your father was louder, more persistent, more persuasive.

They fear you. They want to cage you. Show them what you are capable of.

Then, through the cacophony of destruction, a single voice reached you.

"Stop!"

It was Jon. His voice rang clear, cutting through the haze of rage and fire like a beacon. Despite his injuries, he pushed himself upright, staggering but resolute. His steps were slow, deliberate, as he moved toward you, ignoring the searing heat of the flames and the warning shouts of his teammates. His eyes, unwavering and focused, locked onto yours.

"It's me," he said, his voice firm but gentle, steady in a way that only he could manage. "Look at me."

Something in his tone, in his presence, sliced through the chaos gripping your mind. For a fleeting moment, the flames flickered, and the roar of the phoenix softened. His gaze held you, filled not with fear or judgment, but with something deeper—love, trust, and unshakable belief in you.

"You're stronger than this," he continued, his steps carrying him closer despite the heat and the danger. "You're not him. You're you. Come back to me."

The phoenix screeched again, a sound of defiance, but its flames faltered. Jon's words, like an anchor, pulled you back from the brink. You could feel the weight of Trigon's influence loosening, the suffocating grip of his power receding as you fought to reclaim control.

Slowly, painfully, you wrestled with the fury, with the darkness. Your skin began to return to its natural hue, the molten glow fading with each passing second. The extra eyes that had marked Trigon's influence vanished, and the phoenix, once feral and consuming, began to dissipate, its flames flickering into embers. The pendant around your neck, the cursed vessel of his power, dimmed to a faint, ominous thrum.

Your legs gave out beneath you, exhaustion and the weight of what you'd done crashing down all at once. But Jon was there, his arms steady and sure as he caught you. He sank to the ground with you, holding you close as the ash settled and the battlefield fell silent. His voice, a quiet murmur in your ear, was the only sound.

"I've got you," he said softly, his arms wrapping around you like a shield. "You're okay. I'm here."

The League stood down, their wary gazes softening as they saw you collapse into Jon's embrace. Raven approached cautiously, kneeling beside you. Her eyes, filled with both relief and understanding, met yours. "You fought it," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "You won."

But you didn't feel victorious. The memory of the flames, of the destruction you had almost unleashed on your allies, lingered like a shadow in your mind. The fear of how close you had come to losing yourself clung to you, heavy and unshakable.

Yet when you looked at Jon, his face etched with concern and his eyes still unwavering in their faith, you found a flicker of hope. His presence reminded you of what you were fighting for—why you had to keep fighting.

As long as he was by your side, you knew you'd always have a reason to resist the darkness. And with him, you could believe that you were more than Trigon's heir. You were you. And that was enough.

[spider-jaysart]

@paladin-of-nerd-fandom65

Ashdgagffsvsfsfrdrgh I finally got these figured out now!! Thanks for tag btw!!!

Peter Parker: Looks like a cinnamon roll and is a cinnamon roll:

Raven: Looks like she can kill you and will kill you

Jon kent: Looks like a cinnamon roll

but can kill you:

Bruce Wayne: Looks like they can kill you

but is actually a cinnamon roll:

Damian Wayne: Will kill you because you ate his cinnamon rolls:

(Bruce ate them lmaoo)

Tagging: @camo-wolf @adalineozie @dankgemestho @dunkinsthings @devine-fem @theredheaded-stuff @craftyvoidpeace @nobodycallsmerae @girluimfailing @g1rlr0b1n @daminette-56 @pin-crusher2000

And Now, Time For….Some of My Faves in the old Cinnamon Roll Game

Tim(my) Drake: Looks Like A Cinnamon Roll and Is A Cinnamon Roll

Dick Grayson: Looks Like He Can Kill You and Will Kill You

Princess Koriand’r: Looks Like a Cinnamon Roll But Can Kill You

Clark Kent: Looks Like He Can Kill You but is a Cinnamon Roll

Then……there’s Cassandra Cain who can Kill You Because you Ate Her Cinnamon Rolls

[toulousewayne]

Batfam Shenanigans Headcannons: Pt 6

When the League first took shape it was understood they should anyone need assistance in their own personal cities that someone would respond. By this point Superman and Batman had teamed up the most so it was understood that Batman Could work with others in Gotham he just prefer to bleed out first.

