#travel agent mall

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

ON AN AUGUST night in 2003, a young woman who went by the name Paulina sank into the sofa of her modest, rented apartment, opened up her laptop, and began talking about sex with a man she’d recently met in a Yahoo chat group. His name was Stephen Bolen. His first communications had been terse, but he soon warmed to Paulina. It didn’t take long for both of them to begin to open up.

Paulina had told Bolen she lived in the Atlanta area, that she had a three-year-old daughter, that her daughter’s father was no longer in the picture. Soon, she was sharing more intimate details: what it was like growing up a skinny white girl in a rough neighborhood outside of D.C.; how her dad, a Marine, had died by suicide two weeks before she was born; how her mom had been emotionally and physically abusive, and had never really shown her love. How she’d had a sexual relationship with her stepfather.

Paulina would put her daughter to bed and then she and Bolen would chat throughout the night, over Yahoo and sometimes on the phone. The back-and-forth could feel like dating, but with an added element of danger and risk: Both Paulina and Bolen knew they were tiptoeing up to a line to see if they trusted each other enough to cross it. It could take a while to figure that out.

Eventually, Bolen asked Paulina to send pictures of her daughter, and she agreed to do so, though the ones she’d shared were chaste — the little girl clothed and her face turned away from the camera or obscured behind an untamable halo of blond curls. After seeing the pictures, Bolen asked to meet. While a lot of the men Paulina had encountered in chatrooms like “Sex With Younger” just wanted to trade images and videos of children, to expand their illicit collections, Bolen was a “traveler,” someone looking to act upon his obsessions.

On Sept. 17, just as they’d arranged, Paulina sat on a bench outside Perimeter Mall with a stroller parked in front of her, scanning the parking lot nervously. Part of her hoped Bolen wouldn’t show. When he did, she could see he was handsome, a preppy guy in a pink polo shirt and khakis. “Paulina?” he asked eagerly. She nodded. As he smiled and pulled back the blanket draped across the stroller, he found himself surrounded, handcuffs slipped around his wrists.

“Paulina” watched his face fall, his confusion giving way to distress as FBI agents took him into custody. It was her first undercover arrest. It would be the first of many.

[long read]

IF ONE WANTED to hide in plain sight, one could do no better than the tidy, suburban neighborhood on the outskirts of St. Louis, where FBI Special Agent Nikki Badolato now resides. The well-tended, two-story homes are so pleasantly indistinct that I could hardly tell you what hers looks like, even if it were safe for me to do so, which it is not. Suffice to say that Midwestern comfort and conformity unspool around every gently winding curve. Here Badolato has raised her two children, a daughter who is now in college and a son who is a junior at a local high school. When planning a neighborhood scavenger hunt or tending the community garden, Badolato does not often mention her many years as head of the Child Exploitation Task Force, a joint effort between the feds and local law enforcement that targets some of the country’s most heinous crimes. Open a cabinet in her kitchen, however, and a government-issued Glock 42 can be found stowed away between the vitamins and mixing bowls.

On a sunny morning this past October, Badolato sat at her dining room table, scrapbooks and albums spread out before her on the dark wood. There was the acceptance letter she’d received from the bureau the spring of her senior year of high school, after a representative had shown up to administer a test in the typewriting room. “I chose to wear a red dress and red heels,” she says of her first day as an FBI mail clerk, two weeks after her 18th birthday. “I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. I guess maybe I was trying to go in bold?” She pauses at a picture of herself on the gun range at Quantico almost 10 years later, her shoulders squared and her caramel hair pulled back into a ponytail as she fires off rounds. By then, she’d married a man she met just after high school, had a little girl, completed college at night, and been accepted into agent training in the heady days after 9/11. She’d seen her first dead body only a few weeks into the job, after the pursuit of a bank robber ended with a shootout in a Walmart. When Badolato got to the scene, the body was still warm, and the perp’s head was resting on a bag of cookies. “It was surreal,” she says. “How many times have you been in a Walmart and walked down Aisle 4, not really expecting there to be a dead person with his head lying on a bag of Chips Ahoy?”

Badolato wasn’t deterred. She felt like the bureau saved her, plucked her out of a shitty home life, and gave her prospects and purpose. As a new agent, she was intent on proving herself worthy. “My training agent told me, ‘You know, Nikki, it’s a marathon, not a sprint,’ ” she says. “I was like, ‘That’s ridiculous. I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean.’ ” She turned a few pages to show a picture of the 391 kilos of cocaine and 140 pounds of meth she’d recovered on a single raid during a stint with a cartel squad, then pointed out another in which she poses with a five-year-old child she’d rescued, the little girl’s hair cut short because the kidnapper had wanted her to look like a boy. But the keepsake she really wants to find is the card that Bolen’s wife had pressed into her hand at his sentencing, the one with the picture of their children — a blond girl of about three years and a tiny baby — and the words “These are the faces of the children you protect each day.” Bolen’s wife had been the only one she’d ever encountered who had lobbied for her husband to receive the maximum sentence. Some wives accused the FBI of planting evidence inside computers. Most seemed intent on clinging to their delusions. (Attempts to reach Bolen for comment were unsuccessful.)

“Right now some little girl is being dropped off in the parking lot of a motel. There are four girls holed up in a hotel next to a McDonald’s. It is happening all the time.”

Which, Badolato has come to understand, is the way it goes with child trafficking and sexual abuse. She had invited me into her home — had agreed to speak on the record about her decades-long career working undercover — because when it comes to the crimes she’s spent her career fighting, she has had enough of the delusions people are under. She’s had enough of the way movies like Sound of Freedom both glamorize and trivialize the work she and her colleagues do, enough of the idea that swashbuckling white men burst through doors and rescue trafficked children with a Bible in one hand and a firearm in the other, enough of conspiracy theories about Hollywood and Washington that detract from the real root causes of why children are trafficked and abused. “Human trafficking is not the movie Pretty Woman — the girl doesn’t get the guy — and it’s not the movie Taken, where people are kidnapped in a foreign country and sold on the black market, or shipped in a container across the world,” one of the detectives who worked on Badolato’s task force tells me. “I’m not saying that doesn’t ever happen, but it’s not what we’re seeing.”

What they are seeing is a lot more insidious and a lot more homegrown. A report released in 2018 by the State Department ranked the U.S. as one of the worst countries in the world for human trafficking. While the Department of Justice has estimated that between 14,500 and 17,500 foreign nationals are trafficked into this country every year, this number pales in comparison to the number of American minors who are trafficked within it: A 2009 Department of Health and Human Services review of human trafficking into and within the United States found that roughly 199,000 American minors are sexually exploited each year, and that between 244,000 and 325,000 American youths are considered to be at risk of being trafficked specifically in the sex industry. Heartbreakingly, many of these children are victimized not by strangers who’ve abducted them from mall parking lots but rather by people they know and trust: Studies have found that as much as 44 percent of victims are trafficked by family members, most often parents (and not infrequently parents who were trafficked themselves). Between 2011 and 2020, there was an 84 percent increase in the number of people prosecuted for a federal human-trafficking offense. Of the defendants charged in 2020, 92 percent were male, 63 percent were white, 66 percent had no prior convictions, and 95 percent were U.S. citizens.

Badolato started her career as an FBI agent in some of the earliest days that children could be bought, sold, and traded online. As the internet-porn industry mushroomed, its most lucrative branch turned out to be that of child sexual-abuse materials (the term “child pornography” is no longer used by those in the field, as it implies consent). And as demand for these images increased, so did the abuse that led to their creation.

In 2003, just a few months after Badolato graduated from Quantico, a Crimes Against Children squad was formed in the Atlanta office where she’d been stationed. By then, the FBI was starting to get a handle on the extent of the problem — if not exactly what to do about it. At a weeklong training in Baltimore, Badolato was given a tour of the darkest underbelly of fetish chat groups and then instructed to figure out how to infiltrate. “Everyone was a little nervous,” she explains of the directive. “It was a process, a direction that was new.” Agents were told that they would need to come up with a “persona” and a “story,” and that they would likely have to provide images of children to “prove” they had a minor on offer. They were also told that they could use images of their own children, if they were comfortable doing so (the FBI no longer endorses this policy).

Badolato’s unit with a kidnapping victim after her recovery in 2011. A Health and Human Services review found that roughly 199,000 American minors are sexually exploited each year, and that as many as 325,000 American youths are considered to be at risk of being trafficked in the sex industry. 

Badolato developed “Paulina” based on her understanding that any persona would need to share most of her own backstory and traits. “That’s the only way you can really do undercover work,” Badolato says. “People can tell the sincerity in what you’re saying, so there has to be a level of genuineness, but then you just add this criminal element to it.” Most of the things Badolato had told Bolen were true: where she was from, her family background, the monstrousness of her mother, a woman who she says would pass out cigarettes and beers to Badolato’s 13-year-old friends in a state of manic permissiveness one minute and fly into a violent rage about a piece of lint on the floor the next. (Badolato’s mother declined to comment for this article, but a childhood friend corroborated Badolato’s account.) It was true that growing up in an unstable home with a string of stepdads, she had never really felt loved, true that she had divorced her first husband, true that she was raising their three-year-old daughter on her own. The only thing that wasn’t true was her tale of being molested, her initiation into the “lifestyle” — to use the chatroom parlance — that Paulina said she now wanted for her daughter. As Badolato had familiarized herself with the language and behaviors of the chatrooms, she’d honed that added criminal element, imagining what psychological conditions might believably lead a parent to traffic their own child and how those conditions could be grafted onto her real life story. She already had a history of abuse; it was not hard to extrapolate to a fictional stepfather who had seemed to provide a gentle counterpoint, showing her love and making her feel special when no one else had, even if others couldn’t understand. From there, it was easy to convince the chatroom participants that she shared their belief — or justification — that most people had it all wrong and that “child love” was natural, and could even be beneficial for the child.

Badolato estimates that she has arrested more than a thousand people; not one of those arrests has failed to end in a conviction. She didn’t know until she was in the thick of it that most agents refuse this sort of work, that most can’t even pretend to forge a relationship with someone looking to victimize a child. But she could. “Paulina,” she points out, is not a name she chose at random; it’s similar to her own mother’s name. Badolato says she had grown up learning to compartmentalize for the sake of her own emotional survival. She’d perfected the art of engaging with someone whose actions she couldn’t stand. Doing this work had felt like a way of taking her trauma and putting it to good use, of leveraging her past as a safeguard against her daughter’s and other children’s futures.

Of course there were moments that were hard to take — when suspects mentioned which brands of lubrication were best or whether or not a parent might hold a child down. There were times when she knew that even talking about these things was a turn-on for these men, times when the conversations made her nauseous, times when she’d lie awake all night or play back a recording and think, “Holy shit, I listened to this? I said these words?” But she kept faith in the mission. She reminded herself that the pictures she sent of her daughter — the beautiful, little girl sleeping in the next room — did not represent a real child on offer. “I was thinking, ‘If I send this obscure picture of my daughter and he acts on it, then he’s never going to harm my daughter or anybody else’s,’ ” Badolato says now. “I was presenting a fake girl to save a real one.”

KYLE PARKS SEEMED to think he could get away with anything. He seemed to think, for instance, that he could get away with running a brothel, a 1-900 sex line, and a housecleaning company out of the same Columbus, Ohio, office park and under the same oxy-moronic name, XXXREC and Hygiene Services. He seemed to think he could invite one young woman and five teenagers (four of whom he had only just met) on a road trip to Florida, but instead deposit them in two rooms of a Red Roof Inn in St. Charles, Missouri. When they piled out of the minivan — high on the drugs he’d given them — saw snow falling and asked to be taken home, he thought he could make a little money off them first. All it took was a few ads in Backpage — the Craigslist of sex advertisements — and men began showing up.

Even after things started going south for him, Parks couldn’t fathom that he wouldn’t prevail. When someone alerted law enforcement as to what was going on, Parks (who, according to legal documents, had been out getting food when the police showed up) burst into the precinct the next morning looking to bail his “friend” out. When questioned about the 88 condoms found in the back of his van, he said they had been prescribed to him by a doctor. After being taken into custody, he protested that he was being set up. Most people would have cut their losses and pleaded guilty, but not Parks. He thought he could take his case to court and win.

And it wasn’t impossible to imagine that he might. Badolato knew that even the tightest cases could go sideways when put before 12 people who would inevitably enter the courtroom with a cinematic sense of what sex trafficking was supposed to be. In fact, it wasn’t just the jury that Badolato knew she would need to convince; it was also often the victims themselves, young people who had internalized the exact same misconceptions about trafficking that the jury had — along with any number of other judgments society had thrown their way — and who were loath to submit themselves to a courtroom full of more judgment.

Of all of Parks’ underage victims, the hardest to pin down had been a 17-year-old we’ll call Sierra. Once she returned to Columbus, Sierra seemed to basically disappear. Calls to her mother’s number went unanswered. When one of the other victims managed to track her down in December 2016, a month before the case was to go to trial, Sierra agreed to meet Badolato on a blighted Columbus block with a string of dilapidated homes, climbing into the bureau’s Chevy Malibu with matted hair, dirty clothes, and a wary expression.

