#rip Jon

[suttttton]

Oh gosh, so i just read your jonelias fic, the soulmate name one where Jon has Jonah magnus on his arm and he's all lonely. Boy did this entirely rewrite my brain actually. So i thought i'd ask, do you pretty please have some crumbs of how you think the story could wrap up? Like would elias try to woo jon? Would jon refuse him because, jonah magnus? Do you think the gang would find out about the whole body hopping thing at the same time as in canon or before, because jonah just drops the ball?

Also, maybe i just have piss poor reading comprehension (i kind of do tbh) but why did jon stop talking to the portraits after leitner's death? Did he just go like, oh that's creepy elias might be watching actually. Also i'm wondering what the tim&jon argument was about... Oh, them being trapped here because of jonah magnus himself? I guess that would explain it. Generally any tidbits of information you'll be willing to share, i want to hear it all i love this fic so much it's so good.

Would Elias in this au be more gentle and less willing to throw jon at every horror ever? Or is it sad toxic yaoi?

Sorry for rambling uwu ahah

(For anyone who doesn't know, this is the fic in question.)

I'm so sorry it's taken me 60+ business days to respond to you! This ask inspired me to write a little bit past the ending, which took some time, and then I got my job at puppy kindergarten and completely forgot about until.

UNTIL just now when I found it in my drafts, SO part of that is at the end of this answer under the cut.

To answer your other questions: Jon stops talking to the portraits because he finds out that Jonah Magnus was a Bad Person. Jon has been imagining Jonah as a character something like Gerry, burning the Leitner books and protecting people. After he talks to Leitner, he knows that Jonah was,,,,,,,,,,,, not that.

As for Tim and Jon's argument, I think during that s3 era of canon, they get into a lot of fights that basically boil down to "Tim is very angry that they're trapped here and Sasha is dead and Danny is dead, and Jon is his only available target." And in this world they have the added twist that Jon has been metaphysically assigned to The Evil Guy Who Started It All, which,,,,, does not help.

Thanks for your ask! I really like this story and it's been really fun thinking about it further.

EPILOGUISH:

The moment hangs suspended, Jon's eyes on the floor, Elias' locked on his own name scribed on Jon's skinny wrist like an accusation. His head spins with a rush of emotion, nothing he is prepared for, nothing he ever expected to feel again.

Then Jon's gaze flickers to his wrist, registers the alien colour, and his eyes widen and he jerks his hand away, shattering the silence. Jon cradles his wrist like it hurts, staring at it with his mouth slightly open.

Elias braces himself for Jon's gaze to come back to him, to look into his grey eyes and realize that they are far too old for his face, for him to make the connection. A moment passes, then another, and Jon just stares at his wrist, one of the immutable columns of his life suddenly upended.

Elias skims his mind, curious, and he has to stifle the urge to laugh.

Jon is thinking, with a racing mania that borders on panic, about ghosts.

Elias feels an enormous rush of tenderness towards him.

"I don't understand," Jon says finally, quietly. More to himself than to Elias. "This--this can't--"

Elias decides to twist the knife. "Perhaps our founder is pleased that you've aligned yourself with his god."

That gets Jon's attention, and he looks at Elias with fear in his eyes. Yes, yes, this is what has so thoroughly captured Elias' attentions these pasts few months. The way Jon's mind stutters and slips, trying to find purchase on his panic-smoothed thoughts. The way his eyes widen, showing off the lovely darkness of his eyes. The way he trembles and hates himself for it, his tight grip holding his control close.

Jon goes, and Elias' eyes follow him. He sits down behind his desk and smiles.

***

Jon doesn't register what Elias says to dismiss him. He simply rolls his sleeves down and returns to the Archives, avoiding his assistants like a man hunted. He sits down at his desk and his sleeve rides up his arm, revealing the accusingly black edges of his soul mark.

So he gets up and puts on his coat, the thicker sleeves making him feel more thoroughly covered, more protected from prying eyes. He sits down again and tries to relax, tries to turn his mind back to the research that so desperately needs to be done, the end of the world at stake--

His mind keeps wandering, imagining one of the others coming in and demanding to inspect his soul mark.

Never mind that no one has ever done that, that no one would ever do that. He can too clearly imagine what the reaction would be, if any of the others found out what has happened. Bad enough to have the name scrawled on his wrist; to have the bond suddenly, impossibly accepted? What ideas would the others draw from that? What conclusions could they possibly come to?