The first time the league met Robin it was kinda surprising. Batman entered the Watchtower and the League noticed the traffic signal dressed boy behind him.

“Spooky, whatcha got there?” Hal raised a brow.

“A dark Roast.” He drank his coffee.

“He meant the boy Bats.” Barry clarifies.

“I’m Robin.”

“….”

“…..”

“…..”

“Can you play games with your ring Mr. Lantern?” He beamed.

“We can keep him.” Hal replied.

The first time Green Arrow and Black Canary visited the cave they were met the a excited Robin who was happy that Batman let someone visit. Batman didn’t share the excitement.

During a mission Wonder Woman, Flash, and Hawkgirl visit the cave and come across the little gremlin that is Robin.

“Hello child, where is Bruce?” Diana beamed at the child. Dick munching on a cookie points behind him to Bruce hunched over at the Batcomputer. The group walk to him and he’s covered in bandages.

“You look like crap.” Diana pokes his side.

“I fought Bane and was thrown off the rooftop. But thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Is there more cookies?” Flash asks.

A few years later when Batgirl joins Bruce, she’s immediately taken in by Dinah.

“Right hook.”

“Remember your center don’t expose yourself to an opponent.” Dinah calls out to Batgirl.

“You’re a great teacher Dinah.”

“Very kind, but we still have much work to do little Bat. Are you up for it?”

“Bring it.”

It’s comical how some of the Robin will just appear out of thin air. Hal walks into his room to find Robin (Tim) studying the Lantern battery. “Lost kid?”

“No.”

“…you bats always like this?”

“Like what?”

Clark doesn’t notice a Robin clinging to his leg like a baby kola bear.

“Uncle Clark can we get—“

“Ahhhhh, oh it’s just you.”

“You didn’t know I was here?” Dick looks up at him.

“Sorry, kiddo. I’m think we should get you a bell.”

“Okie.”

“So, the bag of heads. Were they real?” Barry asks between bits of chili dog.

“…I was a little theatrical back then.” Red Hood hums.

“But they were fake, right?”

“….”

Ollie can’t go five feet with other Spoiler and Black Bat following him like shadows.

“I don’t know if I’m supposed to be honored or terrified.”

“Both.” Cass replies.

“Father says you come from Mars, I’ve been told your people were intelligent and superior race. I wish to learn about your home planet.”

“Very well.” J’onn nods at Robin.

The Question enters his room to find his last three unsolved cases, solved and a fresh cup of coffee. He knows it’s the third Robin. He would always sneak off and go over clues with him while Batman was busy with the others.

HawkGirl and Spoiler love sparring together. They both find it entertaining watching the other women push herself and learn from one another.

Bart and Konner are the least bit surprised to find Tim at the computer screen in the exact same spot. They spend the next forty minutes trying to get Tim to take a break because he hasn’t blink once since they left him to go watch Jon’s baseball game.

Damian and Jason spend every Sunday together. It’s actually funny because Damian will agree to plans with Dick or Jon and cancel last minute because he and Jason are reading the next several chapters of a novel and munching on Cinnamon rolls Jason baked that day. Alfred the cat is invited too.

Sometimes Cass likes to keep tabs on her family, she has been known to scare the Justice League by watching Batman from the shadows. She enjoys scaring Superman the most. Bruce enjoys this too.

Donna and Wally are Dick’s emergency contacts. Bruce finds this a little hurtful but doesn’t question it. Donna is also Dick’s Power of Attorney incase someone needs to handle important matters for him should he be unable to do so.

Out of all of Dick’s OG team Damian likes Garth the best.

Starfire and Babs had a rocky start to the relationship but no the two are thick as thieves. They go to little shops together and movies. And they truly do have a sisterly bond, Kori will berate stores for not including wheelchair access and providing disabled bathrooms. Barbara has had break two guys hands from trying to get fresh while Kori was clothes shopping. The two even have weekly movie nights at the Clocktower.