By this time, Badolato had remarried, had a second child, relocated to St. Louis, and taken over as head of the Child Exploitation Joint Task Force, which had become one of the most productive FBI teams in the country in terms of arrests and convictions. Meanwhile, as the internet streamlined the process of buying or selling any good or service, trafficking had become one of the fastest-growing criminal enterprises, estimated by the Department of Homeland Security to bring in $150 billion globally and considered by many criminals to be a superior business model: If caught, the sentences were often lighter than those for peddling drugs; and unlike crack or heroin, the same product could be “used” again and again and again.

Badolato taught her team of 20 how to do the online undercover work she’d trailblazed in Atlanta, tracking the movements of child-abuse material through the online underworld and then prosecuting those who distributed and produced it. Her new squad also initiated her in the type of undercover work it had been doing before her arrival: covert sting operations in which a detective would pose as a john, set up a “date,” and then meet said date in a hotel room fitted out with hidden recording devices while, in the next room over, a taskforce team listened in, waiting for the code word that would let them know that enough evidence had been gathered for them to swoop in and shut the op down. This had proved a very effective technique for getting convictions, but Badolato’s arrival coincided with both a growing sentiment that consensual sex work had been over-criminalized and an increasing awareness that what looked like consensual sex work might actually be trafficking, no matter what the “date” professed in that hotel room.

Badolato has a tendency to say aloud the things she notices — about you, about others, about situations — observations that are not at all unkind but are perceptive enough that most people would keep them to themselves. She points out when someone deflects, and she has a sharp eye for defense mechanisms. She once casually mentions my tendency to mirror other people’s vocal and speech patterns. She is not shy about bringing up the emotional and physical abuse she says she experienced as a child, and she is quick to comment when someone is making excuses for someone else’s behavior. It was soon clear to her colleagues that Badolato brought a trauma-informed mentality to the work, a tendency to look beyond what someone was doing and instead try to parse why they were doing it. And she was relentless: While some squads did one or two trafficking sting ops a year, her team was doing four or five a month. In addition to the hotel rooms reserved for the john and the team, they would have a social worker set up in a third room, ready to offer services to the victims. They would have lookouts stationed to see who might be dropping the date off. If that date was found to be underage, the case was automatically classified as trafficking. But even if they weren’t, Badolato’s team was primed to get to the bottom of what was going on, to figure out whether they were being manipulated or coerced, and by whom.

“If I could put my hands on a pimp, that’s what I wanted,” says Jeff Roediger, a St. Louis county detective who was the “john” for many of Badolato’s sting ops and who makes clear that the team was not interested in policing voluntary sex work. “When I had those types of cases, and I knew they were being sincere with me, I wouldn’t book them,” he says. “It was all about talking to the girls. It’s not like in the movies where they come running to you. You know, ‘Thanks, you rescued me!’ It’s not like that. A lot of them try to bullshit you at first — ‘That’s my boyfriend, blah blah blah’— but once I talked to them for a while, they would become more forthcoming.”

Badolato’s unit was one of the first in the country to take on this “progressive and proactive” approach, as she puts it. Soon, St. Louis looked like a sex-trafficking capital — not because it was actually trafficking more victims than other cities but because the task force was so aggressively pursuing those cases, and classifying them as what they were. “I mean, I was working in vice for years,” says Roediger. “Back in the day, it was always ‘prostitution,’ ‘prostitution,’ ‘prostitution’ — until we started to figure it out a little bit, until we started digging a little deeper.”

Once they did, the task force found that roughly a third of the sex-trafficking victims they recovered were under the age of 17 — and they began to see the reach of the problem. Kids were being trafficked out of every hotel in the area, from the seediest roach motel to the fanciest Ritz-Carlton. They were being trafficked every time of day and by every socioeconomic group (“Before you go do brain surgery, you got to bust a nut real quick,” one underage victim told Badolato of her high-end clientele). Some of the victims were girls. Some were boys. Some were LGBTQ kids who’d been kicked out of their homes. Some were straight cis kids from the suburbs. “I tell people that I could probably name two or three [kids] in the school district they live in that have been trafficked,” Roediger says. “And they just can’t comprehend it.”

“If I can be perfectly honest, I truly don’t believe that the FBI realizes what they put their agents through doing that kind of work.”

There were kids who were about to age out of foster care (a particularly at-risk group, according to those who work in the field), kids who’d run away, kids who were being sold to pay their family’s rent, or to buy their family member’s drugs. There were kids who’d sit in the hotel room, backpack at their feet, dutifully working on their math homework while agents and social workers tried to figure out what to do with them. Was their home life safe enough that they could be returned to it? Would a residential program take them? Of all the imperfect options, which would make them least likely to be trafficked again?

The one common denominator was this: They all had a vulnerability that could be preyed upon. They all lacked a safety net — societal, familial, emotional, or some combination thereof — that might have broken their fall. Mostly, their stories weren’t dramatic; they were typical American tales of neglect, of abuse doled out casually, of a steady stream of letdowns by people and institutions who should have propped them up. Badolato found that she had a knack for getting them to talk about this, for getting them to open up to her. She didn’t look like an FBI agent — at least not what they’d imagined. She spoke softly, but with authority and a slight vocal fry. And she thinks that, at some level, they could probably sense that she’d once been a vulnerable kid too, that with only a few slightly different twists of fate, she could have become a trafficking victim herself — and that she knew it. “My trauma looks different than theirs, but it’s trauma nonetheless,” she says.

“And I think victims can feel that.”

AS THE TASK force learned more about the psychology of victims, they also learned more about the ways in which their vulnerability was being manipulated, and how those ways were evolving. It was known in law-enforcement circles that once a skilled trafficker set his or her sights on a vulnerable young person, they could be groomed in a matter of days: one day for an introduction, a day or two to make the victim feel special and cared for, and then the day when a “friend” comes over and he needs to be “cared for” as well. Sometimes violence was involved at that point; sometimes drug use was involved throughout. But emotional manipulation was the key element, which is why it was so easy for grooming to move online, for groomers to take advantage of the false senses of connection fostered on social media.

Of the victims who are not being trafficked by family members, the majority are being groomed in this way. “I would say that probably 75 percent of the initial grooming is happening online now,” says Cindy Malott, the director of U.S. Safe Programs at Crisis Aid International. “Recruiters used to have to work really, really hard to get access to kids, but now they’re practically sitting in a child’s bedroom. And kids put everything out there — what’s going on in their life, who they’re angry about, parents are going through a divorce, their insecurities about their body, about themselves, what they do, how they spend their time — so it’s like a gift to these predators.”

The ways to manipulate are legion: Get a kid to send a compromising photo, and she’ll do almost anything to keep you from sending it out to all her Facebook friends; find out a gay kid is still closeted, and the threat of outing him gives you incredible power. And predators aren’t just on Instagram and Snapchat; they lurk in the chat functions of Roblox, Minecraft, Grand Theft Auto. “They’re everywhere,” says Malott. “People think, ‘Oh, I just got to keep my kids away from those porn sites, those horrible places.’ Well, no, predators are gonna go where the kids are.” And once there, they’re going to zero in on the kids who are most vulnerable.

That’s what got to Badolato. In her online undercover work, she’d plumbed the psychology of pedophiles, but now she wasn’t just dealing with suspects; she was spending time with victims and seeing the same vulnerabilities in them that the traffickers had seen: the instability or poverty, the addiction or mental health issues or abuse that had been normalized in their lives long before the traffickers entered them. Sometimes Badolato couldn’t help but feel that all the conspiracies and misconceptions weren’t just a distraction from the truth of trafficking but rather some sick attempt to let society off the hook for trying to solve the much more intractable problems at trafficking’s root.

“People would rather stick their head in the sand than address the real problem, because then you have to face and talk about the societal issues,” she says. “With a movie like Sound of Freedom, it’s like, ‘Oh, this is in a jungle in South America. This isn’t actually in [my neighborhood].’ You know? It’s easier for people to ignore the problem than deal with the issues on a societal level.”

BY THE TIME Badolato was sitting in that Chevy with Sierra, on that blighted Ohio block, she knew that the rate of revictimization for children who are trafficked was as high as 95 percent, according to FBI reports. She knew that 90 percent of sex-trafficking victims have a history of child sexual abuse, that more than 75 percent had lived in foster or adoptive care. She knew that she could arrest one perpetrator, and another would pop up in his place, that she could send one pimp to prison and the same victims would show up to stings some short time later, run by a different crew. She knew that testifying was a way for Sierra to psychologically push back against what had happened to her, and she was right: After the young woman took the stand on Jan. 10, 2017, Parks was found guilty and sentenced to 25 years; while testifying, Sierra had seemed to transform, to channel and embody a sort of empowerment. But Badolato also knew that once her testimony was over, Sierra would go back to that blighted block. She wondered how long that empowerment would last.

She also wondered about her own trajectory, her own ability to continue doing this work. The youngest trafficking victim she’d ever recovered from a sting op — an 11-year-old who’d been recruited through Facebook — had been returned to her family in a house that had no heat (Badolato had used an FBI slush fund to get it turned back on). One did not become immune to the human misery of such things. They compounded, became harder and harder to compartmentalize. “It’s just a combination of all of those years — and it’s all awful,” she says. “But there are particular moments that, for one reason or another, you can’t get out of your head. I just don’t think it’s in human nature to be exposed to that for so long and it not start changing who you are.”

One night, at a restaurant near where Badolato lives, I ask her whether she thinks children are being sex-trafficked right then, in that very moment, in just the mile or two radius around us. She’s quiet for a long time, her gaze fixed downward at her glass of wine. By the time she looks up, her whole body is trembling. “It’s happening right now,” she says quietly. “Right now some little girl is being dropped off in the parking lot of a motel. There are three or four girls holed up in a hotel next to a McDonald’s. It’s not only when we think about it. It is happening all the time. And if I’m just sitting here, present, having dinner, not thinking about it, that means I’m ignoring a problem that I know is real.” Tears stream down her face.

“Many images have never left my mind,” she says. “It’s really hard to have worked your entire life in law enforcement with a lot of child crime victims and be at the end of your career looking at the situation where you realize you can only do so much to make a difference.” Badolato wipes back the tears with the palm of her hand and shudders her head, as if she can shake the thoughts away. “Damn,” she says. “Fuck. I shouldn’t be the one crying. I’m not the victim of this.” The veteran agent steels herself and repeats, “I am not the victim.”

THE HOUSE WHERE Korina Ellison says she was first sex-trafficked no longer exists. It once stood on an unassuming lot in a residential suburb of Portland, Oregon, that stumbles down to the banks of the Willamette River. Now, Ellison can’t quite bring the house’s features to mind. She was so young back then, maybe four or five. There is so much she’s repressed, or only pieced together after the fact. As a child, she wouldn’t have known what she now believes to be true: that her grandmother scored her drugs by offering up her youngest daughter, Ellison’s mom. Or that, once her mom was hooked on the meth cooked by the man who’d lived in that house, she’d known just what to do to get more. But Ellison does remember being inside the house, unclothed. She does remember how the man would touch her.

Her life unspooled from there. Her father died of a heroin overdose when she was six. Her mom lost custody for good. She bounced around foster care, then various residential institutions, then whatever shelter she could find. In the story she tells of how she was sex-trafficked again in her teenage years, there’s no moment of drama, no kidnapping, no clear coercion. There was just a random, rainy afternoon when she had no place to go and was alone in the street and a car pulled up. The man inside took her home with him, fed her, introduced her to his girlfriend. They took her shopping. They let her stay. When men showed up at the home to have sex with the woman, Ellison was invited to watch, but she wasn’t expected to participate — not at first, anyway. According to a statement Ellison later made to law enforcement, she just “realized that people aren’t going to take care of [me] for free.” Soon, the woman was posting Ellison’s services on Backpage — $150 for half an hour, $200 for a full one — and the trio were traveling the Midwest. For a long time, it didn’t even occur to Ellison, then 16, to leave. “Where would I have gone?” she asks. “I’d been missing for over a year. Nobody was looking for me.” When the man told her to call him “Daddy,” she complied.

That was more than a decade ago, near the beginning of Badolato’s tenure as head of the Child Exploitation Task Force. But by 2021, leaving it had seemed a necessary form of self-preservation. One of her last cases had gone well legally: The perp, a retired police officer from California who had produced child sex-abuse materials of three sisters in Manila, had pleaded guilty to such charges when he learned that Badolato had brought the girls to the states to testify against him. But the experience had been emotionally devastating for Badolato, who had wanted the sisters, then 16, 13, and 11, to have memories of the U.S that consisted of more than reliving their trauma in a courtroom. She took them shopping and to the zoo, invited them to her home to have dinner with her own family, saw them slowly start to open up and laugh and behave like the children they were. Then she’d had to put them on a flight back to Manila, back to the aunt who had allowed the man to abuse them and who Badolato had been unable to extradite. Fortunately, she says, their estranged father ended up intervening and taking custody of the girls, but that feeling of futility in the fight lingered.

“I stayed for a little bit longer after that trial, but it really was when I should have been able to look myself in the mirror and say, ‘Nikki, you’re done,’ ” Badolato had told me in St. Louis. “It became clear that I had been doing it too long.” She’d spend the last couple of years working national security, a position without the immediacy of child-exploitation work, but also without the heartache. “If I can be perfectly honest, I truly don’t believe that the FBI realizes what they put their agents through doing that kind of work. I just don’t,” she says.

