#AUTEUR.

[antimetathesis]

oh i also have a lowkey multi over @paranormalite (:

[elixir]

Videodrome — 1983 Directed by David Cronenberg

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

Does a bad ending ruin a good story? A comprehensive guide to my feelings on the Arcane finale

*Spoilers for Arcane season 2*

So. You just finished the show, and you're staring at the screen in bewilderment. Perhaps you’re even with some friends, shouting words of confusion to the rolling credits. Try as you might, you can barely hear them, because a single thought echoes in your mind and pushes away any other:

“What the fuck just happened?”

If this happened to you, then boy oh boy, we're on the same boat. If it didn't, well, I'm glad for you friend! We might not have been looking for the same things from this story. But this is my post, meaning I will give my opinions (which are objectively correct because this is my blog and I'm the mayor here) on everything that Arcane broke and failed to deliver in its last 2 episodes.

Let's start with characters, and why none of it mattered.

Jinx symbolized the fear we all have of not belonging somewhere, of not having anything to call home or anyone to call a family. Her anger stemmed from wanting to carve a place in a society and a world that had so harshly rejected her (i.e., Vi leaving her). Her existence was a huge middle finger to all that refused to let her live, a fight to build herself something wholeheartedly hers (hence her being an inventor). It was proof that despite the world telling her she was better off dead, she would never stop fighting to prove it wrong.

… and she died.

She died, and that means all the suffering she went through to exist simply amounted to nothing. She left nothing behind either, no trace of a legacy, something that would have left her mark on that world. Isha, the child she raised as a daughter, died. Silco, who she taught love and care to, died. Vander, who she brought back from years of trauma and torture, died. Jinx fought so hard to live, and in the end, it was as if she hadn't lived at all.

Viktor is most certainly the character that made me the angriest, because of how attached I am to the person he is in season 1 (and even the first two acts of season 2 to an extent). Everything that made him so beautifully complex… gone, in about 10 minutes. There was NO reason to make him the surprise ultimate villain. Viktor had always, always been a pacificist. That's why he was so adamant Hextech not be used as a weapon. That's why every time there were chances to test hextech to hurt, he tried to learn how it could heal. Yes, his fusion with the hexcore had changed him; but NOT into a man who didn't care for human life. He wanted to help all the hurt done to his people. People like him, living day to day in the undercity, but who had never gotten a chance to crawl out of their hell. His community was about HEALING, not controlling. The very IDEA that he would accept killing innocents and ally with Noxus, the warmongers, is so ridiculous I could genuinely laugh if it didn't make me so angry. The show needed an easy, black-and-white showdown to conclude a story that would have needed so much more time to tell. And they chose Viktor. Because it was the easy way out. It was the perfect foil to the return of the Golden Boy. And that PISSES me off.

There is this really shitty concept in popular media that the handicapped/chronically ill character is always in the pursuit of being “cured” and that they need outside help to realize “that their imperfections make them perfect”. Fuck. You. As someone with chronic illness and who just finished beating blood cancer, fuck you. That realization, that you're you with every part of your being, even the ‘bad’ ones, cannot come from outside. It's YOU who needs to learn it. It's you who needs to discover how your body and your mind are so much stronger than you previously thought them to be. Not your lover, your family, your friends, or God forbid your able-bodied lab partner. You. Others may tell you as many times as they want your illness doesn't define you; it won't matter until you, yourself, have understood why and have accepted it. Having someone swoop in and “fix” Viktor with a “you don't have to change uwu” is just….. so reductive I can barely find the words for it. That was VIKTOR’S path to find, and not Jayce’s role to find it for him.

Also… Viktor wasn't trying to ‘fix’ his leg; he was trying to find a cure to a deadly illness ravaging his body and no doubt the bodies of many in Zaun. The HELL is the message here??? That he should have just rolled with it because the deadly illness was part of him??? Again, as a cancer survivor. Fuck right off.

Of course, I can't just ignore the hideous get-up they put him in at the end. The man who laughed at Jayce's narcissism….you want me to believe… he would put on that fucking edge lord costume and not DIE of embarrassment??? The design makes no sense from a narrative standpoint either: if his cane has become the sceptre, why is he still keeping it? He doesn't need it anymore to walk, and it's a reminder of his weaknesses as a human that he apparently hated so much. Why the hell does he keep it then? And the hexclaw. Where did that bad boy come out from?? Did you all see a secret extra bonus scene where he steals it from the lab, because I sure didn't. It doesn't add anything to his sets of powers either it’s… it's a fucking laser gun. WHY. And oh sweet god that mask… there would have been so many ways of designing a mask more meaningful than the one from LoL. This one is just. A piece of metal he spawned in embryo. Get it? Because he's made of metal now and also hiding his face means no more humanity? Get it?? Of fucking course you do, because this was the easiest and worst possible way they could have integrated the mask.