What if Tim saw it?

What if Daisy saw it?

What does it mean?

He gets up again and leaves the Archives, not sure where he's going, just sure that he needs to move. His mind is racing, and he clutches at his wrist like it hurts. Nothing makes sense, anymore, not that it was making much sense to begin with.

Nevertheless, the shock is familiar. All of it is a plunging from stability into cold loneliness, all of it terrifying. He doesn't want Jonah Magnus to accept the bond. He doesn't want Jonah Magnus to be a willing servant of evil. He doesn't want his soulmark to be grey and unnerving. He doesn't want any of this.

His wandering takes him past a portrait of Jonah because it's his Institute, and they are unavoidable. Jon has been trying to avoid their gaze since he returned from his Elias-caused exile, but now he stops. He studies the face that he knows so well, that is as familiar to him as any of his flesh-and-blood acquaintances.

He shivers.

[willdisappearintothelonely]

Jmart picrew dump

I just wanted to post something lmao, hope yall enjoy

[imjulia-andilikecats]

Hear Me Out

I still think about how compatible Mare and Maven's love languages were for each other (Which might also explain how they still have chemistry and the Mareven ship still active, even past the betrayal and Glass Sword).

Mare's love language is mostly Physical Touch and Words of Affirmation. Which works well with Maven, since he is touch deprived (example, blushing at Mare hugging him or him holding her wrist). Mare telling him at some point that she thought he was better than Cal (something he rarely hears, even from his mom), which boosted his self-esteem and later in the books, he would seek out Mare's affirmation. Wanting/demanding her to thank/praise him for bringing back the conscription age from 15 to 18.

Maven's Love Language on the other hand, was Words of Affirmation, Gift Giving and Acts of Service. Which Book one Mare dearly needed, someone who would listen and reassure her that she is understood and seen. Especially, when she was forced to pretend to be a lost Silver elite and still wallowing at how her mother compared her to Gisa. The other two love languages, Gift Giving and Acts of Service, is shown in King's Cage. Where Maven would give her an unreasonable amount of expensive dresses and jewels, during her imprisonment. Even the other visiting allies, questioned why she was not dressed in rags and stuffed into a dungeon. Acts of Service, is even more questionable, but it's there. With him, staying by her side after being interrogated by Samson. Asking her if she feels cold, when he saw her rub her shoulders for warmth. Even dismissing her when he saw that Larentia's snake made her uncomfortable. Which made Mare momentarily feel thankful for him (even though he is her captor).

They both have the capacity and tools to comfort and love each other. However, given how different their upbringing and goals were. They became each other's enemie, leaving them no choice but to end the other.

Maybe in another life, a universe where the Lightning Girl, is just Mare and King Maven Calore, is just Maven. A universe where they met, became good friends then quickly fell in love and somewhere, are happily married and playfully exchanging banter while they have their breakfast in their home.

[will80sbyers]

he's going to literally have "saving the world" in his resume as a character 😭😭😭😭

[f1-disaster-bi]

@f1-birb is bullying me so now I've decided to go super angst

[serialreblogger]

Hm. Confronted in this episode by the fact the Martin has a mother. Somehow that'd never occurred to me before. I guess Jon also has a mother. He doesn't seem the type (what). Tim on the other hand seems like the kinda guy who'd have a mother (what the fuck does that even mean), as does Sasha, though she seems more like the kinda guy who'd have a father (no genuinely what am I saying) - Writ end of MAG 042

No you're 100% correct on all counts. Jon is definitely not the kind of guy who has a mother

[abellarts]

[ID in alt]

jon should have been able to sock him at least once before s5

[potato-lord-but-not]

they’re so bbg core

[dipperscavern]

thinking about jon snow not knowing what to do when you admire him.

he’s sprawled on his stomach, bare chested & fast asleep, with the blankets covering his lower half. castle black stirs awake as the sun starts to rise, moving to start its ascension into the sky.

the ghost of your fingertips across his spine pull him to consciousness, goosebumps trailing his skin from your touch. he lightly stretches, opening his eyes as his muscles tense & relax once more.

he looks to see you sitting up, a glossed over look in your eyes as your gaze is fixated on his back — the hint of a smile playing on your lips. he’s never been looked at like that before. caressed, admired, as if he was something special.

he can feel the pads of your fingers as they run along his shoulderblades, tracing the ridges & muscles that map the expanse of his back. has he ever felt anything this gentle?

you stop your mapping of his body when you see that he’s awake. he’s not looking at you, though. his eyes are blank, fixated on a distant wall as he focuses on your touch, trying to commit the feeling to memory.