And yet, here Badolato was in Portland, leading Ellison, now 30, up to her hotel room, telling her about all the announcements she’d heard in the Atlanta airport instructing travelers to be on the lookout for sex trafficking. “It’s like white noise in the background,” she says as Ellison settles into the sofa. “It’s a false sense of doing something to help.”

“Here’s the thing: Nobody knows what to look for,” Ellison agrees.

“And what about the victims who are in that airport, who are walking around and listening?” Badolato asks.

“I wouldn’t have even heard that announcement,” Ellison replies. “Because I didn’t feel like a victim. It goes a lot, lot, lot deeper than anybody realizes.”

That’s what she and Badolato both understand. That’s why they started talking eight months ago. Of all the teenage victims Badolato’s task force recovered, Ellison is one of the few who she knows has permanently extricated herself from being prostituted, though it took years for her to get to that point, years for her to see that what happened to her was not her fault but rather a fault in the system, a fault in many systems over the course of generations. Neither she nor Badolato can fix that.

Yet they can’t help feeling like there’s something they can fix — or at least try to. Under the umbrella of an organization she’s founded called Innocent Warriors, Badolato created a program for schools, instructing educators on the signs that might indicate a student is being trafficked and teaching kids how to avoid getting groomed online, which, she believes, is not about stranger danger but rather an awareness of subtle manipulation. Ellison has been working with trafficked youth through nonprofits like Children of the Night, the residential program where Badolato’s team sent her when she was 17. Together, they’ve been talking about having Ellison help train undercovers who are learning to do trafficking sting ops. They’ve also discussed starting a mentorship program in which children who are still being sex-trafficked are paired with young adults like Ellison who once were, providing a way for victims to begin to envision a different future for themselves and a path toward it even while being prostituted. Such a program may be retroactive rather than proactive, but it would capitalize on Badolato’s and Ellison’s experience and expertise — and it could help in the healing of mentors and mentees alike.

Badolato had traveled to Portland for the two to talk face-to-face about how the program might work. “You have to understand how they’ve been traumatized because sometimes, to a child, relating doesn’t sound like you’re relating. It sounds like you’re pointing out all the bad things in them,” says Ellison from the driver’s seat of her Nissan Pathfinder as she drives Badolato around to show her certain landmarks of her past after she’d left Children of the Night: the bridge she’d slept under for over a year after a boyfriend had gotten her hooked on heroin, the blocks downtown where she’d bounced between a children’s shelter and the needle exchange. It had taken a prison sentence for her to finally break her addiction and commit to a different kind of life, though that evolution had had less to do with not having access to drugs than with seeing her own mother cycle in and out of the same facility — like looking into her own future and witnessing how bleak it would be. Maybe, she thought, she could provide the inverse of that for kids in Innocent Warriors. Maybe she could reverse engineer her own escape.

“I just want to make it very clear that if you were a victim, you are a victim, and just to not have any shame in that,” she tells Badolato as they drive through Portland’s misty streets.

“What I anticipate and hope is that then we get survivors that are like, ‘They get it,’ ” Badolato replies. “And that it opens up doors to help, for people to recognize that there are people who get what’s really going on.”

“It took a really long time for me,” Ellison says of coming to terms with her own victimhood.

“It’s like reworking your thought process about some of those things,” Badolato agrees. “And that’s hard, and it happens slowly over time, and it looks different for everybody.”

Ellison grips the wheel tightly. “The truth does matter. It does. The truth is the fucking truth. And it’s been empowering to be able to talk about it because that’s another way that I’ve realized, like, ‘Man, I was a victim,’ is re-going over all of this. Because when it happens so many times, you do blame yourself. It’s a lot easier to just continue to live in a lie than believe that you were lied to.”

Still, Ellison and Badolato agree that the impressionability that makes children vulnerable is also what makes them open to guidance and mentorship if a relationship of trust can be established. “What do you think a parent does? They groom you. I’d been waiting to be guided and groomed,” Ellison says.

It’s been instructive to see that potential from another perspective, as a mother doing the guiding. As the afternoon wears on, Ellison stops to pick up her then-15-month-old son, who was being watched by a social-worker friend. She buckles the little boy into his car seat, ruffles his hair, and passes him a bottle. He grins widely and begins removing his shoes and socks, throwing them gleefully onto the floor of the car and then kicking his tiny feet in time with the music as Ellison glances back at him and smiles. “Kids are so perfect,” she says.

The last stop of the day is the large plot of land where the drug dealer’s house once stood. Now, it’s been turned into a playground, with brightly-colored jungle gyms, a covered picnic area, and a large lawn, where a couple leisurely walks their dog. Ellison and Badolato climb down from the car and stand at the park’s edge, as Ellison’s son toddles around the grass, oblivious to what had transpired in that very spot. There is some form of poetic justice in the land being earmarked for children’s enjoyment, but neither woman voices it. Mostly, they’re quiet. Night is falling, the air growing cooler, and the gray sky fading into dusk.

“You would never think a park could hide what it used to be,” Ellison says at last. And yet it did. Driving off with Badolato at her side and her son babbling happily in the back seat, Ellison glances in the rear-view mirror, but only for a moment. Badolato keeps her eyes fixed only on the road ahead.

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Could I request either “You’re always worrying.”“Yes, I am, because you're you.” or 'Their partner doing something and their clumsiness striking in a way that leads to good spirited laughter between the two.' with Steve please? Whichever you prefer 💚

I went with the first one, I hope that’s okay! 🧡

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

“You’re late.”

Your voice was a little mournful, your pout hiding your concern, your worry, but your eyes gave you away. Steve’s brows knitted together as his hand cupped your elbow, bringing you into him as you both began the walk to the pizza joint on the upper level.

His hand on your skin was soothing, a medicine you didn’t know you needed. It travelled up until his arm draped around your neck, the smell of Steve making your shoulders drop, tension forgotten, if only just.

Steve laughed a little, soft and not at all unkind, but you frowned anyway. “By like, three minutes, babe.” He didn’t say sorry - he didn’t really need to - but his voice was gentle enough that you heard the apology stitched between each word.

He tugged you into him, uncaring of the busy mall, the passersby, the onlookers. His lips found your temple, a kiss stamped there that was all adoration and love. “You’re always worrying, huh?”

You scoffed but leaned into him anyway, seeking out more of his mouth, lips lifting in the corners when his nose nuzzled at your hairline. “Well, yes, I am,” you mumbled, shy at being caught out, adored that he could read you so well. “Because you’re you.”

Steve snorted at that too, leading you through the evening crowds, the mall busier than usual as Hawkins residents made their way to the cinema, the new laser tag rooms that had opened up last week.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You tried really hard not to roll your eyes but Steve must’ve seen, pinching at your side with his free hand and making you squeak, batting him away. He grinned, letting you escape his hold only to catch your hand and pull you back into him. Your fingers twined with his, nose wrinkling as you glared up at him, playful, for the most part.

“You have a baseball with nails embedded in it in your trunk,” you reminded him, “plus another under your bed.”

Steve grinned, nonplussed and he bumped his shoulder with yours as the pizza counter came into view. “Hey now, lower your voice, there could be lingering Russians.”

You really were glaring now, because you truly didn’t know if he was joking or not. To be truthful, Steve wasn’t sure either. But he was still smirking, enjoying your pouty mood, knowing that once he got you alone, he could kiss it right out of you.

“You’re not funny,” you told him, joining the queue and pretending to look at the overhead menus, bright signs and flashing pizza cartoons making your eyes ache. Steve knew you’d get your usual, a slice of chicken and sweetcorn, like always. “You probably are on some CIA watchlist, you know.” You prodded at his ribs, eyes narrowing when Steve laughed. “A whole team of agents listening in to you and the kids dragon game meetings. That’s why I worry.”

“Oh my god, you’re like, totally in love with me, huh?” Steve was still smiling but his grin had turned softer, jokes turning lovesick. He bent a little at the knees, nose nuzzling your cheek despite the people around you. He didn’t mind a little PDA. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, the corner of your mouth, doting when you allowed one to your lips. “S’real cute, babe.”

You let him kiss you, once, twice, cheeks hot when the woman in front of you huffed but Steve just wrapped his arm around you again, bringing your back to his front as you both waited your turn in line.

“You’re so annoying,” you told him, head resting against his chest all the same. You didn’t sound annoyed at all, in fact, from over your shoulder, Steve could see your smile.

“Tell me about it,” Steve hummed, more than happy to be at the receiving end of your worrying, especially if you let him dote on you like this to make up for it.

[vodika-vibes]

Hey, congrats! For your 650+ follower event, could you do a Modern AU where the Reader is a popular music artist/dancer. But she's like a really down to earth person that if you met her randomly on the street you wouldn't guess that she was famous (she personally hates the fame). Well one day, she starts getting texts from an unknown number and also starts getting letters as well(she basically has a creepy fan stalker). Her agent then decideds to hire Hunter to be readers bodyguard. Then when they start getting close to one another Hunter realizes that the reason he's protecting reader may not be because it's his job...

Maybe you could also have Hunter and Reader show off their tattos?(Reader has a tattoo of vines and flowers that trails down her arm, music notes on her thigh and a big butterfly on her back)

Could it also be fairly long, if you can.

Sorry if it's a big ask, I have a LOT of ideas.

Fields Of Gold

Summary: You’ve been singing and dancing for your whole life, it’s what makes you happy. You never expected, or even wanted, fame or fortune for it. Parental pressure, mixed with getting scouted by an agent, meant you got both despite your desires. And then the stalker comes out of the woodwork, and you start to think, maybe you made a mistake.

Pairing: TBB Hunter x F!Reader

Word Count: 4085

Warnings: Stalking, murder, animal death

Prompt: Modern AU

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly @clonethirstingisreal

A/N: So, I made the choice to leave this without a definitive ending, because I like the way that it feels. I hope you like it anyway. The reader is a pop star who goes by the stage name Galactic Mint (it's a MAC lipstick color). And the title was the song that I was listening to when I started writing it.

You’ve always loved to dance.

Your mother likes to tell the story of when you were an infant, and how you would wiggle along with the music before you could even walk and talk. She’d tell the story of you learning to dance as a toddler and all you could do was bounce along with the music, rather than proper dancing.

It only made sense, then, that as soon as you were old enough your mother signed you up for baby ballet.

As you grew, and became more coordinated, more styles opened up to you. From tap dancing to hip-hop, from belly dancing to salsa dancing. You learned them all and you loved them all.

You never wanted fame or fortune. You just wanted to dance. To be able to feel the music down to your bones and move along with it.

But when you were 14 and your mother suggested voice lessons to go along with your dance lessons, you couldn’t help but agree. Especially when she said that she wouldn’t pay for any more dance lessons if you didn’t also take singing lessons.

So you did.

And you were good at it.

You were the only one surprised when an Agent reached out to you.

And you were the only one surprised when you were offered a record deal.

At barely 15 years old, you released a hit pop song called Gumball, and you were launched into stardom. You had someone who styled your hair, someone else who did your make-up. You had a stylist who picked out your everyday clothes, and another one who designed your concert outfits. You had private tutors for every subject.

You had an agent, a lawyer, an accountant, a team of bodyguards, a personal trainer, and a personal nutritionist. 

You didn’t have any friends, though.

It was a very lonely childhood.

You couldn’t go to the arcade to play video games, you couldn’t go to the mall, you couldn’t go to the movies. All you could do was live in the mansion your parents picked out, the mansion you paid for, and travel in the trailer that your parents also picked out.

And, privately, you hated it.

Hated the concerts, hated the singing, hated having people pawing at your hair and your body. Hated them telling you that you couldn’t have pizza or ice cream because it might ruin your body.

You hated the skin-tight leotards that they dressed you in for concerts. And you hated the caked-on pastel make-up as well as the synthetic wigs you had to wear for public appearances. 

You hated the tight clothes your stylist dressed you in, the mini-skirts and short-shorts and heels—

The day you turned 18, you fired all of them. 

Your manager, your nutritionist, your stylist, your hairdresser, your make-up artist. All of them.

You had your lawyer kick your family out of your home, had the courts order your family to pay you back for all of the money they took from you since you were a teenager, and then, when they tried to fight back, you completely disowned them and got a restraining order against them.

At the age of 18, you completely reinvented yourself. 

Oh, sure, you still made pop music, but you moved away from the pastel preteen look that everyone had been shoving you into and into a more adult style. 

And you thrived.

You sang songs of love, of loss, of betrayal. Your concerts, where you used to have to focus on singing, gained more and more energy as suddenly you were able to dance to your music.

Suddenly you were happy, and your fans could tell.

And they loved it.

However, there is a downside to being so famous.

The first letter arrives shortly after your 22nd birthday. 

Now, at this point, you’ve been a popstar for seven years, you’re no stranger to letters and gifts from your fans. You’ve even received creepy letters before, letters from adult men who thought that you were singing to them. 

But there is something different about this letter. Different enough that you bring it to your manager, who hands it over to your security team. 

And then the second letter arrives a week later. And a third one two days after that.

All of them are surrendered to your security team before you even read them.

The fourth letter arrives the very next day, attached to a box. The envelope is empty, but inside the box is a sheep’s head.

You don’t see it, luckily.

Your manager does though, and he puts his foot down. He calls the police, who call in the feds, and after one of the feds points out that this is a clear escalation, and that you’re in danger, your manager starts looking for a personal guard for you.

And then the phone calls start.