Viktor and Jayce had a fantastic dynamic in that Viktor had started out as the loner, the underdog scientist from the slums; while Jayce was the leader figure, living in comfort that made him attachingly naive, his face plastered on posters stroking his ego. The shift is delightfully slow, as Viktor gains in confidence and determination to see his invention through no matter what, while Jayce is confronted with harsher and harsher truths about the world he so blissfully ignored. By Act 2, they have fully switched roles: Viktor is now the leader figure, a symbol of the future for the people, while Jayce is desperately alone, both physically in the hexcore anomaly, and mentally in being the only one who has seen the devastating future. Excellent stuff. What would be a great way to push these parallels further and to show the complexity of these characters, and perhaps how they can balance each other out? Well, Fortiche sure didn't know, now Viktor is the bad bad guy and Jayce is mister hero. Zaun bad, Piltover good. All nuance, gone. Proving that indeed, the man from poverty and inequality turns out evil, while the one from comfort and wealth turns out to be the hero of the story. The whole “giving a warm speech to the bad villain about how you care for them, somehow immediately changing their ways, and dying together to save the world” can work well in shounen anime where friendship is magic, or in the Ben 10 live-action movie (yes, that's the plot, I thought that wasn't deep when I was like 7 years old so imagine now), but not in a show like Arcane. Not with the ethical and moral nuances they have accustomed us to.

And now, let's explore...

Plotholes and incomplete storylines galore.

Ekko’s tree and the contamination of Zaun from Piltover? Fuck that. The huge showdown between the two opposite yet sister cities, like Jinx and Vi, that has been built up for two seasons? Fuck that. And for what?

For the Noxus sequel teaser.

Mel’s plotline about finding her mage origins had NOTHING to do with the main plot. Absolutely nothing. It added 0 twists or intrigues to the story, and served no purpose except making her a deus ex machina for a broken ending. All it was there for was to lay the base for a following show on Noxus and the Black Rose. Time that could have been spent either giving Mel a proper arc related to the plot, or giving all the other rushed character arcs more development.

Finally, and I deeply regret having to say this, but… the end of Vi and Cait's relationship was majorly disappointing to me. As an LGBTQ+ person myself, who feels attraction to women, it was a delight to have such a realistically portrayed w/w relationship on screen. Popular media tends to portray m/m relationships as these doomed, sinful feelings between two repressed guys, while w/w relationships are shown to just be all sunshine and rainbows and teddy bears, because two women together are a cute little accessory to have on screen. It’s non-threatening. But not Cait and Vi; their bond was raw, and rocky, with violent lows and passionate highs in a world that seemed to want to keep them apart. Their separation and the introduction of Maddie showed the reality of a w/w relationship, where fights and cheating ARE things that happen, because they're two adult women with different beliefs, objectives, an trauma. Putting them back together, as if nothing had happened, without giving us anything about how their relationship would have evolved from the breakup? I'd never thought I'd say this, but it's too easy. How about Caitlyn's literal descent into fascism??? We’ll just ignore that? Vi will just ignore that?

As with everything else, this last part of Arcane destroys all the complex emotions that exist between these characters, the resentment, the anger, the frustration, built upon years of different social conditioning… gone. Because they had 2 episodes left to wrap it up, and there was no way to make a coherent and natural transition to them getting back together with that kind of time. And can I just say. The decision to have Vi, symbol of Zaun, go down on Caitlyn, symbol of Piltover and enforcers, in a prison cell that has held innocent Zaunites and represents their complete lack of freedom as individuals by a cop state that oppresses them….. yeah, bad. So bad.

And… the multiverse. Yup, they went the multiverse route. Now, that's not necessarily a bad thing: the concept of multiverses itself is interesting in a vacuum, and quite a few properties have managed to make it work coherently. But it has been terribly overused and bastardized in serialized content in the last few years, for the simple reason that it's extremely practical. Why make a new, original series when you already have worlds and characters that are developed, and come with built-in fans? It's a money-saving hack! Why dedicate yourself to an ending that is meaningful in its finality and wraps the story properly when you can just say “It's just one ending in the multiverse!”. It takes away any accountability to the fans, and leaves the door open to a potential other version of the story! The perfect combo!

…except in practice, it comes off as lazy in a medium where that trope is overly saturated (don't start me on Marvel), and like a cowardly way of escaping from the responsibility of really taking the time to craft a good, solid ending to end your story.

So, with all that said: does it ruin Arcane for me? No, absolutely not, and I don���t think it should be for you either. The intricate artistry and raw talent that went into making the first season (and I would say a majority of the two first acts of season 2) is undeniable, and will stay undeniable. Nothing can touch that story. It will forever be one of my favourite pieces of animated media, which is saying a lot because I'm currently getting my master's degree on that topic.