“you’re so pretty, jon.”

he feels his cheeks grow warm, no doubt starting to turn a pretty shade of pink. his entire body grows hot, nerves on fire with the sincerity of your words. jon knows you mean it — you’re no liar. suddenly your gaze is overwhelming, and he feels the need to squirm under it.

you’re evil, he thinks. the worst to ever live. can’t you see what you do to him?

he’s brought out from his thoughts when the warmth of your hand leaves his shoulders, coming to brush his hair out of his face. you tuck the strands behind his ears, the dark curls protesting being moved. jon swallows, looking up at you.

he can see the smile you’re trying to suppress, and he feels his heart swell at the fact the sight of him is enough to make you smile. the knuckle of your finger comes to trace the underside of his jaw, just the way your lips have done countless times before. the thought alone is enough to make him shiver.

you get to the front of his face, the pad of your thumb coming to run along his bottom lip. the same lips that have been all over your body are now at the mercy of your touch, and jon wouldn’t ruin this moment for anything… even if lord commander mormont had returned from the dead & knocked on the door.

jon had tried to be still, truly. he should’ve been given an award for how long he’s held out so far. he can’t help himself, lips moving to kiss the pad of your thumb. they start to descend, trailing down the slope of your hand. he presses a final kiss to the inside of your wrist, before his hand wraps around it and brings it to his cheek. he uses it as a pillow, laying his head down once more & sighing, eyes fluttering shut.

you let the smile break free now, eyes gazing down at your lover, in all his content. jon deserves it all. the gentleness, the warmth, anything that you have to give, you offer to him. he’s been through hell and back, the scars run deep. and you want nothing more than to kiss each and every one, to replace the once horrid memories with the feel of your touch.

you eventually pull away your hand, & jon’s eyes are quick to open. you can almost feel the disapproval radiating off of him, which is quickly replaced with a warm feeling deep in his chest when you reach for his right hand.

you bring it to your lap, eyes fixated on it. both of your hands cradle his larger, calloused one. you run your hands along his, feeling every vein & knuckle under your fingers. his fingers twitch with the need to curl into your smaller ones. jon’s so busy looking at your hands holding his, he at first doesn’t see the way your eyes are closed. you’re mapping him, every part of him with your hands — trying to bury the feeling in a deep part of your mind so you never forget. and once jon realizes that, he’s inclined to never let you go. just keep you here, wrapped in his arms forever. you wouldn’t mind, would you?

once you’re done, sure that you’ve traced every part of him that you can reach, you bring his hand to cradle your cheek, mirroring how jon had done with your own not so long ago. you lean into it, relaxing into his hand.

it’s jon’s turn to smile now. it tugs at the corner of his lips, curving them upwards as his tongue darts out to wet them. is this what love is like? jon thinks it must be. to simply exist & be cherished by someone, to be truly adored & held close.

jon can’t resist the urge anymore. its overwhelming at this point, clouding his mind. he uses the hand on your cheek to pull you closer as he simultaneously pulls himself up, connecting your lips with his. he kisses you long & soft, as he gently moves you to lay down on your back. you’re easy in your compliance, putty in his hands; the one still on your cheek, and the other pressing to your waist as your lips continue to dance with his.

he pulls away, trailing kisses down your neck. your hands find their way to his hair, not pulling, just slotting themselves amongst the curls. once he reaches the end of his descent, he moves to place once more kiss on the underside of your jaw, before laying his head down on your stomach. his arms wrap around your waist as your hands scratch at his scalp in a way that’s divine.

& in the comfort of your arms, jon understands why so little men join the nights watch of their own accord. what is honor compared to a woman's love? what is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms? he understands now, able to fully grasp the concept of never knowing the tenderness of your touch — and it’s not a very pleasant thought.

in the back of his mind he remembers the duties you both have to tend to, but they’ll be fine, he thinks. they can wait.

