#jonthan

[iggyfing]

11, 23, 30

11. Is there any OC of yours you could describe as a “sunshine”?

tarene dosa (sw) and haharo haro (ffxiv) are my beautiful sunshine children

23. Introduce OC that has changed from your first idea concerning what the character would be like?

jonthan wander (wolves and woods). from glorified babysitter bc the child deuteragonists needed adult supervision to arguably the main protagonist and also my favoritest guy. he was just some guy and now he's just some guy who's also a werewolf and spent his adolescence in the "care" of the villain. i have a hard time drawing him bc he's supposed to be exceptionally plain looking but i make everyone i draw so generically attractive :')

he's so tired........... just like me fr

30. Which one of your OCs would most likely have a secret stuffed animal collection?

..... i kinda wanna say drifoor (sw) just 'cause it'd be funny

[blueberry-beanie]

Everything Everything at Picturedrome, Holmfirth | 19th August 2022 | dotdotdash.blog & [x] [x]

[froot-batty]

I love your Jonathan design

thank you <3

[lmk-vibes]

he MIGHT be the HORRORS to YOU but hes MY baby girl

[satellitebyers]

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐄𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐩

↳ summary: you ask your distant and cold professor for some help with your thesis. good thing he seems to be an expert on fear

↳ warnings: mentions of murder, booze, guns, and some gore. canon type gotham violence. a wiff of stalking maybe?

↳ song: aleph—gesaffelstein

masterlist!

University life wasn't much different than you had expected. Television and movies glam it up to make it sound like the peak of your young adult life. A time for exceeding expectations and drinking cheap booze out of those weird solo cups in a random person's basement. But this was Gotham—where crime is the highest in the country and misfortune runs galore. The closest anyone got to walking into a stranger's basement these days was with the threat of a gun at their back.

In preparation for the quote-unquote finest school Gotham had to offer, instead of going out and buying the list of supplies your school recommended, you simply lowered your expectations. Not like there was much to begin with in the first place. You could get a protractor later.

Your thought process proved to be worth it too. Barely an hour into your first day, the campus was evacuated as a precaution for a major villain sighting in the area. Something about filling up a building with highly dangerous gas. As of weeks later, details still hadn't been released to the public. That was fine by you. All you cared about was not getting ripped away from your precious lunch again.

The campus cafeteria was drafty and smelled of mold, parties were thrown way too often, and most of your professors were stern with classes people only took so they could get their degrees.

In that case, Mr. Crane was no different from any of the other teachers.

There was certainly no lack of students in his class on the first week—the largely female percentage most likely gathered because of his pretty face. But by the end of it, over half had already dropped out.

You were not one of them. Somewhat regrettably, you had begun to think after hours of pouring over papers in just the first week. But you needed this class to fully understand your thesis topic and you'd be damned if you moved all the way out to Gotham for nothing.

That was what you were thinking about as you rounded the back row of Doctor Crane's class, staring blankly at the missed call from your mother atop your phone's home screen.

It had practically become a ritual for her to call you at least once a day since you'd moved to the city. Anytime you didn't pick up, it would send her into a frenzy—despite your multiple explanations of why you have your phone on silent during lectures. But that wouldn't stop her from constantly pleading for you to come back and finish getting your degree at home. Because even if it would take longer, and completely drain your bank account, at least you would be away from those lunatics. Or so she called them.

"You have nothing to worry about." You'd told her one time while watching a bowl of ramen bubble angrily on your stove. "Even if I was mugged or something, I'm sure the Batman would save me."

It had been meant as a half joke, said only to quell your mothers worries. Yet the more and more newspaper stands you passed on your way to the store, the more the vigilanties name came up. Often accompanied by the words HERO or SAVIOR afterward.

The sudden memory of newspapers stopped you right as you were about to cross the threshold from the lecture hall to the rest of the building. You were quick to turn around, flipping your phone back into your pants pocket loosely before approaching the professor's desk. A few more students filed out from behind you, one even tossing you a wave, before it was just you and the professor left.

Doctor Crane was nothing short of intimidating. Everything from the clean cut suit he worse, to his icy blue eyes—and even his second title as lead doctor in the nearby Arhum Asylum—was surrounded by an air of stoic professionalism.

The man hadn't even been there on the first day of school. Something that would have off-put you if not for the sudden evacuation, haulting any chance of first impressions. Instead, he had shown up the next day like nothing had happened: lips pressed into a tight line and eyes dull as he spoke to the class without really looking at anyone.