However, it does give Arcane, as a whole rather than two separate seasons/entities, a very bittersweet feeling that is hard to forget. Thinking of what could have been, just if a little more time had been given to the minds behind the masterpiece you so loved… it's its own form of heartbreak. Academics have even compared it to experiencing a form of death of a loved one, before they ever got to reach their fullest potential and live the life they deserved. It may sound dramatic, but the feelings you feel in this moment, watching the horrible end of a fiction you have so much love for, are real. No one can take those away from you. You're allowed to grieve the loss of something that meant a lot to you.

Tldr; No, Arcane is not a bad series because of its rushed and incomprehensible ending. As they say, it's all about the journey, not the destination, even if that's one of the parts we tend to remember the most. And I don't know about you, but this was one of the best journeys I've ever been on.

[thienvaldram]

The Doctor's Timeline (v14)

v1-v13 were somewhere else

Not Authorial Confirmation of Anything done as speculation only

(Full res version)

[ombre-originelle]

Francesco Hayez - Le baiser (1859)

Sais-tu d’où vient notre vraie puissance ? Du baiser, du seul baiser ! Quand nous savons tendre et abandonner nos lèvres, nous pouvons devenir des reines. Le baiser n’est qu’une préface, pourtant. Mais une préface charmante, plus délicieuse que l’œuvre elle-même, une préface qu’on relit sans cesse, tandis qu’on ne peut pas toujours... relire le livre. Oui, la rencontre des bouches est la plus parfaite, la plus divine sensation qui soit donnée aux humains, la dernière, la suprême limite du bonheur. C’est dans le baiser, dans le seul baiser qu’on croit parfois sentir cette impossible union des âmes que nous poursuivons, cette confusion des cœurs défaillants. Te rappelles-tu les vers de Sully-Prudhomme : Les caresses ne sont que d’inquiets transports, Infructueux essais du pauvre Amour qui tente L’impossible union des âmes par le corps. Une seule caresse donne cette sensation profonde, immatérielle des deux êtres ne faisant plus qu’un, c’est le baiser. Tout le délire violent de la complète possession ne vaut cette frémissante approche des bouches, ce premier contact humide et frais, puis cette attache immobile, éperdue et longue, si longue ! de l’une à l’autre. - Guy de Maupassant. Le baiser

[weirderscience]

> people say a piece of media -isnt- influenced heavily by the author's personal life and biases > reads about the life and biases of the author to confirm or deny this > influence

[notbecauseofvictories]

It's very sad that I can't find a gifset that captures the manic, delightful, stupid, the-show-must-go-on-even-if-he-has-a-concussion!!! energy of The Goes Wrong Show, because as someone who did theater in high school, and has met a couple people who are professional performers.....it might be the most accurate depiction of Theater People I've ever seen.

[kimbureh-but-its-only-the-art]

never hand Fancy Pants a sharpie if you're not ready to bear the consequences. Lucky for him, Trooper Swirly is physically incapable of expressing embarrassment. (click here for more Trooper shenanigans)

[tryagainstarlight]

I wish for something to distract Mirabelle from waking up loop 🍀

Alright! Comfort gang! you know what to do.

[lecineaste]

The 400 Blows by François Truffaut

[antimetathesis]

sry that when oomfs make ocs i want my charas to be the love of their life... this is the 1 thing about me i cant change 😔

[elixir]

Audience Comments from a Test Screening of Cronenberg's 'Videodrome' (1983) Via MUBI

[vintage-tigre]

[fidjiefidjie]

Charles Dumont 🎶 Ta cigarette après l'amour

Hommage à Charles Dumont, chanteur -auteur -compositeur🌹🖤🎈R.I.P 🙏🕊

Charles Dumont 🎶 Mon Dieu

"Ma mère m'a mis au monde mais Édith Piaf m'a mis dans le monde"

Bon Soir

[artyandink]

amoralism | five

Summary: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

TW: So much sexual tension it’s illegal, Agent Dean Winchester (yes, he’s a warning in itself), mention of murder, murder, Knights of Hell but they’re just murderous humans, fantasising, description of injuries, use of firearms, a mole in the FBI, office shenanigans, body image, Azazel, mom being a PIECE OF WORK

Song Inspo: Elastic Heart by Sia

SERIES MASTERLIST

auteurism

Cain knew that they’d find him. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t go out without a fight.

The convoy of black SUVs pulled up to Cain’s warehouse where he kept his farm tools, their headlights cutting through the darkness. Doors opened, and figures in dark suits emerged, their movements swift and precise. Cain recognized them instantly—members of the Knights’ elite guard, trained killers, every one of them. They fanned out, securing the perimeter with practiced efficiency. Cain’s heart sank as he realized just how many of them there were. He was outnumbered, outgunned, and outmatched.