[agentrouka-blog]

Favourite sassy Sansa moments ??

This one is still my favourite:

“When Lady Anya first told me of this match, I was afraid that you might look like your father."

"Little pointy beard and all?" Alayne laughed.

“I never meant..."

"I hope you joust better than you talk."

I know she’s technically playing a role here but SANSA STARK’S SASS IS UNDERRATED!!!! she’s so unintentionally funny

Anon, I am pretty sure it's intentional. ^_^

Sansa is dang charming and funny when she's allowed to be.

The older man in white spoke to Sansa gently. "Ofttimes Ser Ilyn frightens me as well, sweet lady. He has a fearsome aspect." "As well he should." The queen had descended from the wheelhouse. The spectators parted to make way for her. "If the wicked do not fear the King's Justice, you have put the wrong man in the office." Sansa finally found her words. "Then surely you have chosen the right one, Your Grace," she said, and a gale of laughter erupted all around her. "Well spoken, child," said the old man in white. "As befits the daughter of Eddard Stark. I am honored to know you, however irregular the manner of our meeting. I am Ser Barristan Selmy, of the Kingsguard." He bowed. (AGOT, Sansa I)

This isn't quite as hilarious at first glance, but she's very much working her audience here, to great effect.

Of course, she rarely has the opportunity to openly speak at all, let alone with sass, so a lot of her snark happens internally.

One of my favorite unspoken lines is this:

The king leafed through it with no interest. "And what is this, Uncle?" A book. Sansa wondered if Joffrey moved those fat wormy lips of his when he read. (ASOS, Sansa IV)

The classic:

"They say my brother Robb always goes where the fighting is thickest," she said recklessly. "Though he's older than Your Grace, to be sure. A man grown." (ACOK, Sansa V)

I'm sure there are many that escape me right now.

But yeah, the TWOW sample chapter is pure gold in terms of watching Sansa be closer to her carefree self. Excitedly overseeing preparations, running and gossiping with a friend, free to bite back for once, free to let her thoughts indulge silly details or observations that don't specifically serve to protect her from harm.

Alayne loved it here. She felt alive again, for the first since her father… since Lord Eddard Stark had died. [...]

Not to be outdone, the pimply knight hopped up and said, "Ser Ossifer speaks truly, you are the most beautiful maid in all the Seven Kingdoms." It might have been a sweeter courtesy had he not addressed it to her chest. "And have you seen all those maids yourself, ser?" Alayne asked him. "You are young to be so widely travelled." [...]

Myranda rolled her eyes. "They're from the Sisters. Did you ever know a Sisterman who could joust? They clean their swords with codfish oil and wash in tubs of cold seawater." "Well," Alayne said, "at least they're clean." "Some of them have webs between their toes. I'd sooner marry Lord Petyr.  [...] She danced with all three Sunderlands, none of whom had webs between their fingers, though she could not vouch for their toes. [...]

And there he stood, Harry the Heir himself; tall, handsome, scowling. [....]

"And is Ser Harrold with them?" Horrible Ser Harrold. "He is." [...]

Ser Harrold had the grace to blush. "Her father says she is more precious to him than gold. He's rich, the richest man in Gulltown. A fortune in spices." "What will you name the babe?" she asked. "Cinnamon if she's a girl? Cloves if he's a boy?" That almost made him stumble. "My lady japes." "Oh, no." Petyr will howl when I tell him what I said.

Alayne is the Sansa that she could have been all this time, the girl who liked to giggle and be silly with Jeyne Poole, had no great issue holding her own in conversation, who drew pleasure and energy from the world around her.

I mean, we know she is playing a role and based Alayne partially on Jon Snow... but that girl there is not a terse and moody grump. She's not even a lean shadow laughingly racing to the bridge with his brother. She is a highborn lord's daughter, inhabiting the center of attention with confidence like she was born to it. Like Sansa.