[moonsun2010]

in honour of @re-dracula podcast, an updated version of this DracDaily fanart from 2022

[oscarisaacsspit]

i could’ve fixed him

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (Pt. 4)

—

Tw: descriptions of body horror, Dr. Crane has PTSD and Does Not Realize, Crane has an actual panic attack and just doesn’t care, the Riddler makes one (1) sex joke about Batman

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 1 here) (Prev here) - (Pt. 5 here)

(Masterlist here)

—

Dr. Jonathan Crane is in his lab, the acrid scent of chemicals filling the air, and his hands are shaking.

Danny’s health, for the first week that he had him, had been steadily improving at an extremely quick rate. However, his healing had begun to stagnate. Danny said that it was because his body had run out of ectoplasm, and that while there was a lot of ambient ectoplasm in Gotham, he needed a stronger type in order to heal.

And so, that led Dr. Crane here.

He had stolen the research notes from the Penguin years ago regarding his experimentation on him.

(He quite vividly remembers the sound of bone creaking and groaning as it twisted, lengthened. The squelching of shifting tendons and muscles, the strange fabric-like tightening of skin. The feeling of going from man to monster, of losing all claim to his humanity.)

Danny had called him Liminal, part ghost. He had said that he was transformed by, among other things, a kind of synthetic ectoplasm.

Danny needed ectoplasm.

Crane had the research notes. He had every ingredient necessary. And yet, attempt after attempt failed.

The chemical smell burns his nose. His hands tremble.

Dr. Crane is not afraid.

He doesn’t feel fear anymore. He’s tried to, many, many times, but nothing has worked. And yet, his hands are shaking still.

(The horrifying sensation of vertebrae pop-pop-popping along his spine, growing and lengthening. The unbearable itching beneath his skin as toxin glands begin to form. The feeling of his teeth sharpening and elongating, of his skull growing, of his vision changing and brightening. The awful stench of chemicals. The awful stench of ectoplasm.)

Jonathan takes careful note of his shaking hands, his blurring vision, his accelerated heart-rate and shallow breathing.

(Human hands. Human vision. Human heart and lungs and organs.)

He takes note of them, but he does not let that distract him from the task at hand. Danny is not a chemist, but Jonathan is.

The boy knows enough about chemistry in theory, but he won’t go anywhere near Crane’s equipment. He seems to have some sort of intense fear of laboratory settings, probably developed during his stay with the GiW, and Crane is willing to respect that, if only because he cannot afford to lose him.

As such, Crane is the only one qualified to do this. And, unfortunately, if he isn’t successful the boy may very well die.

He heats the chemicals to precisely the right temperatures, adding each one to its correct container.

Dr. Crane thinks of the Scarebeast, that creature born of cruelty and greed and a sense of superiority. That creature which he tries to ignore is a part of him, that can never be removed. A damage which cannot be undone.

He pours the contents of a small beaker into a larger flask, watching the liquids swirl together. The stench in the air is becoming closer and closer to the one burned into his memory.

Crane’s whole body is wracked with unpleasant sensations. It’s truly unfortunate, he thinks, that despite his mind’s lack of fear, his body still reacts so harshly.

Jonathan’s eyes wander, eventually settling on a purple and green card sitting innocently on the corner of the table.

Right.

Even if they wiped out the GiW tomorrow, and even if Danny could survive without ectoplasm, he would still be in danger.

Crane has to get him back to good health. It’s the only way he can be sure that the boy can defend himself properly.

The solution in the flask begins to foam, and Jonathan does not hesitate as he adds the final ingredient. He pours the mixture into a new container, capping it and placing it into a freezer set to -40 degrees.

Hopefully this time he got the timing right.

Jonathan tries to relax, the ventilation in the room slowly but surely clearing the familiar smell from the air.

He thinks of the letter.

Surely, he thinks, that man can come up with some better material for his jokes. Or, at least something new.

Same old threats, same old attempted poisoning.

Aiming his threats at Danny, though, that was new. New and utterly unacceptable.

Scarecrow did what he had to.

He doubted that his solution would last forever, of course, as with that man it never did. As such, he would prepare both himself and Danny for the inevitable moment that his choices came back to bite them.

However, for the moment, they were safe. Danny could rest and recover, and Jonathan could figure out a plan to minimize possible damages.

Jonathan is no longer shaking.

He’s exhausted. This is his fifth attempt today, and each one leaves an unfortunate strain on his mind and body.

With a sigh, he settles himself into his seat at a nearby desk, opening up his computer and logging his most recent attempt. He still has to wait for it to chill to know if it was successful, but he can always update the logs later.