He had made it clear on multiple occasions that he was rarely available after class or for tutoring hours, but you doubted that even if he was, nearly anyone would show up for a one on one conversation.

Looks like you would have to be the outlier today.

You waited patiently as he shuffled from one stack of paper to another, eyes never once drifting over the rim of his glasses to look at you. Occasionally you would catch a glimpse of his usually devoid face break into a little frown before making a mark on a paper and moving on. You resisted the urge to peak and see if any of those papers were yours.

"Yes?" He adressed you by your last name suddenly. Packets and papers continued to shuffle. This time he did spare you a glance, a flash of something swirling in his cold eyes before disappearing. Or maybe that had been the dim light. It had been to quick for you to catch.

You cleared your throat before speaking; adjusting your bag unconsciously.

"I had a question or two for you about my thesis topic." You said with a level tone. He asked what it was somewhat dismissively, his monotone way of speaking ever present.

"I've been researching fear and its effects on the human brain for quite sometime, so I felt it was only fitting for that to be my topic."

That seemed to gather his attention. When you looked up from your examination of the plain black stapler on the corner of his desk, you were met with one raised eyebrow. His hand was writing on the stapled essay before him considerably slower.

If you squinted hard enough it almost looked like he was smiling.

"May I ask what has garnered your interest in such a subject?" He pressed. For a moment your mind went a little blank, not expecting such undivided attention from him. It was unnerving, concidering that before today he probably didn't even know your first name.

"Well, I've always been interested in how much emotions have a grip on the mind." The words were now tumbling from your mouth in a flurry of half-baked thoughts.

"It was only after moving here that I really realized how it can affect an entire city, much less just one person. Everyone knows how absurd the crime rates here are, but I don't think they've ever seen the stark contrast in the Gotham residents from, say, another neighboring city.

And not to mention there's a whole group of personas parading around the block inspiring pure fear. When the bigger crimes aren't outwardly released to the public, I'm starting to think the ones the police can cover up are being covered up. I did a quick search of specific types of crimes related to the patterns of people like the Joker, Bane, and Scarecrow, and too much adds up for it to all be a coincidence."

You reminded yourself to breathe. You knew you were passionate about this subject—hence the decision in thesis topic—but you were never this chatty with it. Something about Doctor Cranes' unwavering stare drew it all out of you in one go. He was a surgeon at the moment, prying your brain apart from the inside out and turning it over in his hands.

Or maybe you were over analyzing things again.

"And what do you think of this Scarecrow?" He had stopped grading now, plucking the clear rimmed glasses of the bridge of his nose and folding them neatly beside him. In a second, his icy blue gaze seemed to intensify in strength, pinning you in place like a specimen of his to observe. You made the brief connection between this and a lepidopterist pinning up butterflys by their wings. It was quick to leave.

Instead you thought back as news clippings and articals flashed in bold print on your mind. Pictures of the victims he had since left behind followed.

Most of them had died from shock or poison, toxins coursing through their bloodstream too fast for their bodies to handle. Not a wonderful way to go, but it was no better or worse than the dozens of mugging gone wrong that occurred everyday. If you ignored how they had all clawed their eyes out in terror, that is.

Your response came slow and methodical, words chosen with care. You were well aware that people had been thrown out of prestigious universities for speaking their minds about less, and you couldn't afford that right now. Besides. He had asked you a question. Who were you to deny him?

"I think what he's managed to make, to do, is a breakthrough in the scientific and medical field." If your professor noted the way you swallowed thickly he didn't say anything.

"What else?" It was almost like he knew every thought that crossed your mind before it even formed. As if he had been preparing for this exact moment.

You could continue. You could tell him that you'd started sitting by your thoroughly locked window at night, waiting patiently to catch a glimpse of a masked maniac. You could tell him that monster was the exact thing that pushed you to move to Gotham. You most certantly could tell him that you wanted to get your hands on that gas to do some tests of your own—see exactly what this Scarecrow had managed to create.

But instead you looked to the left and told him that was it.

"Well if that's all, I would like to continue this conversation at a later date." Doctor Cranes glasses were back on now as he stood up and began gathering his things.

"I'm not sure—"

"I'm quite interested in what you have to say." He adressed you by your last name again, shutting his briefcase closed with a chilling click. "After all, I have written some papers on this exact subject."

You know. You had read them in your search for more information on the Scarecrow's toxin.