Verbal threats against you, against the people who work with you, against the concert venues coming up, against the people who attend the concerts—

You’re sitting in your kitchen, your head buried in your hands as you stare at a list of concert venues that have active threats against them. Active threats against them because of you, when your manager invites himself into your home.

“You’re not thinking of canceling the concert dates, are you?” He asks from the doorway to the kitchen.

“Don’t we have a responsibility to my fans?” You counter without lifting your head, “If I don’t cancel and someone gets hurt, won’t that be on me?”

“What do the feds say?” He asks.

“That I’m not responsible for the actions of other people.” You say, “That they’ve put word out to the venues, and that they’ll have security all over the place if I decide to go through with it.”

“Well, it sounds like they know what they’re doing.”

You sigh and drop your hands to the table, “Why are you here, Miles?”

“I found you a personal bodyguard,” Miles says proudly.

“I have a personal bodyguard,” You counter, “They’re all over the place. I can’t walk five feet without tripping over one of them.”

“You’re right, but they’re stretched thin. So this,” Miles gestures to the side and a man steps into the kitchen, “is Hunter.”

You lean back in your seat and stare at him. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, with shoulder-length brown hair and a skull tattooed over half his face. “Nice to meet you.” You greet politely.

“Ma’am,” He nods once and then steps further into the room, and you watch as he scans the kitchen, “Your manager has hired my team to be your guard.” He says focusing his intense gaze on your face, “Two of my brothers, Tech and Wrecker, are coordinating with the Federal Agents, while my other two brothers, Echo and Crosshair, are working with the guards who already work here. We’re hoping to close any holes that might remain.”

“Well, I appreciate that.” You reply.

Hunter nods once, “May I ask you some questions?”

“If you like.”

Hunter nods and crosses the room to sit across from you, pulling a notebook from the pocket of his jacket as he sits, “How long have you known the men and women of your security team?”

“Since I was 14.”

“Your parents hired them?”

“No. My agent.”

Hunter nods, “According to the profile I have on you, you’ve disowned your parents? Could they have something to do with this?”

“I guess it’s possible, but you’d have to ask the agents about that.”

Hunter makes a note in his notebook, “Any ex-boyfriends or girlfriends I should know about?”

“None.”

“Friends?”

“I’ve been a pop star since I was 14 years old, Hunter. I didn’t go to school or have friends. I just worked.”

“Sounds lonely.”

You just shrug.

“Your Manager gave me a layout of your home. I noticed that all of the glass is both bulletproof and mirrored?”

“That’s right.”

“May I ask why?”

“I got tired of people taking pictures of me making breakfast.”

“People take pictures often?”

“Popstar.”

“You got any names?”

“I don’t, my security might.”

“Alright.” He closes the notebook, “Can I get a tour?”

“Yeah, of course.” You stand and gesture vaguely, “This is the kitchen, there’s a door there,” You point to a hidden door, “Leads to the basement.”

“Anything in there?”

“Not really. Some shelves, my winter clothes, some of my old costumes and wigs, but that’s it.” You pause, “There’s no other entrance into the basement either.”

Hunter nods and makes a note on the map he pulled out of his notebook, “Alright, can I go down there?”

“Yeah.” You open the door to the basement, “I’m not sure what you’re looking for. The Agents already did all of this.”

“Just checking behind them, that’s all.”

You watch as Hunter goes down into the basement, and walks around for a moment, making notes on the map in his hands, before he heads back up.

“This place is single-level, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Can I see the bedroom?”

“Yeah, follow me.” You lead him through the house, pointing out different places, until you push open the bedroom door. “This is my room. The windows are the same as the ones in the kitchen.”

Hunter nods, “Less in here, too.”

“I didn’t feel comfortable sleeping in a room covered in windows.” You explain.

“Smart.” Hunter walks the room and makes some notes on the map, before heading back to you, “So, all things considered, your home—” He stops when there’s the sound of glass splintering. 

Your gaze darts to one of your windows, which is now covered in spiderweb-like cracks that indicate that someone tried to break it. Hunter ushers you out of the bedroom, practically tackling you into the hallway, and he presses you against the wall as he fishes his phone out of his pocket and presses it against his ear.

You listen as Hunter rattles off some information and then hangs up the phone.

“We’re going to stay put right here, just until my brothers can make sure that no one else is going to take a pot-shot at us,” Hunter says reassuringly. 

“I just don’t understand why anyone would want to hurt me,” You admit as you curl your trembling hands around the hem of your shirt, “I’ve never hurt anyone.”

“You can’t attach logic to someone like this.” Hunter explains, “He’s crazy, that’s all there is to it.” His phone rings and he answers it before the first ring ends, “Yeah?”

Hunter listens to the other man on the phone, and then he sighs.

“Of course he did. Don’t worry about it, keep your eyes open. We’re going to have to move the primary.” He glances at you, “I’ll take care of it.” He hangs up and slides his phone into his jacket pocket.

“What?”

“My brothers and the federal agents found a snipe rifle on the hill.”

“Sniper?” You ask in disbelief.

“Afraid so. Is there anyplace else you can go?”

“No. Nowhere.”

Hunter stares at you for long enough that you shift uncomfortably, “Alright. I think I have an idea.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. But you kind of stand out a little.”

You blink at him and then look down at yourself, “I mean, I can change into other clothes?”

“Do that. Carefully.” 

You nod and slip back into the bedroom, and then into your closet. Immediately you slip out of the uncomfortable clothes that your stylist encourages you to wear, and you tug the wig off your head. 

You change your clothes into a pair of loose jeans and a teeshirt covered in cats. Then you pull the pins out of your hair as well as remove the braid, allowing your hair to tumble around your shoulders. 

The last thing you do is pull a sweatshirt from your college over your shirt, hiding the intricate tattoos that decorate your arm. And you grab a matching hat and hurry back into the hallway, “Okay. How’s this?”

Hunter blinks at you, twice, “Aren’t you supposed to be a redhead?”

“Wig.”

“Huh. You know, if I hadn’t seen you go inside, I wouldn’t have recognized you at all.”

“The clothing that I prefer doesn’t go along with the whole popstar thing.” You admit sheepishly, “And the wig is because I was told that my natural color is boring.”

“Well, it’s a good thing that you’re so different from the you that the rest of the world knows. That means my plan might work.” Hunter motions for you to follow him, “Your manager said that I could park my car in your garage.”

“Well, yeah. It’s not like I can drive.”

“Right. Well, here’s my plan. You and I are going to go and hide out on the Marauder.”

“What’s the Marauder?”

“A ship. My ship. It’s not large, but you’ll be safe.” Hunter replies as he leads you into the garage, “Put the hat on. You’ll be sitting in the front seat.”

“Uhm…”

“Nervous.”

“Someone is trying to kill me.”

Hunter smiles at you and lightly presses his hand against your shoulder, “I’m not going to let that happen.”

Somehow, amazingly, you believe him.

Two weeks later, Hunter is sitting at the helm of the Marauder, a frown pulling down his lips. 

The situation has gotten worse. Far worse.

The stalker has turned into a murderer, having killed three women who look like the pop star. Well, how the public sees her, at least.

He hasn’t told her yet.

By this point, he knows her well enough to know that the knowledge that three women died because they looked like her would torture her.

“Hunter?”

“Yeah, I’m still here, Tech.”

“Good. What do you think?”

“I’m not sure, vod. What do the Feds think?”

“One of them wants you to bring her back, so they can use her as bait.”

“Tell me you told them that that’s not going to happen.”

“Oh yes. Crosshair was very specific about that.”

“Good.”

There’s silence for a moment, and then Tech speaks again, “I called in Phee for some help. And Echo called in Fives.”

“Yeah? They helping?”

“Fives has brought some interesting insight into the stalker’s mind. He is quite the talented profiler.” Tech replies, “Phee is doing some digging of her own, though I’m not sure what she is looking into.”

“What do you think, Tech? Gut reaction.”

“You know I do not operate that way.” Tech chides his older brother, “However, there is something strange about one of the Agents. So I have started looking into him.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I will let you know what I learn.”

“Be careful, don’t go anywhere without Wrecker or Crosshair.” Hunter pauses, at the sound of movement below deck, “Listen, I have to go.”

“I will be as careful as I can. Tech out.”

The call disconnects, and Hunter sighs as he drops the phone back on the table. There’s the sound of light footsteps, and he turns as the bridge door opens, “Morning, Sunshine.” 

“Good morning,” She replies, a small smile on her face. The scent of sunblock fills the small room, “Everything alright?”

“Yeah. Just talking to Tech.” Hunter pauses, “I’m afraid we can’t return to shore just yet.”

“Well, that’s okay. I think I’m finally starting to develop my sea legs.”

Hunter laughs, “Well, you haven’t fallen yet today, but it’s still early.”

She huffs, “Rude.”

Hunter just grins at her, “So, what’s your plan for today?”

“Mm, maybe I’ll continue working on my next song.” She replies thoughtfully, “But I haven’t decided yet.”

Hunter shifts in his seat, “Let me ask you a question, Sunshine.”

“What’s up?”

“Do you even like singing?”

“I…” She hesitates, “I like dancing. The singing is…well, I can take it or leave it.”

“If you’re not happy, then why don’t you stop?”

“...I’ve been singing since I was a teenager. I grew up in front of cameras. What else can I do?”

“You could teach dancing.”

“Yeah, maybe.” She shrugs and drops into the seat across from him, “I dunno, though. I mean, sure, I have a degree but it’s a General Education degree. And I wouldn’t want people to come to learn from me simply because of who I am.”

“Look, if you don’t like your job, then quit.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

“Well, there’s a contract, for one. And, for another…I dunno. Change is scary, I guess.”

Hunter stares at her for a moment, and he smiles. “You know. You don’t look anything like the woman who performs on stage.”

“Makeup is the great equalizer.” She jokes.

“I think you’re much prettier like this. Without all of the makeup and the wigs.”

She laughs softly and averts her gaze for a moment, and then her gaze locks with his, “Well. You’d be alone in thinking that.”

“Come on, man. I’ve been told since I was a teenager that I’m not good enough as I am.” She shrugs, “You hear something enough times, and you start to think it about yourself, right?”

“You know. I think I hate your parents.”

Her head falls back as she laughs, “Have you seen some of the outfits they okayed for me when I was still a kid? My stylist dressed me like a porn star.”

Hunter grins at her, “And when did you get those? The tattoos.”

“The first one was when I was 18. After the court cases were over. And then another one at 19, and my back piece was finished shortly before I turned 20.” She says as she holds out her arm so he's able to see the vines and flowers, next to the musical notes on her leg.

“A backpiece, huh?”

“A butterfly." She explains, "What about you? When did you get yours.”

“19. All of them at 19.”

“All of them? The face one is obvious, but you have more?”

“Oh yeah. I was a dumb kid and went all in on the skeleton thing.” Hunter replies with a grin, “It goes all the way down.”

“No way.”

“Way.”

“Your artist didn’t try to talk you out of it?” She asks.

“Oh, he tried. He’s also an older brother, so he didn’t try all that hard.”

“How many brothers do you have?”

“A lot. There’s so many of us.” Hunter stands and heads to the door, “Come on, sunshine. Let’s work on your knots.”

“Ugh. Not more knots.”

“Yup. You gotta learn.”

“Fiiiine.” She sighs as she gets to her feet, “But I want to see your chest tattoo.”

“Only if I can get a look at your tattoos.”

“Deal.”

Hunter leads her to where the rope is located and gets her started on her knots before he leans back and watches her. She’s, actually, very talented. His sunshine has deft fingers, and a good memory.

She’d make a good deckhand. 

Plus, in her own words, she’s not very happy with the lack of privacy that comes with being a pop star. She does it because she feels like she has no choice.

Also, she’s cute and he likes looking at her. 

Watching the “Pop Musical Sensation Galatic Mint” shed her skin and turn into a normal woman, with normal likes and dislikes, has been eye-opening.

Watching her fold back into her shell will be heartbreaking.

“What?”

“Hm?”

She’s staring at him, her head tilted to the side, “You’re staring.”

“You’re pretty. Very starable.”

“Come on, Hunter.”

He laughs, “I’m being honest, but I’m also thinking.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re pretty good at this. You’d be welcome on my crew if you wanted a place.”

“What? Give up the glitz and glam for a life on a ship?”

“You hate the glitz and glam.”

“Well, you’re not wrong about that.” She admits.

“I need to tell you something,” Hunter says, “Something I should have told you earlier.”

She paused mid-knot, “What’s wrong?”

“Your stalker,” Hunter says slowly, “He’s escalating.”

“Well, yeah. That’s what the Federal Agents said when the sheep head was sent to my home.” She replies, “And the attempted assassination—”

“He’s murdered three women.”

“...what?”

“Women who look like you.” Hunter says, “Well, who look like you when you perform, at least.”

“Oh my god,” 

“Listen, this isn’t your fault.”

“But if I hadn’t left—”

“Then you’d probably be dead now.”

She stares at him and sets the rope on the table, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to stress about it.” Hunter admits, he reaches across the table and takes your hand in his, “Listen. My brothers have called in a profiler and someone else to help them. They think they’re getting close now.”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment, “I’m going to have to retire from performing.”

“Sunshine—”

“Women are dying. Because of me.”

“No.”

“Yes, Hunter. I might not be killing them, but they are dying because of me.” She squeezes his hand, “How am I supposed to live with that?”