Once he’s done, he stretches, joints popping loudly as he walks to the freezer.

When he sees the results of his tireless work, the ghost of a smile flits across his face.

Success.

Jonathan picks up the jug of ectoplasm and leaves the lab, which is in all actuality the basement of the new apartment that he moved himself and Danny into after receiving the note. The scrappy old woman who was his landlord had told him that as long as he paid her five hundred dollars up front, she would let him set up in the basement without any questions or cop calls.

And so, the most expensive apartment in the Narrows was his.

At least, he thought, the distance between the basement and the apartment was short enough that Danny didn’t have to sit in while he was doing his labwork.

Jonathan knew that he didn’t exactly have a strong grasp on the concept of ‘lab safety,’ proven by his built-up immunity to almost every toxic chemical he’d ever encountered, and he doubted that Danny should be around such an environment.

He was back to the apartment quickly, not bothering to hide the self-satisfied smile on his face. Danny is sitting in his armchair, trying to read one of his books. Danny looks up, ready to greet him, when he sees the jug in his hands and pauses.

“Is that..?”

“Synthetic ectoplasm,” Jonathan says proudly, “I found the Penguin’s research notes and decided to recreate it, since you said that you needed it to heal properly. I’m not sure if it’ll work the same as what you usually have, but I hope it’s helpful all the same.”

Danny is standing, now, and looking at Jonathan with a strange look in his eyes. He looks, Jon thinks, like he’s about to cry.

Then Danny is rushing forward and wrapping his arms around Jonathan, his scrawny form shaking.

Jonathan is, for a moment, horrified. Did he do something wrong somehow? Why is this child, who’s so afraid of touch, hugging him?

And then he hears Danny’s voice, and he knows that it was all worth it.

“Thank you,” he’s mumbling, over and over, “thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you so much.”

“Of course,” Jonathan says softly, because what else can he say?

The boy cries in his arms for a while, and Jonathan briefly wonders what his life must have been like before, if a person like him can be seen as a comforting figure.

Then, Danny pours himself a small glass of the synthetic ectoplasm, putting the rest into the small fridge which had come with the apartment, and he settles back down, sitting in the armchair once again.

Jonathan sits opposite of him, and they chat with one another as Danny drinks.

Danny talks to him about the stars and tells him about different spaceships, and Jonathan makes sure to pay attention and ask the boy questions.

He doesn’t miss the way that Danny lights up every time he asks him something about his interests. He’s so passionate, so smart, a trait that he seldom sees outside of his fellow rogues, and Jonathan wants to encourage that.

It’s…nice. Peaceful, almost.

And then the front door flies open, because Jonathan isn’t allowed to have nice things.

“Jon,” a familiar voice rings out, “what the hell?!”

Danny is frozen in place, clearly terrified.

Jonathan heaves a sigh, turning to face the nuisance who’s entered his apartment.

“Eddie,” he drawls, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Edward’s face is red with anger as he invades Jonathan’s apartment.

“Oh, I don’t know! Maybe it’s the fact that you sent a bunch of rogues a cryptic message and then dropped off the face of the earth for two weeks! I was worried, Jon!”

Jonathan hums in acknowledgement.

“I didn’t think it was that cryptic,” he says, picking up a book in order to pointedly ignore the Riddler.

“Oh, of course you didn’t, you straw-stuffed hickory dickory dickhead. I swear, you’re always—” he pauses, finally having noticed Danny sitting opposite of Jonathan, “—who is this?”

“My apprentice,” Jonathan replies, dreading the upcoming headache he was no doubt going to develop from Edward’s company, “he’s helping me hunt down the GiW. His name is Danny.”

Edward gasps dramatically.

“You—an apprentice?! And you’re letting him sit in the old man chair?! You don’t even let me sit in the old man chair,” he wails, draping himself over the headrest of the couch with a flourish, “Jonathan, I thought I knew you!”

“Edward,” Jonathan says, “get out of my apartment.”

“Oh my goodness, this is incredible. You’re becoming the bat!”

“I am not becoming the bat, Eddie, now get out.”

Edward has a shit-eating grin on his face as he waltzes over to Danny. Danny, who seemed terrified when he first appeared, is now looking at him with obvious amusement written all over his face.

“I mean, look at him! The hair, the eyes, the scrappy build. If you put him in one of those traffic light vigilante costumes, he could easily pass as a Robin!”

