I don’t know if writers put queerbait into their shit to fuck with us fans or because they think gay people are comedy fodder or they just genuinely don’t realize that their characters are super fucking gay for each other, but talking to them about it is like walking in on someone in a kitchen while they’re mixing milk, eggs, sugar, etc., together in a bowl, with a cookbook open in front of them turned to a cake recipe; asking if they’re making a cake, and them fervently denying making a cake, even though the ingredients are right fucking there.
And you have no idea if that batter is going into the oven or not. If it’s the writers of Supernatural, they’ll just keep standing there, mixing forever until they eventually just throw the batter out; all the while, Misha Collins is posting cake memes and making cake puns. If it’s Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, they’ll just dump the bowl of batter all over you, telling you that there was never going to be a cake, and that you’re a fucking idiot for wanting one. If it’s the writers of The 100, they bake the cake alright, and it seems like really good cake. But before you can even have a bite, the writers take the cake and chuck it in the garbage.
JK Rowling just hands you an empty platter and says, “this is cake.”