But he had something they didn’t—resolve. He had nothing left to lose, and that made him dangerous.

From one of the SUVs, a tall figure stepped out, his presence commanding immediate attention. Asmodeus, a Prince of Hell. His dark hair was slicked back, and his eyes glinted with a malevolent intelligence. He moved with the confidence of a predator, his every step deliberate and controlled.

Cain stepped out of the shadows, his eyes locking onto Asmodeus. The two men stood in silence for a moment, the air thick with tension. Finally, Asmodeus spoke, his voice smooth and cold.

“Cain. It’s been a long time.”

“Not long enough,” Cain replied, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. “I should have known you’d come for me eventually.”

“You left us, Cain. You betrayed your brothers. Did you really think we would let that go unpunished?”

“I left because you murdered my family,” Cain said, his voice rising. “Abel was my brother. Collette was my wife. You took them from me.”

Asmodeus smirked, a cruel glint in his eyes. “They were collateral damage. Abel was a threat to our operations, and Collette… well, she was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. You know how it works.”

“Collateral damage?” Cain’s hands clenched into fists. “They were everything to me.”

“And now you have nothing,” Asmodeus said, taking a step closer. “Just like you will be after tonight.”

Cain felt the weight of his knife in his hand, the familiar feel of the weapon both comforting and damning. He didn’t want to fight. He had spent so long trying to put this life behind him. But he knew that there was no other way. Asmodeus wouldn’t stop until one of them was dead.

Cain took a deep breath, his mind racing as he prepared for what was to come. He knew he couldn’t take on Asmodeus and his men head-on. He would have to be smart, use the environment to his advantage. The warehouse was a maze of rusting machinery and abandoned crates, a perfect place for a guerrilla fight.

Asmodeus watched him, his eyes calculating. “You don’t have to do this, Cain. You can still come back. The Knights of Hell would welcome you with open arms. You were one of our best.”

“I’ll never be one of you again,” Cain said, his voice firm. “I won’t be part of your twisted world.”

“So be it,” Asmodeus said, his voice icy. He raised his hand, and the men around him drew their weapons. “Kill him.”

Cain moved quickly, ducking behind a stack of crates as gunfire erupted around him. The air was filled with the deafening roar of bullets and the acrid smell of gunpowder. He knew he couldn’t stay in one place for long. He had to keep moving, stay one step ahead.

He darted through the maze of the warehouse, using the shadows and the cover to his advantage. He took down two of Asmodeus’s men with quick, precise strikes, their bodies crumpling to the ground. But for every man he took down, two more seemed to appear. He was getting tired, his movements slowing, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

As he rounded a corner, he came face to face with Asmodeus. The leader of the Knights was waiting for him, his eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction.

“You can’t win, Cain,” Asmodeus said, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re outnumbered, outmatched. Just give up.”

“Never,” Cain said, his grip tightening on his knife.

Asmodeus smiled, a cold, predatory smile. “Then you’ll die.”

They clashed, the force of their blows sending shockwaves through the air. Cain fought with everything he had, his movements fueled by a desperate determination. But Asmodeus was a skilled fighter, his strikes precise and deadly. They fought through the warehouse, their battle a blur of motion and violence.

Cain could feel his strength waning, his vision starting to blur. He knew he couldn’t keep this up much longer. But he had to try. For Abel. For Collette.

Asmodeus landed a brutal blow to Cain’s ribs, sending him crashing to the ground. Cain struggled to get up, his body screaming in pain. Asmodeus loomed over him, his eyes cold and unfeeling.

“This is the end, Cain,” Asmodeus said, raising his weapon.

Cain looked up at him, his vision swimming. He thought of Abel, of Collette, and a fierce resolve filled him. He wouldn’t let their deaths be in vain.

With a final surge of strength, he lunged at Asmodeus, his knife aimed at the leader’s heart. But Asmodeus was faster. He sidestepped the attack and drove his own blade into Cain’s chest.

Cain gasped, the pain blinding. He fell to the ground, his vision going dark. He could hear Asmodeus’s voice, distant and fading.

“You were a fool, Cain. You should have stayed with us.”

Cain’s last thought was of his brother and his wife, their faces smiling at him. He hoped that, in some way, he had avenged them. As the darkness claimed him, he felt a sense of peace. He had fought for them. That was all that mattered.

Asmodeus stood over Cain’s body, his expression unreadable. He looked down at the man who had once been his brother-in-arms, then turned and walked away.

The Knights of Hell had claimed another victim.

You just wanted a normal Tuesday. That’s all. But then came the barrage of questions.