"I'll keep that in mind, professor." You glanced at the doorway, wondering if it would be unacceptable to make a dash for it. You didn't want to be late for work any more than you were already. And if you were being honest this conversation had taken a turn you weren't prepared for.

By some grace of god he let the conversation drop. Not caring to spare another glance at him, you took to the door, planning out the route home in your head.

If he watched you go, you didn't notice. It wasn't until you had gotten home in your stained work uniform, beat up trainers grayed with labor, that you noticed your folder for his class was missing.

"Shit." You dragged a tired hand down your face, kicking off your socks as you lay next to the spread out compartments of your backpack.

You sighed. Looks like you'd be seeing Doctor Crane again sooner than you thought.

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

It's probably not a popular opinion, but I don't think Eddie would like Jonathan. Even after everything, Jonathan still scoffs at Steve, especially at the idea of Steve being mature. Eddie would get along with Argyle, but Jonathan? Nah. I mean, surely Will would have told him some of the things that Steve has done, like driving them around, letting them into movies, taking a beating from Hargrove for them, getting tortured by Russians. He still doesn't like him? Jonathan, you stole Nancy from him, and he didn't say shit about it. I just wonder if he's still mad about Steve breaking his camera. What are you talking about? No, Eddie did NOT write this post.

I don't know, I could see Eddie, Jonathan, and Argyle smoking together, and then Jonathan makes a comment about how Eddie could do better. Maybe I just like drama because I could see Eddie getting pissed about that.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 87

Part 1 Part 86

Mom’s hovering in front of the door, a knife in her hand, trying to get the rest of them to get away from the window. It’s not working. If anything, Max’s nose only presses more firmly to the glass with every request she makes.

Will’s hovering just behind her, desperate to keep Steve and Eddie in his line of sight. He can just barely see the wisp of a curl through the side window of the van, bouncing as Eddie moves around inside.

He squints, trying to keep the hair in sight as the movement becomes more erratic.

Will hears glass breaking just as he loses sight of Eddie entirely, wisps and all.

He rushes past his Mom, using the weight of his body to open the door, even as she stands in the way. It’s almost involuntary, a compulsion to follow the thread that Eddie’d pulled him by.

“Will, don’t!” she cries, but it’s too late. He’s out, and through.

Mike calls after him, too, and there’s the sound of tennis shoes stampeding out of the house behind him. Will only hopes he’s not leading them all to their impending doom.

Bodies slump into the driveway, none of them human. They’re like if the Demogorgon had followed a different evolutionary chain. Dustin would find it fascinating. Will just wants Eddie and Steve back.

Wayne’s still standing sentry, looking out across the street, waiting for more monsters to creep in from the darkness, Barbara by his side.

Shielding the entrance to the van, is El.

“El!” It’s Mike, because it always is. He sounds so genuinely elated that something curdles and dies in his throat. He swallows it down, hopes it decomposes in his stomach, so he never has to look directly at it. “You came!”

El smiles, happily at Mike, then around to all of them. “Of course.” She looks over at Max, and she’s frowning now, that way she does when she doesn’t understand something. It used to happen all the time. Now, it’s rare.

Will doesn’t care, can’t when Eddie’s too quiet in the van somewhere Will can’t see. He pushes past her, too.

There’s a misshapen, monstrous foot sticking out of the broken window. He stares at it for a second before swinging the door open. It wrenches the foot strangely, makes it crack and tear with the resistance of the door before it breaks free, black blood flowing like the thing’s still alive. 

It stays still. 

Will looks past it, and finds Eddie’s pale face.  

There’s glass in his hair, and his palms are bleeding where they’re held in front of him, but he’s breathing. Alive. And he’s looking up at El like she’s answered all his prayers. Will and Eddie have been sharing the same prayers from the same broken pews for so long that for a second, Will thinks Steve is back. 

He scrambles over the dead thing blocking his entrance. It’s cold against his palms, flesh barely giving as he crawls hand over feet atop it. But, Steve’s still just sitting there, blinking, Carol huddled into his side like he can protect her, even like this.

“Steve needs your help,” Eddie says, plaintive. Begging with both voice and unblinking eyes, gaze locked on El’s own until she breaks it to look at where Steve still sits, unbothered.

Her brow furrows, eyes squinting like she’s peeling off layers of skin and meat to get to whatever’s underneath. “He’s lost?” she asks.