“I don’t know. But you’re going to have to.” Hunter says quietly.

“Do you blame me?”

“Never.”

“But—”

He squeezes her hands and she trails off, “Listen to me. You could have shot them yourself, and I still wouldn’t blame you, okay?”

“That would…definitely be my fault then, Hunter.”

“You would have had good reason, I’m sure.”

She laughs weakly, “You’re a good man, Hunter.”

“Not that good.”

“No, you are.” She smiles at him weakly, “Um…I’m not really feeling being social. Do you mind if I just hang out below deck today?”

“Of course not.”

She gently pulls her hands from his grasp and gets to her feet, and then she drops a light kiss on his cheek, “Thank you, Hunter.”

“For what?”

“For listening. And protecting me.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that, Sunshine.” He pauses, “Sunshine.”

“Yeah?”

“No phone calls.”

“I remember.” She replies.

Hunter watches as she heads to the stairs that lead below deck, and he sighs and closes his eyes. Maker, he’s an idiot.

“Hey, sunshine.”

She pauses on the stairs and turns to look at him, “Yeah?”

“Hold on a second.” He gets to his feet and crosses over to her.

She moves to stand on the deck again, “Something wrong?”

“Not wrong, so much as I’m something of an idiot.”

“I don’t—?”

Hunter brings his hand up to cup her cheek, and she blinks at him in confusion. “Like I said, I’m an idiot,” He jokes, before he leans in and brushes her lips with his own.

It can’t even be called a proper kiss, so much as a promise for more, if she’s willing.

When Hunter pulls back her eyes are wide, and she looks flustered.

“Was that alright?” He asks softly.

“Um…yeah. It was more than alright, actually.” She replies softly, “Can we do it again?”

He chuckles and leans in, and his lips are about to press against hers when the phone up in the wheelhouse rings loudly. “Hold that thought.” Hunter takes the stairs two at a time and grabs the phone, “Yeah?”

“Hunter, it’s Fives.”

“Hey, vod. What’s up?”

“Listen. It was one of the agents.” Fives speaks quickly, “They pulled some strings, and they know where you are.”

Hunter goes cold, “Is he on the way?”

“Yes. The Feds are hoping to intercept him before he arrives at the Marauder. But, well.”

“It’s not going to happen.”

“No. He’s also killed three more women in the last week. That’s a total of at least 6 victims. Probably more based on some of the information that Phee and Tech have given me.”

“And he’s heading here.”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks for the heads up, Fives.”

“Happy hunting, vod.”

“Will do.” Hunter hangs up the phone and heads back down to the deck. “You need to get below deck, Sunshine.”

She stares at him, eyes wide, “He found us, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, so it seems. Below deck. No one is going to hurt you so long as I’m around.” Hunter promises.

Slowly, she nods and turns to head below deck. Hunter follows her to the bottom of the stairs and grabs the fire door, to pull it shut.

“Be careful.” She whispers.

“Always am, Sunshine.” He pulls the fire door shut and makes sure that it’s properly sealed before he heads up and grabs his guns out of the safe, making sure that they’re loaded and the safety is off.

His Sunshine will be safe, any other option is out of the question. This asshole has terrorized her for long enough. It’s time to end this.

[chaotic-goodsir]

Since it's Black Friday week, I'm gonna do a sort of series thing with the Hatchetverse headcanons and drabbles that have completely derailed my nanowrimo plans (curse of hyperfixation be upon ye, etc.).

They're all Spankoffski-centric, sort of, depending on who you count as a Spankoffski.

Speaking of which...

*

Ted and Pete's mom (I'll call her Annabelle, Annie for short) grew up in the bible belt in a super-religious family. She got out as soon as she could, leaving home at 18, and ended up working as a waitress in the tiny town of Hatchetfield. That's where she met Ed Spankoffski, who at the time was training to take over his family's shoe store. Annie and Ed fell in love, got married young, and had their son Teddy within a few years. 

Annie cut all contact with her parents when she left home - but she did keep in touch with her younger brother.

He was always a smart, outgoing kid, and despite their parents' disapproval he managed to get funding to study physics at a college out of state. He left home a year after Annie did, and never looked back.

At first they remained close, despite their differences. They called each other regularly. He declared himself an atheist as soon as he got away from their parents. She kept her faith, but joined her husband's more liberal-minded presbytarian church. He came out to her as bisexual, and she told him she'd suspected that since they were teenagers and that she would never stop being proud of him. 

She didn't see him in person often - he was busy with college and didn't have money to travel - but he still made it to her wedding and to Teddy's christening.

Things changed, though, when he was scouted by a secretive military agency in his final year. She didn't want him to join, but he'd made up his mind. After that, his calls became less frequent, and what little he told her about his work and life was always vague. He kept promising to visit her in Hatchetfield, but never followed through. 

The last time Annie Spankoffski saw her little brother was at Pete's christening, when he surprised her by actually showing up. She spotted the engagement ring on his hand, and demanded to know when he had planned on inviting her to the wedding. He told her it was a long time away yet - there was a big assignment coming up, he and his fiancé were both involved, and they needed to focus on that for the time being. But as soon he got the chance, he promised, he'd bring John up to Hatchetfield to meet the Spankoffski family.

Annie didn't hear from him again until a solemn, uniformed PIEP agent turned up at her door with a letter declaring her brother missing in action. Nothing could be confirmed, but the agent didn't want to give her false hope. There was no funeral, no further explanation. She never got to meet John, there was no wedding, and Pete Spankoffski grew up without knowing his uncle.

*

Years later, Annie Spankoffski (nee. Cross) is driving home from church when an advert comes on the radio. It's for some tacky children's toy that both of her sons are far too old for. She doesn't pay much attention - at least, not until the name of the toy company catches her by surprise.

It's a coincidence - it must be - but it's such a horrible, unlikely one that it makes her blood run cold. Her brother's name is already rare enough that she'd be surprised to hear that on the radio, let alone a childhood nickname that only she used.

After that, she turns off the radio whenever that advert starts. Leaves the room whenever it comes on TV (that old sailor character creeps her out - does the actor really look familiar, or is she just losing it?). She tries not to look at the posters that are plastered all over the Hatchetfield mall. 

But as Black Friday approaches, it's hard to avoid.

For some reason, almost everywhere she goes, she keeps running into the name Uncle Wiley.

[embarrassedanon]

Business Breeches Blowout

After two flight delays, an overly handsy TSA agent, and a chatty seatmate, Bruce wanted nothing more than to take a hot shower and a power nap before meeting his colleagues at the conference welcome mixer.

His good luck only continued as the gruff airline employee informed him that in the chaos of his flight delays, his bag hadn't made it to the conference. Just fucking perfect.

The bag wasn't even set to arrive until after the conference, so he was cursed to spend the next three days in the wrinkled khakis, sweat-soaked button-down, and too-tight briefs that had been giving him a wedgie since before the cab dropped him off at the airport, lest he spend a fortune at the convention center mall.

Resigned, he grumpily got in a conference shuttle. The overcrowded shuttle and stop-and-go traffic did nothing to help his mood. By the time they made it to the hotel, he shoved his way to the exit so he could beat the rush of shuttle riders to reception.

"Welcome in Sir, how was your flight?" said the cheery cherub-faced twink at the reception desk.

"Listen kid, cut the shit, I've had the travel day from hell ok, name’s Bruce Smyth, just get me a room key and book me a massage while you're at it."

"Oh, um ok. Mr. Smyth it says here that there was a water leak in the room you were initially supposed to stay in, it's all fixed but it won't be clean for a few hours. We'd love to offer you a complimentary glass of champagne while you wait."

"Un-fucking-belivable. One goddamn glass of champagne for a few hours of waiting? Are you kidding me? Find another room."

"Sir as I'm sure you're aware, we're fully booked for the conference."

"I don't give a fuck." Bruce was yelling now. "Find a solution! Bump someone else." Bruce began kicking the reception desk.

"This. Is. Un. Acceptable." With each staccato word another kick. On the final kick, a noise loud enough to break Bruce's tirade and silence the hum of the lobby rang out.

RRRRIPPPPPP

Bruce gasped as his hands promptly flew back to his ass. The pressure of his kicks tore his Brooks Brothers breeches right down the seam. His brief-clad ass was suddenly on display for everyone to see.

"Oh my god, he ripped his pants!"

"That's a big ass, surprised it even fit in those khakis, to begin with."

"Serves him right for cutting all of us in line, The jackass is now practically bare ass."

"Check out the peep show!"

This can not be happening, Bruce thought. This must have been a nightmare. The endless barrage of travel hiccups and now he was the center of attention for all the wrong reasons. Unfortunately for Bruce, it was all too real.

"Mr. Smyth," the twink said with all the smugness of someone watching karmic justice served in real-time. "Your room will be ready in a few hours, I'd be happy to convert that glass of champagne into a $10 voucher for one of the retail establishments. It seems like you might need it."

Before Bruce could even think to respond the hotel associate shouted "Next!" and Bruce fled the lobby with his head hung low and his hands shielding his ass from view.

Bruce's travel day from hell ended in the retail wing of the convention center dropping $150 on a three-pack of briefs and pair of slacks, trying to maintain his dignity as his ass hung out in front of a hotel lobby filled with his colleagues. How embarrassing...

[they-breasted-boobily]

Ways the plot of tua s4 could have been improved while including a lot of the same storyline:

It goes without saying that a 6 episode season was too rushed for even the shitty plot we got given, but I'll mention that these ideas would have worked better for an 8-10 episode season. Or maybe you could use them for fics or comics- I'd love to see them!

1. The careers and new lives of non-powered umbrellas: While Lila, Klaus, and Viktor had decent set-ups, the others seemed out of place. Diego's personality and desire to be a hero would have been better suited to a mall cop or traffic cop, where he feels undervalued and underutilised, rather than just beaten down as a delivery driver for jokes about peeing in a bottle. Luther only mentioned Sloane a couple of times in the entire series- with more than 6 episodes, it could have been possible to give flashbacks of him trying to get back to her, but her not recognising him and not being romantically interested. Not sure what changes could be made to his job or housing though. Allison's setup was mostly fine, but we really should have been given an explanation for why Raymond left- maybe lean into the horror of being taken from your time and timeline raising a daughter you suddenly have? Five would not work for the CIA except as a double-agent, either that or he would be retired as a fishing supplies store owner. Ben is his own whole point later in this post.

2. The marigold sake shots: I feel like this plot point added to Ben just being an asshole and scapegoat for the entire season, which could benefit from major changes. If left relatively unchanged, the fact that Klaus threw it over his shoulder could have led to greater implications if it landed on an unknown person behind them and gave them powers. This person could have been the subject of an episode or two as they were tracked down when it was necessary.

3. Ben's character: While s3 Sparrow Ben was a dick, he was not as edgy, conceited, or self-absorbed as he was in s4. I think it's fine to start his arc with him leaving prison, but making the crime as major as crypto fraud (just because you think it's funny) makes it much more difficult for him to seem likeable and relateable to Jessica or anyone else. If the crime was something more minor, or he was framed/unfairly jailed it could set up a revenge/redemption arc from the get-go. With his relationship with Jessica, it would have benefited from being more of a slow burn, or if the gradual unnatural obsession had more than 6 episodes to build up.

4. The subway romance: While I can almost understand why it was Five and Lila due to their history working together and especially using time travel together, I think if Five needed a romance (which I don't but show writers can't stand having one member of the main cast never being in a relationship), it should have been someone he met while on that 7 year subway adventure (probably an older woman) and settled with in Strawberry Tradwife timeline while Lila keeps looking for a way out for the sake of her children. Lila would find the journal a few months later and using both it and the subway map, get back to Five because she still needs his powers to get entirely out of the subway system. Could you imagine a scene with Lila trying to convince Five to leave the peaceful Strawberry Tradwife life he's always wanted after dealing with the trauma of being stuck in time twice?

5. Klaus's return to addiction: I think Klaus's arc could have definitely benefited from the season being longer. If there was a slower burn towards his addiction returning and his confrontation with Claire and if she stressed more that he didn't need to go down this path again, it could have really been impactful. The ghost sex trafficking thing was gross but if that was the only way to get him buried alive then so be it, because having him in a situation where he would have to directly face his trauma from the mausoleum and become stronger would be so good for the sendoff of his character. Maybe that could have been the point where he learned how to levitate?

6. Reginald and false memories: Why was the fact that he's literally not human and crafted this timeline so he could have as much power as possible (including a militia town) not explored at all? The plot should have revolved a lot more around at least verifying what he was saying about marigold and durango, if not about handing him a final defeat for this final season. Everything around him killing Ben led to huge plot holes (why wouldn't Klaus know the truth from Ben's ghost? Ben easily could have been spared and only Jessica shot. Why was Jessica being in a squid never explained?). While it's interesting to see the Umbrellas all give a brainwashed explanation for Ben's death, it couldn't be something as blatant as that, because Klaus would have to know even if everyone else was brainwashed. The brainwashing is an idea with promise, but it should have been something like Ben and Jessica being consumed by the giant squid together because Ben went against orders.

What other things could have been changed? I personally liked the CIA subplot, especially as it taught Diego to appreciate his family more. I also found Jean and Gene and the Cleanse conspiracy theorists to be fun new mini-villains.