“I’m not doing this with you today, Eddie.”

“Riddle me this, Jon: I am a treasure hidden inside of a chest. You can break me, or steal me, or give me a rest. I can flutter, or pound, or attack, or drop, but if you don’t have me, you’re certainly fucked. What am I?”

Jonathan pauses for a moment before he groans, dropping his head into his hands.

“Eddie.”

Danny sits still, a confused look on his face as he repeats the riddle silently. Then, his face lights up in delight.

“A heart!”

“Jon, I like this one,” Edward says with a smile, ruffling Danny’s hair, “you are correct! A heart, something that I wasn’t aware that our dear Jonathan had!”

“Eddie, stop.”

“No, no,” Edward says, “I was worried about you, you deserve this. I mean, you even missed girls night! You never miss girls night!”

“Girls night?” Danny asks, absolutely delighted.

“Oh, of course,” Edward says, sprawling over on the couch, dangerously close to just laying in Jonathan’s lap, “we have it once a week. I’m invited because of Selina and Jon’s invited because Harley likes him.”

“And what does girls night entail, exactly?”

“Eddie,” Jonathan groans, “please.”

“Well,” Edward hums, “we usually paint our nails, or watch a movie, or gossip about the other rogues, and occasionally, we tell each other about any ‘encounters’ we have with Batman,” he says, raising his eyebrows up and down.

Danny’s jaw drops.

“Edward, shut up,” Jonathan says, an irritated tone in his voice that wasn’t there before.

“No way,” Danny says, “I thought that Batman, like, hated you guys or something. You mean he actually..?”

“Oh, the Bat is much like a bottle of liquor or a cheap cigarette, in that he was made to be passed around.”

Danny chokes on air.

“Edward Nygma,” Jonathan hisses, getting out of his seat and looming over the man, “get the hell out.”

Edward pales.

“Leaving, leaving!” Edward says, dashing away from Jonathan. He pauses, turning to flash Danny a quick smile.

“Remember Danny, I’m your favorite uncle! Not any of the other rogues, me!”

With that, he leaves, the room falling completely silent.

And, as per usual, that silence does not last.

“You full-named him?” Danny asks gleefully, “and it worked?”

Jonathan just sighs, sitting down on the couch and rubbing at his temples.

“Please, don’t take anything Eddie says seriously. He’s a moron.”

“Dr. Crane, please let me come to girls night with you,” Danny pleads, his eyes sparkling, “I promise I won’t embarrass you.”

Jonathan groans.

“Of course you won’t, Eddie will do it for you.”

“Come on, please?”

“I think we’re a bit busy with the GiW at the moment,” Jonathan snaps. He pauses as he notices the crestfallen expression on Danny’s face.

This boy is going to be the death of him.

“Perhaps, though, when all that is taken care of…”

Danny cheers, grinning wildly, and Jonathan is not at all relieved to see him happy again. Certainly not.

The rest of the day is relatively normal.

Danny works on trying to get information from the GiW database while Crane refines his his fear toxin, both preparing for a raid on the GiW base they located in Gotham.

It was only a temporary base, nothing of note, but there was a chance of discovering more bases through it, and that wasn’t something either of them were willing to give up.

Still, something like this would take time. Rushing would only lead to failure.

…

Late in the night, long after Danny is fast asleep in his room, Jonathan pauses.

The GiW are not the only threat out there. They aren’t the only threat to him or to Danny. Perhaps it could be helpful to reach out to someone with greater resources than himself.

He sends a quick message to Red Hood.

Hopefully, he thinks, everything will go smoothly.

—

[anthroposeen]

yall im listening to tma with my grandma (she's a huge fan so far!) and we just got to the Lets Gouge Out Our Eyes and Make Out scene and she is not picking up what jon is so plainly putting down, and idk how to explain (without spoiling the finale) that they are hopelessly in love. to any queer audience i feel this is clearly understood. but i didnt anticipate the learning hurdles a 60 year old cishet woman would experience when interpreting the most blatantly romantic scene in the series thus far.

(can she not hear the way jon says martin's name? or the way jon tries to take his hand before martin moves it from the desk? i know she could hear the intensity of "together . . . you and me" ,,,and she still thinks that they are platonic normal coworkers that say each other's names with an ache behind each syllable)

[aziuuu]

SEASON 1!!!!

Omw to destroy them woooooo

[jl-otdc]

Post apocalyptic boyfriends