“Hey, uh, Agent?” Sam’s voice and keen eyes caught your attention as he sipped his coffee. Damn smirk; he knew what he was doing. “What’s the deal with you and my brother?”

Agent Ruby Edwards made a grunt of agreement amid a bite of stale office cake, the other agents humming and saying ‘amen’ in agreement. She swallowed it, huffing out a breath. “I’ve been waiting for someone to ask that- I mean, can you guys get any more sexually frustrated?”

“Sorry, sister, but they’re right.” Agent Lafitte shrugged, looking away as he sipped his coffee. “Tension can be cut with a butter knife.”

“I thought you had my back.” You scoffed, setting your coffee down.

“I made an oath, to tell the truth, the full truth and nothing but the truth-”

“That’s court, not a break room.” You snorted, shaking your head and folding your arms.

“I know that tone of voice.” Agent Meg Masters and Agent Cas Novak walked in, Meg’s smirk on full force. “We’re talking about the hotter Winchester’s thing with our golden girl, right?” She smirked at Sam. “I only say hotter cause he ain’t taken.”

“I’m married, Meg.” Sam huffed like a chastising parent.

“That’s never stopped me before.” A swift wink and a saunter over to the coffee machine had Sam laughing under his breath. Typical Meg. “Anyway, we’re not kidding. Whenever you and Dean are in the same room we’re prepared to run in case you two start rippin’ clothes off.”

The statement made everyone in the room choke on coffee - and in Cas’ sake his own saliva - coughing loudly.

“Not quite so boldly, Agent Masters.” Cas cleared his throat, while Meg looked unfazed.

“I’ll be as bold as I like, Cassie baby.” She winked.

“How do you manage to stay out of HR’s radar?” You spluttered, thanking God you’d kept your mouth shut otherwise you'd have coffee down your shirt.

"Easy." Meg shrugged. "No violations in front of a representative."

"Smart." We all turned to the door to see Nick. And we exchanged looks. Just yesterday Director Singer had gotten wind of how he tried to use the two trainees to get information and was put on indefinite leave. "Avoiding authority, how respectable."

"You shouldn't be here." Sam spoke up, more concerned than angry while Benny slipped off to grab security.

You put your muffin down. Even though you wanted one moment of peace to relax and eat it, you were denied that too.

First Dean's cock, now this.

"Sam, we were friends!" Nick chuckled nervously, knowing that security was coming. "We worked that one case, come on. You guys need me on this cartel case. Come on, you know me! I'm one of your best!"

Security barged in, which had him speaking faster. "You guys benched me, and I need to be out in the field. You don't know what it's like." His arms were seized as he began to be dragged away. "To be sidelined. You don't! None of you know! None of you-"

The door shut behind him.

You had been working the cartel case with Sam, when you’d gotten a phone call by the hospital. Nick had been admitted after being caught in the crossfire of a bomb blast that hit the Thurgood Marshal Courthouse, and you’d immediately asked Sam to give you a ride. He agreed, and you were hurrying through the halls, reaching the reception.

“Nick Santiago.” You told the front desk receptionist, who nodded and checked the system.

“Relation?” She asked, probably just to check.

“Cousin.” You replied, and then she told you the room number, which was 105. At breakneck speed, you made it into 105 to find Nick.

Oh, Nick.

He was all bandaged up, tainted with angry red burns and on an IV drip. His eyes blearily landed on you, and he smiled faintly. “Don’t look so upset.” Nick’s voice was raspy and hoarse, clearly from the burns covering the expanse of his neck.

“Nicky, what did they do to you?” You whispered, immediately rushing to sit beside him and smoothing back his hair, seeing the burns and wanting nothing more than to soothe them. He was your older cousin - but he was more a brother - and it killed you to see him like this.

“Attack on the President.” He coughed, clearing his throat, and you helped him drink some water. “I was part of the recommended personnel as he was givin’ a speech. Found the bomb, got him out, but I-I couldn’t get myself.”

You instantly felt anger boil. Not cause of the attack on the President, but the blast felt personal. “Do you know who did this?”

“Some guy called Azazel.” Nick wheezed, and you helped him drink more water, a small grunt of relief coming from him. “It was a suicide bomber. Willing. They yelled- they yelled ‘for Azazel’ and then pressed the damn switch. So I shielded the President.”

You rubbed your cheek, feeling the pressure build up in your mind. First Nick Garrison. Now Nick Santiago. You got news that Cain - or William Abernathy - was dead as well.

Less pressing problems being Dean Winchester and your family dinner that was now postponed because of Nick.

“You were so brave.” You whispered, sighing and closing your eyes for a moment, willing your brain not to burst or collapse.

“Agent?” Your attention was diverted by Sam, who had his eyes on the TV. “Announcement from President.”

