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its fine its cool have a jmart kiss
<3
also as a gif for all your needs
When Jon rests his weary head on Martin's lap, it feels like the clearest of revelations. The greatest of miracles. The ravaged world stands still – asleep or dead, doesn't matter, nothing matters except for the warmth of the cheek pressed to Martin's knee and the tingling of his stubble through the fabric of his jeans. Jon tosses and turns for a bit, looking for a comfortable position, and finally closes his eyes with a content sigh. The eye bags are growing darker with every passing day, just as the lines on his forehead are growing deeper. The world is at its closest to the end, and still Martin has never felt so in love before.
It seems that everything has been leading them to this moment – Jon in Martin's arms, tired but trusting and dear to him, so dear that his heart aches longingly. Martin reproaches himself for such thoughts and still can't help but thinks that he would let the apocalypse happen again, and again, and again, only to see Jon like this, to hold his hand, their fingers intertwined, to kiss the corner of his lips, to cradle him in his arms at night, hiding from the nightmares.
(They're both broken and crushed by fate, wrong and full of mistakes. Martin doesn't know whether they're going against what is destined, or right where they are supposed to be, whether they're going towards their death or a new life. He has no idea. Or better put it this way: he just follows Jon, no matter where he is heading, the way apostles followed Jesus. He believes him and in him without any doubt and is ready to die for him or with him, if it's necessary. This is how sick and twisted they are. At least, in this universe.
Maybe in another universe they weren't such idiots and found each other earlier. Maybe there Martin can kiss Jon every day and not fear lest this kiss should be their last. Maybe there they can just live – happily ever after, like in those fairytales. Maybe. Martin doesn't know. What he knows is that in this universe, in their universe, the sky is constantly watching them, the earth is soaked with sticky fear and blood, and they are the ones to fix all of this.
In this universe they are a tragedy, but Martin wouldn't change a thing in them for the world.)
“Your thoughts are too loud,” Jon grumbles, a quick green flash in his narrowed eyes. Martin bites his lip. He still forgets that his boyfriend knows and hears absolutely everything, and it is both exciting and unnerving.
“Sorry,” he says. That I think so much, that it seems to me that we have no future, that I believe in you like in God.
Jon finds his hand and presses his cheek against the palm. Martin chokes on his breath, as this act is so simple and yet so gentle that he suddenly wants to cry. (He never considered tears to be a sign of weakness, but he needs to be strong for Jon, so he just sniffles and squeezes his eyes, choking a sob rising in his throat.)
“Martin,” Jon calls out quietly, stretching the vowels in an oh-so-familliar way, and kisses the centre of Martin's palm as if kissing holy relics. No one has ever touched Martin like this. “It's alright, love.”
And just as saints on the icons cry with blood and myrrh, Martin is crying as well, soundlessly and ugly. Jon sits beside him and hugs his shoulders worriedly, kissing him on his temple.
“Martin,” he whispers softly, “my sweet, my dear, I'm here. It's alright, for now it's alright.”
Martin knows that nothing is alright actually, and that they can die tomorrow and no one will remember them. But right now Jon is right beside him, warm, soft and loved, and only this truly matters.
“Oh, Jon,” Martin exhales, his voice trembling, and it sounds more like a prayer.
Maybe, he is praying.
At least, his god will stay with him till the very end and will not leave him to die alone.
Reblogged
Post-coma jarchivist makes me sooo insane. Everyone’s like ‘you should’ve stayed dead’ and he’s like ‘can’t argue with you there’. He died for his friends. He chose to become a monster. He came back wrong. He spent six months hovering between life and death and Martin won’t even talk to him. He’s losing his sense of humanity. He hates himself so so much. He can no longer die. He risks a deal with Jared the fucking boneturner to try to save someone who very recently attempted to murder him. He blames himself for Tim’s death. Tim died hating him. With every fresh horror he grows stronger. Someone get this man a vacation and a healthy coping mechanism
Reblogged
I'm gonna preface this by saying I have gotten through the first 3 seasons but...
I think the reason everyone says Mulder and Scully relationship is so queer coded is because their story arc is so similar to so many queer relationships in media
We have two characters who have amazing chemistry, but the director won't let them get together. Everything is completely pLaToNiC for seasons upon seasons, and every little hint of affection is noticed and analyzed by the audience. Some of their dialogue is vague and mysterious but could be read to mean I love you and the audience eats that up
Anyway, the reason MSR is so gay is because their relationship plays out like most gay or potentially gay relationships in media
That and of course they're both queer
They're lying in bed; it's half-dark in the bedroom. Dean thinks he could spend eternity like this: with Castiel's chest pressed against his back (yes, Dean's a little spoon, and he's not ashamed), with Cas' arms wrapped around him, like he's the most precious thing in the whole universe.
In the warmth. Safe.
Dean lounges in Castiel's arms for a bit longer, feeling the angel's breath on his neck. Then he turns to face Cas.
“Why do you love me?” Dean asks. He can't help but asks, because he's Dean Winchester, the I-can't-believe-that-you-love-me guy. He needs to know. He closes his eyes and runs his nose lightly over Cas'. This tenderness is small and intimate at the same time. “There are millions of people in the world and you chose me anyway.”
“Dean,” Castiel mutters, and Dean can feel the angel's warm breath settling on his lips.
“Tell me,” he asks without opening his eyes. “I want to know. Please.”
Castiel is silent for a while, making small circles on Dean's back.
“I remember saving your soul from Hell.” He says eventually. “There, in the darkness and terror of the underworld, I held your soul in my hands like a little kitten. You were covered in blood, and there was little humanity left in your eyes. But you know, your soul was still shining like a little sun, despite the nightmare around you. And you thought you deserved to be there. That selling your soul for your brother was the only right thing to do. You fought back in the beginning when I carried you up to the light. You growled and cussed and scratched, but then you... You went quiet, as if you realized something, and you... You cried. You cried and you curled up in my arms, so small and so... Brave. And I guess I somehow already knew then that we are bonded.”
Dean listens, holding his breath. He still hasn't opened his eyes.
“And when I reassembled you, when I placed each of your freckles in its place, I... I didn't understand feelings yet, didn't know anything about it, but I realize now that even then I hoped deep down inside that I would be able to touch your body again someday.”
Castiel puts his palm on Dean's chest, right where Dean's heart is beating loudly, and kisses his chin softly.
“I love everything about you, Dean. People sometimes say that to love is to ignore the worst aspects of a person and exalt their best. But I... I love you for everything. For all the light in you and all the dark in you - though there's much, much more light in you, even if you try so hard to deny it. You care about your family, you care about the world. You have so much love in you, my little human, and you spend it so generously on everyone but yourself that I can't help but love you for it.”
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the thing that gets me about about barbie is that barbie land wasn’t even purposefully a matriarchy, barbie land came about because of the way little girls were playing with their barbies, it wasn’t created by mattel it was created by the people using the toys, so the fact that the barbies ignored the ken’s and had girls night every night wasn’t because they had some bias against him, it was just an accurate depiction of how kids play with barbies. I had some ken dolls as a child and they were essential to the plot in the sense that of course my barbie has a boyfriend because that represented the world i saw around me, but also he didn’t have any purpose in my dream world because i was only interested in what the girls were doing because they represented me and how i wanted to be, I wanted girls night every night I wanted the girls to be president and austronauts and not because of some inherent feminist idea but because I was a girl and I wasn’t thinking about boys, ken was an accessory. this movie wasn’t made to change the world but it showed a different perspective than what we usually see which I thought was fun. Men don’t have to be the centre of all our stories and its not even because we hate them, sometimes we’re just not thinking about them