Carol is squinting at El like the words aren’t clicking for her. She looks back to Steve, then back to El, brow furrowing with anger.

Eddie nods. Will clears his throat. “Not like last time,” he clarifies. “He’s here, but his mind isn’t.”

El nods, decisive. “I will help.”

“What the hell are you all talking about!” Carol demands, even as people scatter around her, setting up for El’s latest rescue mission. “He’s right there!”

She’s not looking at Will, though. She’s looking at Eddie like it’s all his fault. Still, when Steve doesn’t say anything, her lip wobbles as she turns and asks, “right Steve?”

He doesn’t answer, even as she calls again. Will looks away when she bites her lips, eyes wide.

It’s easier this time. They don’t have to break into the school, don’t have to find a pool. El just sits cross-legged in front of Steve on the carpet, careful to stay away from the broken glass and the dead thing. Mike covers her eyes with Wayne’s flannel while the man himself switches the radio dial until he finds one with enough white noise to satisfy.

He can’t quite tune out the murmured conversation between Eddie and Carol, though, no matter how hard he tries. Eddie explains, in clipped, emotionless words, that something, one of the monsters from the other place she’d just gotten a taste of, has taken over Steve. 

“But we’re getting him back?” she asks, voice shrill and breaking, contrasting with Eddie’s own even tone. A veteran to the newbie in the warzone. 

Will, suddenly, feels terribly old. 

“Quiet now,” El demands. 

Eddie looks away from Carol without answering. There is no answer to that question when they’re all subsisting off hope, and not much else.

“Tell him we’re coming, okay?” Eddie asks. He’s looking down at his own bloody palms now, like he can’t bear to look at their last bastion of hope and wait for it to flame and go out. 

“Ask ‘im how to stop the thing taking ‘im over,” Wayne interjects. 

Eddie’s lip wobbles. Will knows how he feels. He doesn’t want Steve to know, if he’s in there at all, that they don’t know what to do. Neither does Will. He wants to save Steve. He always wants to save Steve.

But, Eddie finally looks up, meeting Will’s eyes before nodding. The movement knocks a tear free, but his voice sounds clear when he says, “Ask him how we kill the fucker.”

El nods, shoulders settling as she reaches out to take Steve’s hand. The white noise blankets them all. Will settles down to wait. 

That’s what they always do, when Steve is dying: they wait. This time is no different. 

Part 88

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @wonderland-girl143-blog @nerdsconquerall @sharingisntkaren @canmargesimpson @bananahoneycomb

[emziess]

Can you pass the olive oil? The Monster and the Superhero, Stranger things

[tamatama-kilo]

hi hello tumblrians i need your assitstance

so. im looking for this one post where its like. jon having a mental breakdown over those "prove your human" things online and martin is like "jon your still human. you still breath. you still eat. you can still idenitfy the bikes in the boxes" or something like that its KILLING ME

[spider-jaysart]

Superfam but in Teen Titans Go! Style

What it says since everythings so messy:

Jon, walking up to Conner: Hey, Conner, Mom, Dad, and I were cleaning up the garage and found a box of old photos. Is this really how you used to look like?

(Shows Conner the old photo of him in his old Superboy outfit)

Conner, despite not wanting to really admit it: Hmmm, I suppose it really is, sadly (I thought I had made sure to burn that photo before...)

Conner, in dramatic mode: But we don't talk about those old days anymore, Little bro. It's just an old past of mines that's just filled with a bunch of many questionable fashion tastes and choices. All I can really say, Jonno, is to just learn from my mistakes and never do I what did so that you'll never have to regret such a thing!

(I like to headcanon that Ttg Conner later grew out of his old Superboy T-shirt and jeans style and changed it up to the aesthetic of the 90's Superboy suit to look more cooler and he now gets embarrassed whenever he looks at old photos of himself in the old outfit lol)

[odinsonsnightmare]

he looks so incredibly handsome and soft 😩🤍

[lifeispeechee]

jinker bing davur

[share-the-damn-bed]

Do you remember the time you told me you had a lego stuck up your nose?

[countingandsnarkingon]

Baby is here. Gideon Daniel Hill, Born July 5th at 9:15 am

[therandomfandomme]

Now that I think about it, Argyle must be way more used to calling El Jane, since he knew her for months like that and never anything else. Do you think he was confused during their roadtrip who they were looking for? Did they explain it to him? Is that why he thought Nina could be a small woman? Did he think El would just change names again randomly and just rolled with it?