All eyes were on the TV as President Shirley stepped out onto a podium, and had Dean and Director Singer as part of his security detail, everyone keeping an eye out for possible assassins. You assumed that they’d done a bomb sweep. President Chuck Shirley was a rather squirrel-esque politician, with a beard and a liking for suits that made him look broader than he actually was.

‘Before I get into the gruesome details, I’d like to thank a man who couldn’t make it today.’ Shirley spoke into the mic, clearing his throat. ‘Detective Sergeant Nick Santiago of the NYPD. An incredible cop who was part of my security detail and saved me from the brunt force of the suicide bombing. He’s now in hospital, but I’d like to give him all my gratitude, because if not, I would not be on this podium.’

“Yeah, I better be getting my thanks.” Nick chuckled hoarsely, his dry humour present despite being on a truckload of painkillers. “Throw in a Medal of Honour while you’re at it.”

‘Now, onto the suicide bombing at the Marshall building in New York.’ Shirley suddenly turned serious, the crowd going silent after a round of applause for Nick- as if that would fix anything. ‘It was a senseless act of violence, and we’re receiving rapid details from the FBI on the situation. I advise everyone not to panic, as we have America’s best people on the job and they will not stop until the organiser of this is behind bars.’

You wanted to throw the remote at the TV, but you refrained. You knew the name. Azazel. When John Winchester was your CO, he’d been heading the case with you and Dean. It had come up briefly. In a voicemail, a nobody ever figured out what it meant. Now you knew Azazel was a person. You looked to Sam, who gestured to talk outside, so you assured Nick and obliged, moving outside with him.

“This is all Biblical stuff.” Sam sighed, sweeping a hand over his mouth. “Satanic cultists, maybe?”

You shook your head with a sigh. “Not likely. I saw Abaddon’s footage. These are just pure maniacs taking inspiration off the damn Bible. Azazel’s a Prince of Hell.”

“So, what are we even looking at? Pure homicidal and organised stuff?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow and folding his arms.

“Probably.” You nodded. “Or there’s some grand scheme in motion. I don’t know, but we’re gonna have to think of some plausible way. I’ll contact Dean after his detail gig.” The name got a snicker out of Sam, and you raised an eyebrow. “What? What is it?”

“Sorry, just can’t get the… images… out of my head.” He laughed, which had you swatting his shoulder and him letting out a mock gasp. “Hey, blows hurt!”

“You shut up. You saw nothing.”

“Oh, I saw a lot more than nothing.”

“What do you want in return for your silence?”

“Advice.” He shot back immediately, rubbing his chin. “Y’know how Jess and I, second kid on the way, right?”

You nodded, folding your arms and nodding. “Yeah, Sam, I know. We’re all real happy for you, so what’s this about?”

“I wanna take her out on a date. But a special one, not just a normal movie night.” He shrugged, thinking about how this was incredibly unprofessional but not really caring because hey, his wife’s hormones were on the line. Sam didn’t want to risk that at any cost.

“Beach date.” You shrugged, smiling. “At night. Set up some fairy lights, some champagne. Jess would like that.”

“Is that your dream date or something?” Sam chuckled, surprised at how quick that came.

You shook your head with a smile. “Nah. My perfect date is stay in, cook with said significant other and watch a rom com while eating the food. Never done it, but always wanted to try it.”

“Romantic.” He smirked, raising his eyebrow. “And here I thought you were too focused on your work.”

“Just cause I play by the rule book doesn’t make me a workaholic.” You snorted, but the way he just laughed and walked back into the hospital room had you slumping and muttering Spanish curses to yourself.

Damn.

“Carajo!”

“A direct attack on the President.” Director Singer muttered, pacing while the organised crime team were crowded in the briefing room with him. “Our security was airtight that day. Airtight. Someone knew the weaknesses of the structure. Someone did, in order to send that bomber in.”

Another few bits of pressure. Finding out who sent the bomber. Who Azazel was. Dean staring at you from the other side of the room with barely disguised heat in his eyes.

And yet, your fingers drummed on the table, feeling almost dizzy in this damn room. The baggage that came with this job. But you’d taken it time and time again.

Why not now?

“We’ll find Azazel, sir.” You spoke up, your mind running wild with unwanted and very much wanted thoughts. “We already have witness accounts being reported back to the office, we'll scan through those and see if anyone can identify an anomaly or an unknown face."

"I've got tech squad hijacking the footage and all texting slash social media communications prior, on the time and after the attack." Dean added, clicking his pen but not taking notes.

"Good." Director Singer nodded, a little pacified. "I need this Azazel in the Supermax with Abaddon stat."

Your cousin Anita's quinceañera. What could possibly go wrong?