[generationlossupdates]

GenLoss Episode 3: The Choice

Yall know the drill by now ^_^ I've bolded the most important bits for those who want to skim, and I'm putting it all under the cut to avoid dash clutter. If I'm missing anything important/messed up a specific detail PLEASE let me know so I can fix it, thanks!

The screen turns on, multiple error signs flashing before a drone camera turns on, showing different areas of the Showfall Media Headquarters. It switches to Ranboo, where he rips the dynamite attached to his neck. He walks up to the camera and asks the audience whats happening. As the can’t see chat, he gets no answer and suddenly we can hear H. They explain to Ranboo that they now have control of some of the facility, but still need to shut it down. They need Ranboo to get to the server room in order to take complete control.

Ranboo is panicked and attempts to take the mask off, when H tells him he can't yet, or else the entire operation will go up in flames. They also use the mask to communicate Ranboo. He begins to travel, needing to hide from Showfall agents with Squiggle masks. Ranboo peaks at different areas he'd been in, realizing that what happened was actually real. H confirms as such. He spots an exit and attempts to leave, wanting to call the police but H tells him he can't and to keep going. Ranboo doesn’t want to but H suddenly changes his story, saying the others are in fact still alive, and Ranboo (reluctantly) obliges. He goes down the escalator and when he nears a glowing blue mall room, a metal machine with a TV head runs to glass and starts to slam on it. Ranboo panics and H says its just security.

He keeps moving and makes it to the server room. It turns out he needs a keycard in order to get in. Ranboo keeps going, finding an office full of people with Squiggle masks. He seems apprehensive to enter but H says they're 'mostly harmless' as long as he doesn't do anything too entirely out of the ordinary. He has to get a keycard, a USB drive, and a code. He gets the keycard with ease but struggles to find the USB. After a few minutes of searching he finds the USB, and now has to find the code. After a bit more searching he finds 4 different codes and leaves the office.

Ranboo returns to the server room and enters with the items he collected. H says to be careful and to plug in the USB. They need to put in a code to the computer, though it’s unclear which code is correct. H gives chat the choice to pick which code to use. Ranboo is instantly unhappy with this, and instead of going with chat's pick, he chooses a different code and unfortunately it’s not the right one. The server shuts down and security gets upped, forcing H to leave. The facility blares and everything flashes red. Ranboo runs away, trying to avoid the Showfall puppets. 

Suddenly he hears voices coming from the former food court. He finds random streamers, though they cant hear him. He spots Charlie (WHO IS ALSO LIVE ON HIS OWN STREAM ON HIS OWN CHANNEL) and runs up to him. He pulls his headphones off and Charlie breaks out of the illusion, seeming incredibly confused. Ranboo screams at Charlie and tells him that they have to GO. They look for a directory, and after finding one Charlie looks behind the stand and finds a dead Showfall agent. They look over and Ranboo spots the 'security' (the metal TV head machine). They panic and run, starting to get chased by Showfall agents. They hide in a messed up props area and Ranboo picks up a knife while Charlie begs for an explanation. Ranboo says that he doesn’t have one and they go through the exit door in the room, winding back up where Charlie has been streaming. 

They leave running towards an exit before Showfall agents start chasing them. They wind up running through the rooms of the episode 2, slowing down for a moment before more agents come pouring in. They run down a hallway and turn into a small room where they find H.

H has been stabbed and tells them both that he won't make it. They explain Ranboo needs to finish the job by hitting the kill button and hands them a map. Ranboo stares at H’s body before turning and storming off, entirely in his own mind. Charlie rambles behind him, though his words can’t be made out. Ranboo walks right up to a Showfall agent and stabs them directly in the stomach before continuing the search.

Ranbooo and Charlie find their way back to the set of the cabin from the first episode, and Security jumps out, attacking Charlie. Before he dies he screams out for Ranboo to hit the kill button. Showfall agents begin to pour in as Ranboo runs for the button. He hits the button and everything goes dark, shutting off for good. Ranboo walks through the rows of deactivated agents, heading towards the genuine exit door. He opens it, and right before he goes through he does a Truman Show style bow, revealing H behind him. His mask, for the first time in this episode, turns back to a glowing red and H drags him through the door.

Everything fades to black and when we come back, Ranboo is chained up (Jesus on the Cross style), with his head being in a box, in front of lots of TVs. His mask is slightly broken as well and we hear H. H congratulates Ranboo, saying he completed the experiments. H explains that they never died and that the founder gave them a purpose to create these experiments to find people ‘worthy’ of joining the cast and living (and performing in the future shows) forever. Ranboo begs to be let go as his mask flashes on and off. H goes on to say that Ranboo’s actions we’re entirely his own, and that Ranboo can join the cast. They say that we (the audience) can even decide Ranboo’s fate. The chat gets to vote whether to let him live or die. In the last 30 or so seconds, Ranboo begins to beg and plead to be killed.

The vote ends and H flickers onto the screen, announcing that the chat chose death. The box around Ranboo’s head clamps shut, killing him, and the credits roll. After they end, the screen slowly pans out to show a tv, and a gloved hand pulling out a tape from the TV, labeled ‘TSE’ (The Social Experiments). The hand places the tape back on a shelf, where 7 other blank tapes sit, and the stream ends.

[caw4brandon]

We Like, Are Totally Spies

When we think about shows that will appeal to boys. Action is the easiest to relate. Something like; Ben 10, American Dragon Jake Long, Avatar: The Last Airbender, and Justice League will be on the list. It has drama, it has fights and it's cool!

However, there has been a movement in that era where specific cartoon shows aim to get girls into action. Kim Possible, Juniper Lee, My Life as a Teenage Robot, and The Winx Club are perfect examples of such shows.

There is an odd case for more girl-centric shows. Something about the need to balance femininity with action. The show needs to feel like an action that happens to have the main characters be girls. This is where today's topic comes in. We're talking about how;

- How's the Mission, Spies? -

< Totally Spies > by Vincent Chalvon-Demersay and David Michel follows three teens; Sam, Clover and Alex from Beverly Hills living a secret life being Super Spies for WOOHP (World Organization Of Human Protection) under their boss; Jerry Lewis.

Their missions involve travelling the world. Fighting mad scientists and twisted outcasts who seek to dominate the world with style and gadgets that conceal themselves as fashionable equipment.

The trio plays specific archetypes. Sam (green) is the brains, Clover (red) is the fashionista/ boy obsessive and Alex (yellow) is the athlete and occasional nerd. Despite their differences, they share several common interests such as their love for shopping and spy skills of agility, hand-to-hand combat and espionage.

Across six seasons, the girls matured from high school to university students. Confronting the daily struggles of homework, social lives and their petty arch-enemy, Mandy.

As a vibe, < Totally Spies > fully leans into the Beverly Hills lifestyle of fabulous fashion and some familiar pop culture names of that era. The show has a mix of the James Bond type of super spy world filled with dull henchmen, high-tech machines and some tacky villains.

- Time to go to Plan B! -

The episodes are condensed into their own episode. Although there have been some arcs that follow specific villains who have a bit of history with the main characters.

Tim Scam is a former agent who went rogue against WOOHP and Terrence Lewis; twin brother to Jerry and a sore thumb to WOOHP. There also reoccurring allies as well. Brittney (cyan) who joined the team as a trainee, Dean from the three-part series < Evil Promotion Much? > and Blaine a freelance agent who dated Clover.

The conflicts, if we can even call them conflicts at all have aged rather strangely. Some of the villains commit petty crimes like kidnapping celebrities due to jealousy or act extreme. Like being anti-consumerist with the solution of destroying malls.

Yet, some are still relatable to this day such as a kid villain who is mad at his father for being busy as a commentary on how parental neglect can cause warped ideas in a child. Whatever, it's a pre-teen show. Let's not look into it too deeply.

The world of Totally Spies is also interconnected with several other shows; [The Amazing Spiez] and [Martin Mystery].

< Martin Mystery > follows Martin, a paranormal investigator for the Center with Martin's step-sister, Diana Lombard and Java the Caveman. Fighting monsters, urban legends and aliens.

According to a special crossover episode. Martin's boss; M.O.M (Mystery Organization Manager) and Jerry know each other. Likewise, in Amazing Spiez; Jerry is also the boss of the Clark siblings. Lee, Marc, Megan and Tony. Sadly, these shows were short-lived and cancelled.

It does raise an interesting point. Why is Totally Spies more popular? As a guess, I think it's because the chemistry between the characters is a lot more interesting and fun.

The three girls are best of friends and while they sometimes bicker over boys, responsibilities and opinions. They will always put their friendship and mission first above all else. It feels more real, in a superficial way.

That an actual girl would have a girlfriend group this tight-knit and if they ever become a part of something bigger than them. They would do it together.

- Here We Go Again! -

Tacky villains, cute super spy girlfriends and awesome gadgets aside. The show has a few good jokes here and there. Its art style borrows a lot from Anime and its colors are groovy to the eyes.

For a show that was meant to attract girls into action. The show has also garnered a large following from boys as well. I think another secret to the success of < Totally Spies > can also be because of its approach to the subject. Like I said in my introduction.

There is an odd case for more girl-centric shows. Something about the need to balance femininity with action. The show needs to feel like an action that happens to have the main characters be girls.

This show is a girl's show. The girls are unapologetic being girly. Doing girl things like shopping, manicure, dating and going on dream vacations but with their secret life as spies. The show balances it out with good action and is still using that girly theme to add to its gadgets.

Heck, some of the gadgets are stuff that I would personally want to have. The Jet Pack backpack, The Wind Tunnel 3000 Tornado Blast Hair Dryer, Lazer lipstick and the Compowder are on my list. Especially with its costume change function.

It's a show that embraces both ends of the spectrum and allows it to show its respective strengths rather than shy away from the themes. With the announcement that this show is going to have a season 7/ soft reboot. It does look promising with several concerns.

But I am hopeful that for a beloved show such as this. The girls will have a proper return and inspire a new generation of girls (and boys) to be < Totally Spies >

[reidsweetener]

tw/ diet/ed * omg imagine bimbo!r gets scouted to be a model right? buuuut the contract seems a little … unfair. she’s just all for it, she’s ready to sign anything and everything to be a model. spencer is like “umm… this diet is impossible. jesus christ y/n if you turn to the side you’ll be invisible if u do this shit!” and the whole thing wasn’t even legit. so she’s extremely bummed and reid cheers her up with words of affirmations and tons and tons of kisses.

bimbo!r gets scouted at the mall! and she's obviously elated, but she atleast knows she can't sign a contract at random — both spencer and her dad have that ingrained in her brain — she's giddy and bouncing, and actually gives spencer's contact number and email instead of hers!🥹🥹✨✨

and when spencer skims through it, he's like absolutely not, it has so many legal loopholes and blatant exploitation clauses that he's convinced it couldn't have been real. he explains it in detail to reader, and she's obviously pouty; she's basically born to be a model! she loves attention, the clothes, the travel and the shopping. but it's ppl like those fake agents that just makes her enthusiasm of the industry dwindle.

reid would try to cheer her up with words of affirmation and lots of kisses and cuddles! he'd make you pick your favorite movie, and order some takeout in, and he'd just hold you until you're your usual bright self again🥰🥰

[newsloverindia]

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[astra-galaxie]

🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️🧸👽🦾💔 🔪😭😶 for the one and only lars douglas please :D

It's probably a good thing there’s only one Lars Douglas; I don't think the world could survive two!😉

That being said, here are his headcanons!

🏳️‍🌈 A sexuality headcanon

Lars is bisexual. He’s attracted to men and women equally, though when he was younger, sometimes he was attracted to one gender more than the other.

🏳️‍⚧️ A gender headcanon

Lars is genderqueer and uses he/him pronouns. Even though he identifies as a man, he’s not afraid to be feminine. He is always open to playing dress-up with his daughters and letting them put makeup on him or do his hair. Even before the triplets were born, Lars had many female friends he would hang out with even if the activities were not considered “masculine,” like spa days, clothes shopping, or getting manicures.

🧸 A headcanon about their childhood

Lars’s love of explosions started when he was young. As a child, he loved watching fireworks explode in the sky and light it up with dazzling colours and shapes. He used to ask so many questions about how fireworks worked, and when he was old enough, he was allowed to help set them off. While his parents didn’t keep fireworks in the house due to his father’s dislike of the sounds they made, Lars’s neighbours would shoot them for special occasions and let him help fire them. With his parents’ permission, of course!

👽 A headcanon about a weird quirk of there

Lars is always composing new songs. You can almost always find him humming, whistling, or singing his latest piece as he works to perfect it. He also always carries a little notebook to write down things when inspiration hits. Even if it can be annoying, Angela loves watching his face light up as an idea hits him before he begins furiously scribbling in his book.

🦾 A disability headcanon

He has hearing loss because of his music and lab explosions. It's not as bad as Oberon's, but often, Lars will not hear you, ask you to repeat something, or speak louder and slower.

💔 An angsty headcanon

Lars never got rid of his wedding ring. The thought of getting rid of it crossed his mind many times, and he considered countless ways to do it. But whenever he tried, he couldn’t go through with it. A part of his heart would always love Angela, and it was connected to that ring. Lars now keeps the ring in a special box tucked away for safekeeping, and sometimes, when he needs to, he’ll take the ring out and remember the good times he spent with his ex-wife.