"Please tell me the food's spicy." Dean chuckled in your ear, fixing the lapels of his suit. He was your plus one since Lucia wouldn't shut up about wanting to see him again. Therefore, you had to bring him.

You let out a small sigh. "Not why we're here."

"I know, it's a quinceañera, but a guy can indulge." At the moment he stopped speaking, Nick, now healed enough to walk, came hobbling in with a stick to keep him up. Everyone cheered and clapped, while Nick's fiancée, Emilia, who he met in the force, wasn't far behind.

"There he is!" You heard from multiple bellowing men, along with laughter. Your dad, Ernesto and Anita's dad all sounded like they were from one boombox when with each other.

"Empanadas, sir, ma'am?" A server came by with a tray, and while you refused, Dean had a look over.

"Don't mind if I do." Dean chuckled, picking up one and taking a bite, groaning in appreciation. "Spanish food and Indian food are the best. Mm, yeah." He was speaking through a mouthful, and you were fighting the urge to smile.

Instead, you rolled your eyes.

Nick hobbled over, extending his hand to Dean. "Dean, nice to see you again, pal."

"Back atcha, Nick." Dean shook Nick’s hand with a smile, and Nick didn’t miss the way Dean’s eyes travelled to you and your dress for the occasion; a blue dress with thin straps, hair in an elegant bun and the hem of the dress stopping at your mid-thigh.

Ah. So he has a crush on his baby cousin. Nick would have some fun with that.

“Hey, sweetie.” Rick smiled as he came up to you, hugging you and then giving Nick a pat on the shoulder. “Nicky.” Then he saw Dean, and his eyebrow raised to his hairline. “Who’s this young fellow?”

You looked between Dean and your dad, clearing your throat. “Dad, this is Dean Winchester. I work with him at the Bureau.”

Dean immediately jumped into action upon hearing that - damn, he’s your dad - and put his hand out with the most charming and unassuming grin he could muster. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

“You too. Name’s Richard, but call me Rick.” There was a wide smile on Rick’s face. Good. He seemed to have a good impression of Dean.

“Oh, Ricardo!” Eleanor trilled, calling Rick by his dubbed Spanish name since they were ‘in Spanish company and he needed to blend in’. “Come on, Cassie’s already started her meal. You too.” She took Rick’s wrist, and with an apologetic look to Dean, you followed, only to find Cassie eating… a salad?

“This is her meal?” You asked, frowning slightly, just testing the waters before you jumped to conclusions.

“Yes, it is.” Eleanor nodded, which had you swallowing, looking down at the minimal plate of salad. “Problems?”

“Why wouldn’t there be?” You folded your arms, scoffing and gesturing to the plate. Cassie was hunched over it, diligently eating the insufficient food with a meek look on her face. Is this what happens when you weren’t there? “That’s not food. That’s barely sustenance.”

Eleanor waved you off, and Dean picked up on your anger from across the room, looking over with a confused expression but seeing that there was about to be a showdown between two angry Latina women. He looked to Nick with a raised eyebrow and flick of his eyes. Wanna intervene?

Nick shook his head subtly in response with widened eyes. Not until it’s absolutely necessary. They scare the crap out of me.

Dean nodded in response, seeing the truth in Nick’s ‘words’. Touché.

“Mom.” You painfully kept your voice level. Not wanting to raise your voice at your own mother, because even if she was a nasty piece of work - in your eyes - she still carried you for nine months. “This is unreasonable.”

Understatement of the Year award goes to you. Hopefully, also the Daughter and Sister of the Year awards too.

“What I do in my household is none of your business, niña!” Eleanor snapped back, her fingers too for emphasis. You felt familiar anger bubbling, but you told it not today.

You scoffed at the notion, though, rubbing Cassie’s shoulder. “You’re practically starving her!” Still shoving down unadulterated fury. “And pressuring her to have kids. Hell, I haven’t. I’m not even married.”

“You should be!” She responded quickly. Does this lady not get the point? “You should be married, bringing honour to your family.”

“You’re delusional.”

"I'm realistic." Your mom snapped back, and, with a chuckle, Dean decided to step in, while Nick saluted him (he could lose a very brave soldier today). Dean took your shoulders, effectively stopping you from lunging at your mom.

“Hey, ladies, relax.” He smiled, waving a dismissive hand. “We can deal with this later. There’s drinks, empanadas, flan. And, uh, let the kid eat what she wants, eh?” Dean gestured to Cassie, and out of slight shame at her diet restriction being noticed by someone outside of her family, Eleanor nodded and let Cassie take what she wanted, the latter shooting a thankful look to you and Dean.

You stared at Eleanor, and you raised a trembling finger. Dean half had to brace himself to tackle you to the floor and crumple the suit Sam picked out for him. “Treat her like your daughter. Not your project. At least rectify that mistake that you made with me.”

Dean was about to pat you on the shoulder, impressed that you’d kept your cool, but then he saw a man. Tall, wearing a white suit and leading an entourage of people in black suits and dangerous pistols.

“Moderate them, Abraxas.” He muttered to one of them, and as everyone screamed and got down, you and Dean took out your assigned handguns, flicking off the safety.

“Abraxas is a Knight.” You whispered to Dean, and he got the hint. You held them up, aiming them at the man in white and a Southern accent even though about six were aimed at you.

“Calm down, you two, I only bear a message.” The mysterious man spoke in a drawl that made you want to blow it out. Any way to get out this damn stress. “From Azazel. Leave this case alone, fellas. It’s far out of your… jurisdiction.”

“Y’know,” Dean spoke up, “when a member of the mafia tells us to jump, we don’t ask how high. We just ice their ass.”

“This is no ordinary mafia.” The dude chuckled, shaking his head. “This… is Hell. It’ll do you good not to meddle.”

“And who are you to order us around?” You asked, gun still held up as a warning.

“Asmodeus, dear.” ‘Asmodeus’ grinned, then gestured to his soldiers. “Fall back. But…” He looked straight at you, “this is my last warning. Next time, I’ll tell ‘em to open fire-”

“I think you’re mistaken.” You cut in coldly. “I’m talking. You’re not in control, I am. And I’m ordering you to get your hands behind your goddamn back.” Then they were gone, and you and Dean exchanged a look.

Direct threat. But it was majorly empty.

Dean stepped out of the shower with a sigh, lodged in a hotel room in Beverly Hills as there was a lead on Azazel that you and him needed to follow. He had a towel around his waist, hung low on his hips while he towelled the last droplets of water out of his hair. And then he looked to you, and you were staring.

Not necessarily at the droplets of water running down the planes of muscle decorating his torso, no, but his face. With an angry stare that he knew all too well where it came from. And Dean could tell that you’d been staring at the door of the shower, waiting for him to come out.

So he threw down the towel on the desk chair, turning to you and throwing up his arms. “Alright. Start goin’ off at me.”

“Why did you stop me?!” You burst out, scoffing and running an agitated hand through your hair, pacing. Yep, there it is. Dean nodded, slightly proud of his ability to sense what was going through your head. “I was literally about to take her head off.”

“At your cousin’s fifteenth birthday.” He reasoned with his hands on his hips. You tried to keep your eyes off the way his biceps rippled as he did, or the very obvious trail of his v-line down beneath his towel. “If anything, I did you a solid.”

“You’re… infuriating!” You shook your hands out in front of you, still pacing while Dean’s eyebrow raised higher and higher on his forehead, running the risk of disappearing above his hairline. “You’re not making any of this stress better-”

That made him bristle. “How am I doing that?!”

You scoffed, gripping at the roots of your hair. “You are every reason why this is happening. I value my job. Except we got caught making out in your office by your brother- a miracle he didn’t tell HR. Not to mention Cain got murdered, I had to watch Abbadon disembowel someone’s corpse on video, fuckin’ POTUS got attacked and my cousin was the one who saved that squirrelly piece of shit, this dude called Azazel is out there and now there’s an Asmodeus and an Abraxas, and I’m sick and tired of all the-”

You were cut off abruptly by Dean’s hand gripping your wrist, spinning you and yanking you into his chest. That hand gripping your hip, the other tangling in your hair and angling your head back.

His lips crashing down onto yours.

NEXT UP:

“The mole.” Dean panted, holding his hand to his side. “Probably compromised our position. You need to go get ‘em, sweetheart.” He grunted, unable to move much. You were torn between staying and leaving, but he chuckled. “I can see the cogs. Go. Now.”

Your job’s duty was right there, with the rapidly retreating figure of Asmodeus. But it was also with protecting your colleague, so you took off your jacket, gesturing for Sam to move in on Asmodeus and begin chase, while Benny, Cas, Meg and Ruby headed to secure a perimeter.

Rolling up your sleeves, you took a look at Dean, gently removing his hands and checking for his signs of consciousness. “You’re gonna have to keep talking, ok?” You paused, and then chuckled. “As if you had any trouble with that before.”

The comment got a laugh and a shake of Dean’s head, huffing. “Smartass.” He coughed slightly. “I’ll fuck that attitude out of you when m’healed up.”

“Trust me, counting on it.” You grinned.

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This tends to make the author more invested in writing their own series.

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I’d really appreciate it if y’all do that and the same goes for any other writer on here. Reblogs are worth a lot more than likes on here!

[matt0044]

Something that I feel is essential viewing for SMMR of RWBY.

Can I get a boost, @foulfirerebel @tumblingxelian @citadelofmythoughts @sir-adamus?