🔪 A headcanon relating to fighting/violence

Lars has always been more of a lover than a fighter, but that doesn't mean he’s harmless. As a Bureau agent, he is still trained in self-defence and firearms, even though he’s only a lab expert. Because he travels with the team and does get out into the field, he went through training like the rest of his teammates just not as intense as the field agents.

😭 A headcanon about the worst thing that happened to them

When Lars caught the plague in India, he was convinced he was going to die. He was quarantined to protect others and was mostly alone except when Angela visited to check on him. While isolated from his team, Lars only had his phone to help distract him from his pain. But despite the pain, he found the strength to record videos for his family and friends. If he was going to die, he wanted to say goodbye and leave them something to remember him by, as horrible as he looked when he was infected. After being cured, Lars didn’t delete the videos but never told anyone about them either. If the time comes later on that they are needed, they will be safely stored away for his loved ones to access.

😶 A random headcanon

He used to dress up as a mall Santa Claus; it's where he got such a nice suit from! He started in college to earn some extra money, and while he was very young for the job, a little makeup and a good fake beard did the trick! The children loved him, and Lars had tons of fun listening to them ramble their Christmas lists to him and taking pictures.

And done! How’d I do? Did I make you laugh and cry?

Thanks for the request, Issy!

[v-era-18]

HoneyBee

Chapter Five: Respect

‘Respect is important-but the higher power knows nothing about that’-Mikaela Banes 

5

Mad wouldn’t be the proper words to describe the sheer emotions she was feeling at the moment. This was the second time she was placed in handcuffs thanks to the boy who sat on the other side of Mikaela in the backseat. Her arms ached in the position she sat in, knees placed together in cramped fashion due to the driver's seat being rolled back a bit. Livid-yes that was the word (Y/n) wanted to use. 

“Comfortable?” Simmons joked, he was met with an icy glare before the eyes traveled back to the window beside them, “I see you’re the smart one out of the three of them. You haven't said a word since we took you guys away.” 

“I'll speak when we have a lawyer,” She bit out, her voice dripping in venom from the night filled events, “None of us are going to be talking to you.” 

“Ah,” He grabbed his phone, pulling up a file with her face attached, “(Y/n) (L/n), only child-daughter of (D/n) and (M/n). Both parents tragically murdered in hit and run with the child being the only survivor, custody given to (GD/n) and (GM/n). (GD/n) died from cancer-” 

Simmons was cut off from being struck in the head with the teens right foot, the heel of her worn out sneaker connecting with his jaw. Mikeala had moved against Sam to give the girl a passage of revenge to her utmost pleasure. The agent was shocked, locking in on heated brown eyes nailing him to the seat. 

“Keep my family's name-out your fucking mouth!” 

He laughed nervously, “I simply read your file-” 

“Read it again, and I'll park my foot in your ass!”

“Okay-okay,” Simmons coughed and rubbed his aching jaw from the assault inflicted, “Did your alien friends teach you how to fight?” 

“What?” Sam uttered. 

“You heard me,” 

“We have no idea what you're talking about,” Mikaela lied smoothly. 

“Oh-oh, okay,” The man chuckled to himself, “Ladiesman217. That is your eBay username, right?” 

“Yeah, but, you know-it was a typo and I ran with it.” Sam's excuse was total bullshit. He needed to just tell the truth for now on. 

“What do you make of this?” The car went silent as Simmons played the tape, ultimately damning them with evidence. 

“My name is Sam Witwicky, okay? I am here with my best friend (Y/n) (L/n) and my car-“

“Is that you?” He cocked a brow. 

“Yeah that sounds like LadiesMan.” Mikaela stated simply. Sam rolled his eyes to hide his embarrassment. 

“Last night at the station, you told the officer your car transformed. And that girl over there,” The man pointed to (Y/n), “Said she had evidence that they’ve been here for years.”

He looked between the three of them, “Enlighten me.” 

“Well, here’s what I said, okay?” Sam laughed nervously, “‘Cause this is a total misunderstanding that my car had been stolen-“ 

“Really?” 

“From me, from my home, but it’s fine now because it’s back! It came back!” 

Mikaela noticed his error and decided to help, “Well, not by itself-“ 

“Well-no”

“Because cars don’t do that, because that would be crazy.” She started to laugh. 

All of them joined in except (Y/n), the said girl looked at them completely done with the situation. 

“That’s funny, that’s funny” Simmons went back serious, “So again, what do you kids know about aliens, huh?” 

“Oh you mean, like a Martian? Like what, E.T? No.” Sam denied. 

“It’s an urban legend.” Mikaela backed up. 

“Yeah.” 

“You see this,” he held up his badge, “this is an ‘I can do whatever I want and get away with it badge’” 

Oh we know, you guys use it enough already. 

“Right,” Sam's face went stoic, ultimately fed up putting up a front. 

“I’m gonna lock you up forever.” 

(Y/n) closed in on herself in the seat, Sam was ready to choke the man, he knew that he was directly targeting her with that statement. He felt ashamed with how he 

“Oh, god. You know what?  Don’t listen to him.” Mikaela snapped, “He’s just pissy cause he’s got to get back to guarding the mall.” 

“You, in the training bra, do not test me.” The man quipped, “especially with your daddy’s parole coming up.” 

“What?” Sam uttered, “Parole?” 

“Sam,” (Y/n) tried, her voice was dry. 

“It’s nothing,” Banes lied. 

“Oh, grand theft auto, that ain’t nothin?” 

The girl sighed looking towards the two best friends, “You know those cars my dad used to teach me to fix? Well-they-they weren’t always his.” 

“You stole cars?” 

“I know they had good reason,” (Y/n) defended the girl. 

“Well, we couldn’t always afford a babysitter, so sometimes he had to take me along.” 

“She’s got her own Juvie record to prove it!” The man exclaimed, “she’s a criminal! Criminals are hot.” 

(Y/n) rolled her eyes in frustration, “ do you ever shut up?” 

He ignored her, “That’d be a real shame if he had to rot in jail for the rest of his natural life. It’s is time to talk!” 

Suddenly the car was hit, causing them to spin to a skidding stop. The three teens screamed in response, (Y/n) was more than prepared to see a decepticon emerge on the other side. Everyone in the car ducked upon large metal hands emerging through the windows and tearing off the car roof. 

Upon looking up (Y/n) broke out into a grateful smile, it was no other than the leader of the Autobots himself who stopped the vehicle. Although he maybe could’ve done it a lot safer. 

“You A-holes are in trouble now.” Sam smirked, “Gentleman, I want to introduce you to our friend, Optimus Prime.” His best friend smiled at his growing confidence, something about the two of them knowing the importance of their decisions was starting to have an effect. Sam was growing-slowly-but the signs were there. The prime slowly stood up in front of the car, inspecting the three teens in the backseat, his eyes staying on (Y/n) longer due to her dazed look. 

“Taking the children was a bad move,” Optimus stated, “Autobots, relieve them of their weapons.” 

The rest of the Autobots emerged, shocking the rest of the government men. (Y/n) felt her worries wash away for a minute, she looked over seeing Ironhide nod to her, pleased to see that she was safe. She smiled in response, glad to see she wasn't on the big man's bad side as she originally thought. 

“Freeze,” Ironhide pointed his cannons, as a reflex the teens ducked their heads-although they weren't the ones in danger they knew the familiarity of the heat. 

“Whoa! Whoa!” 

“Gimme those!” Jazz took the weapons away. (Y/n)’s inner child screamed at the sight with questions on her tongue, ‘that had to have been a giant magnet or is it his hand naturally capable of doing that-’ 

Optimus kneeled down to the vehicle his faceplate could be read as furious. 

“Hi there.” Simmons uttered with an awkward smile.

All nice now that you realize you fucked up. 

“You don’t seem afraid. Are you not surprised to see us?” The Prime questioned. 

The man shrugged nervously, “Look there are S-Seven protocols, okay? I’m not authorized to communicate with you except to tell you I can’t communicate with you.” 

That wasn’t a good answer. 

“Get out of the car.” The order sent chills down the human’s spines. 

“All right. Me? You want me to get-“ 

“Now!” 

The voice made the girl immediately try to get out of the car , it was that effective. She read that Primes could be terrifying, but she thought Optimus was an exception to that. She was extremely wrong. 

Mikaela started to work on (Y/n)s handcuffs first, “Thank you” the girl whispered in thanks. Mikaela could feel the weight of gratitude the girl had expressed alone in her words as well as the hug afterwards. 

She worked on Sam's next, “You’re good with handcuffs, too, now, huh?” This caused the girl to cringe at the boy's words, they weren't rough, just smart. The embarrassment set in of what her new friends knew about her and her past. 

“You weren’t supposed to hear all that.” 

“Yeah,” was all the boy could give as a response at the moment. He really couldn't think about Mikealas feelings at the moment 

Sam grabbed (Y/n)’s face, turning it side to side to make sure there were no injuries. After the way those men were handling her he was on edge, after all these years Sam hasn't lost his overprotective touch. “Thank god you’re okay.” He whispered, pulling her into a hug. 

She hugged him back. 

Mikaela came forward looking at the two friends in confidence, “I have a record because I wouldn’t turn my dad in. When do you have to sacrifice anything in your perfect little life?” 

(Y/n) shook her head, “Mikaela, your past doesn't make us view you any different. Those guys are assholes that don't have any respect.” 

“Yeah,” Mikaela laughed bitterly, “Respect is important-but the higher power knows nothing about that.”

“What is Sector Seven?” Sam stalked up to Simmons, “Answer me.” The boy was done from the past hour, the fact of the matter is-he was holding his anger back. All he could think about was his friend going limp and he couldn't do anything about it. He felt weak-useless! His friend couldn't breathe and he couldn't do anything about it. 

“I’m the one who asks questions around here. Not you, young man!” Simmons scoffed. This only caused Sam to step forward, his face growing red, the only thing that stopped him was the brunette placing a firm hand on his chest. 

Mikeala stepped in, her anger radiating, “ How’d you know about the aliens?” 

“Where did you take my parents?” Sam demanded answers again. 

“I am not at liberty to discuss it.” The agent avoided answering once more. During this time (Y/n) felt a bit faint, shaking her head to get rid of the fog she looked around till she saw the faint outlines of black and yellow. With wobbly legs she made over to get guardian, causing him to look down and cock his head at her state-his optics narrowing slightly. Something was wrong. 

“No?” Sam dove into the man’s pockets. 

“Hey! You touch me, that's a federal offense,” the agent snarked. 

Sam held the badge up to Simmons face, boldness radiating off of him, “‘Do whatever you want and get away with it’, right?”

Simmons scoffed, “Yeah. Brave now all of a sudden, with his big alien friend standing over there.” 

Sam ignored him, “Where is Sector Seven?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” 

Bumblebee kneeled down, trying to get a better look at his charge as she wobbled back and forth with her balance. Offering a servo the girl took it, using it to lay against in order not to fall. Mikaela noticed the interaction and immediately walked away from Sam gaining his attention. 

“(Y/n)?!” Mikaela took the girl's face in her hands before continuing to check her pulse, “Are you okay? Do you need to sit down-?”

“Shit!” Sam raced over towards her, “She usually takes her anxiety meds after an attack, she needs proper medical attention-“

“We already gave it if you were paying attention.” One of the agents spoke up. The way the teen boy turned so fast was dizzying. Anger practically radiated off of him. 

Mikaela turned towards Ratchet, her expression desperate, “Have you checked about human anatomy? O-or possible medical conditions?!” The medic stepped forward and started scanning (Y/n)‘s body, judging from his sudden stiff stance it wasn’t good. 

“She’s highly malnourished and experiencing high fatigue. The effects from this ‘anxiety attack’ has left the body weak and slow to respond,” The autobots turned to Ratchet in shock, it hasn't even been three hours yet and their Storyteller was already experiencing harsh effects of war. 

Bumblebee froze before heatedly turning to the government men in front of them, ‘Are you *bleep* serious?!’. The radio within the bot was switching between channels fast for him to find a proper response for this situation, however he couldn't find any. His anger was spilling over by the minute. 

Sam turned to Bumblebee, his face red, “No you heard it right!” The teen boy pointed to the two FBI agents that grabbed her earlier along with Simmons berating, “Those fucking idiots were the ones who caused it! The ones who are supposedly supposed to protect our people-our nation?!” 

Simmons seemed to grow nervous, looking at (Y/n)’s state as she was practically being held up by Mikaela, “I-It was a mistake on my part-I skipped her medical file-,” 

“Oh! So you run background checks on her family but don't bother to check her medical file on severe anxiety? And you call yourself an Agent-?” Sam cut off looking right behind Simmons, a quirk of a smile appearing as they all heard an abrupt pop. 

A disgusted breath left the older male as he felt himself drenched with what appeared to be gasoline, “Hey-Hey! Get that thing to stop, huh?”

Optimus frowned at his scouts actions, “Bumblebee, stop lubricating the man.” He understood why he was upset-they all did. However there were more approaches to the situation at hand they could do. The scout simply shrugged, turning back to his charge faintly smiling at him the best she could. 

Ratchet was kneeling before her giving instructions on what to do for her condition until they could get her to be properly treated. (Y/n) proceeded to do the breathing methods along with telling herself a story to distract herself from what was going on around her. Bumblebee stood on the side for support, watching her chest rise and fall at a good pace as well as making sure her balance was okay. It wasn't long before all the government men were seated that her breathing and body gained some strength back. 

“All right, tough guy,” Mikaela waltzed over to Simmons, “Take it off.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Your clothes, all of it, off.” The brunette demanded once more. 

Simmons was beyond pissed, “For what?!” 

She took a deep breath before responding, gathering all the patience she needed from tonight, “For threatening my dad,” She then proceeded to point to (Y/n)-the girl walking back over to the scene, “And for disrespecting (Y/n).” 

The man took a long look between the three teens, his eyes unforgiving. It wasn't long before he started to do as he was told, “Little lady, this is the beginning of the end of your life.” Mikaela simply nodded, already ready for the consequences that would unfold from this. “You're a criminal. Let's face facts. It's in her gene pool-”

“You got a lot of mouth from someone with hideous underwear like that,” (Y/n)s face scrunched up in distaste. 

“Now get behind the pole.” Mikaela ordered next. 

“This is such a felony what you're doing,” The other man said, his stance prideful. 

‘This bitch.’

(Y/n) looked him dead in the eye, the brown iris screaming in anger, “You guys commit felonies everyday but get off scot free because of your privilege. Don't talk to us about felonies. You lost that right forty minutes ago.”  

Simmons turned to her and Sam, “I will hunt you down, okay? He'll hunt you down.” Sam simply replied with a nod. His threats aren't working, “Without any remorse! No remorse.” 

 (Y/n) froze as she heard it, the distant sounds of helicopters flying overhead and cars revving in the distance, “Uhh-guy’s! It's time to go!” 

Ironhide heard it as well, “Optimus! Incoming!”, he slammed his servo on the ground causing a rippled effect of electricity to slow them down. 

The autobots started to transform, leaving the three teens to look at the vehicles in pursuit anxiously. (Y/n) held the necklace on her chest, her heart hammering as her body still felt weak. If she needed to make a run for it she wouldn't get that far, she knew that for a fact-but if they-.

“Roll out,” Optimus orders the autobots, the screeching of tires filling their ears as they make their escape leaving them with the Prime. The leader lowered his hand, making (Y/n)s nerves go on edge, “Up you get.” In her mind it wouldn't make more sense for him to transform and the three of them claymore in, it would save the big rig a lot of time and be more discreet around the humans. 

Not gonna argue right now. 

Each of them climbed onto the Primes hand, before he lifted them up to his shoulders making haste on foot. OPtimus begins to run around the bridge, the helicopter's lights landing on them as the three teens try to hang on tight to whatere piece of metal on his shoulders that they could find.  It wasn't long before he headed through the street, cars honking and skidding to a stop in order to not be crushed underneath. 

“Oh my god,” (Y/n) gasped, she tried closing her eyes but she could hear it all. From the cruising of gravel to the endless screeching of tires and helicopter blades. 

Optimus finally was able to lose them, hiding underneath the bridge high enough from the helicopters and cars so they wouldn't detect them. There was on problem. Gravity. 

“Easy you three,” The prime tried to comfort, he could hear their panicked breaths in his audio receptors, concentrating especially  on (Y/n) considering her current condition. Optimus shifted slightly trying to get a better grip, accidently knocking the three-of-them hanging off a piece of his shoulder like a loose thread. 

“Oh my god! Sam no!” (Y/n) was hanging onto Mikealas hips, tears streaming down her face as a helicopter passed too close underneath her. 

“No! NO! No, Sam!” Mikeala tried to grab the boy's other arm making sure the girl holding her wouldn't fall, “Sam don’t drop us!” 

“Oh God!” 

“Sam, don’t! Sam, dont!” She tried to get a better grip, her fear pumping into her stomach as she thought about the girl at her hip, “ I’m slipping! I’m slipping!” 

“Mikeala don't you dare! Please don't let go!”

It was too late Sam lost his grip, causing the rest of them to scream the ground coming fast, “Hold on!” Optimus tried to catch them with his feet but was unsuccessful with them, being unable to grip in time. 

With some hope for a miracle (Y/n) screamed “Bumblebee!” 

A flash a black and yellow reached her peripherals before she felt herself being jostled a little. Her and Sam both held on to one another as they felt Bumblebee hit the ground coming to a skidding stop. 

It wasn't long before they heard the copters  again and the revving of engines, (Y/n) looked up at Bumblebee, her thoughts racing wild as she feared for his safety. “Bee you have to go now!”

“Stop! Stop!” Sam’s pleas were going unheard as they continued to fly overhead. The first cannon was shot and locked on, pulling the scout in another direction, “Wait! NO!” 

“Take the shot! Get him! Take the shot!” 

“Stop! No! Don't hurt him!,” (Y/n) raced forward but was pulled back by Mikaela, her grip strong, “Let me go! Bumblebee!” The second one was released-his other arm, the the third-one of his legs. She could hear it-the painful whirrs he was letting out from the assault-the worst part is this. He wasn't fighting back. He wasn't a threat to them. 

The final shot flipped him completely off his feet leaving the girl in shock, her resolve crumbling, “Bee, you have to fight back! You hear me! Fight back!” (Y/n)s screams were useless underneath how loud the blades were, each second that went by hearing her protector in pain caused her great turmoil.  

The cars arrived, blocking the exits from the scene before them. Sam pulled the two girls behind him, making sure to have a firm grip on his best friend so she wouldn't run to the scout, “No! Stop!” 

Guns. It was the guns that made everything humbling, so frightening. That's all she could see around her from each man in black-badges on full display. “Get down on the ground! Get down! Get down!” The three teens' hands went up, slowly getting down on their knees in defeat. It wasn't enough for them as they were shoved down to the pavement, groans of discomfort leaving their lips, (Y/n) didnt care-she was too focused on the black and yellow mech groaning in pain- not making any effort to escape. 

“Look! Please! He's not fighting back!” The afro haired cried, “You're hurting him!” 

Her screams were ignored once more, only to be covered up with another chilling command, “Freeze it! Freeze it! Freeze it!” 

They were pulled up, giving them a full view of the white smoke being blasted at him, Sam's screams filling the air, “Stop hurting him!”. Bumblebee fell to the ground, pained groans and whirrs filling the air as the girl's heart ripped in two. For a brief moment she didn't see the mech on the ground she could see another scene, a small framed femme trying to crawl away, two bodies laying waste in her arms as the men surrounded her. The surroundings were different. Instead of a bridge it was street lights and open roads-stores. 

They had done this before. They had done this the night of her parents' deaths. And it definitely won't happen again tonight!

(Y/n) kicked the officer from behind, quickly making her way over to the black and yellow mech before them. It was blind rage, she could feel it, from the way she grabbed the house aiming it to the other men, one going down after she proceeded to kick him repeatedly. An officer tried to grab her, only for her to grab his baton and whack him with it, a resounding crack following. The best thing is she wasn't alone fighting for this mech's life-Sam and joined in hosing down another group of men as well, before being taken down by two other men. 

She got through, getting in the scouts face-his optics focused on her, “Bee get up! You got to get-” Her sentence was cut short as he was grabbed from behind her mouth covered, before being pushed to the ground to be handcuffed. She fought back her fight not leaving her much to the officers dismay. 

It was a domino effect, once she was pushed to the ground, they heard it. The angry whirrs from the scout was unmatched as he started to pull the helicopters down with him. (Y/n) looked over eyes catching optics as it seemed like he was trying to get to her, one copter was successfully pulled down it crashing on pace. It didn't explode, which was a good thing but it only got worse for the bot as another  copter hooked him again pulling back down with more force this time. 

No…

The girl let out a sob in defeat, her efforts were in vain for her protector couldn't be saved with her own hands. Sam was stopped in front of Simmons-the agent had a satisfied smile on his face, “Happy to see me again?” 

“I'd rather jump from that bridge,” (Y/n) scowled. 

Simmions simply cocked his head at her, “Put them in the car with their little criminal friend.” The two were ushered into the car, (Y/n) in the middle with Sam and Mikaela on either side of her. The afro hairs slammed her head back in frustration at the agent's next words, “I want that thing frozen and ready for transport.” 

(Y/n) sobbed, “They're gonna do Bee just like they did Estel,” She turned to Sam, her expressions telling it all, “They're gonna freeze him and experiment on him.” 

The witwicky shook his head, “We're not letting that happen, I promise,” He looked her in the eyes-they didn't waver this time causing her heart to swell, “And this time-i'm not breaking it.” 

The cars pulled away the helicopters following in tow giving the green light for the autobots to emerge from hiding. Jazz was the first one to transform, scoping the area, “Hang back let me check it out,” He climbed down to underneath the bridge where Optimus was hiding. “Optimus, are we just gonna stand here and do nothing?” 

“There's no way to free Bumblebee without harming the humans,” Was the Primes reply. 

“But it's not right. He-” 

“Let them leave.” The leader finalized, his tone filled with sorrow. He looked down before picking up the glasses they sacrificed so much to obtain, only to realize the book was still with the girl. 

Their storyteller in the hands of the humans with the book was risking, but they trust her with their lives. With the way she fought hard to protect Bumblebee in her weak state-they'd be fools not to. 

~ ✯ ~

(Y/n) sat across the other man and women on the helicopter nervously. She had never flown from so high before and she didn't think today was going to be the day she got to experience it. The night had quickly turned into day signifying she needed a long day of sleep in the comfort of her room snuggled up into one of her bears. Mikaela and Sam sat on either side of her once more, not giving her the glory of seeing the view down below, she guessed she shouldn't be complaining so much. She didn't know if she had a fear of heights, and today she didn't want to find out. 

“So,” Sam started the conversation. 

The blonde woman nodded in understanding, “What do they get you for?” 

“Uh,” He turned to (Y/n) an awkward smile on his face, “I bought a car. Turned out to be an alien robot, and uh she-” 

“My family has been associated with them for god knows how long,” His best friend finished for him. 

‘Wow’ the man mouthed. 

“Who knew?” He smiled, (Y/n) as well finally finding a tad bit of humor in their situation. 

It wasn't long before they reached their location, the dam came into view with tourists becoming more apparent. With getting out of the vehicle the group of teens got a good view of their location, it was beautiful, if that's what anyone wanted to hear. 

“This is not my idea of a vacation?” (Y/n) muttered, “I would rather to go to disney world than here,”  

Sam laughed, “Shes finally back,” 

“Meh,” The girl shrugged, “Just trying to make the best out of a shitty situation.” 

The three of them followed the men, soon being met with the sight of Simmons, erasing the easy expression on the girl's face. She could still hear her protector's groans of pain in her head, ikt was even worse with the image of him reaching out to her, pulling down a helicopter in the process. 

“Hey kids,” He looked between the two best friends, “I think we got off to a bad start huh?” 

“A bad start would be an understatement,” The afro haired huffed. 

He shrugged, playing nice, “You guys must be hungry,” he placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder, the boy growing annoyed, “You want a latte? HoHo? Double venti macchiato-?” 

“Where's my car?” Sam questioned, “No better yet wheres my friend-” 

Another man stepped forward, “Son, I need you to listen to me very carefully. People can die here.” He turned to (Y/n), “We need to know everything you know. We need to know it now.” 

“No-” 

“Okay,” 

“Sam!” (Y/n) hissed, “What are you-?” 

“But, first I'll take my car, my parents. Maybe you should write that down,” The boy replied, “Oh, and her juvie record. That's got to be gone. Like, forever.” 

He turned to his best friend, “Anything you want to add (Y/n)? Since you know you're the one with all the history that these guys need to know,” the boy turned back to the other man with a smile on his face, “This girl beside me was raised on this stuff, She’s a (L/n)-learn to remember.” 

The man froze for a minute, turning back to the girl, “(L/n)? Daughter of (D/n) (L/n)?” (Y/n) nodded, biting her lower lip from the man's intense stare. The man pointed to her looking at Simmons, “Get that girl whatever she wants immediately, her uncle is practically a veteran here and her family are legends.” 

“And you son, come with me. We'll talk about your car,” 

[tare-anime]

Post identity reveal:- Jealous Loid headcanon!!! Please...

Some of both TWILIGHT's and Loid's co- workers keep on hitting on and flirting with Yor ...

One of the new recruits actually proposed to Yor in front of Twilight and Yor just don't understand that ?

Please make a scenario or headcanon

So sorry for the super late reply @cat-anime345678

So, rough scenarios:

After the reveal, Twilight can feel even more relax around his family, and can even share things with Yor. Sometimes asks for ideas which answers always astound him. But that's his wife, who has been helping him for several missions, and the success rate has increased amazigly. They really are start to get known as the deadly duo in the WISE HQ.

For the Garden, getting help from the infamous Twilight is such a great help. Eventhough they don't want to ask help frequently, for difficult cases, they do ask for Twilight's help.

During several times in the first join missions for the Garden, all Twilight's ever feel is occasional judging glare from Yor's supervisor, and coworkers. It looks like they want to see whether he is good enough for their princess. And thankfully, after proving himself again and again, the glares subsides, and he felt being accepted.

Having that experiences, Twilight is anxious during their first join missions for WISE. Because he knows his wife is awesome during work, but all WISE ever known is the timid Yor Forger in his reports. If he can time travel, he will make sure his past self didn't do such ridiculous mistakes. Alas what has been done is done. Now he can only make sure to observe his colleagues for any depreciation glances or remarks aiming at his wife. If necessary, he will strangle them for talking trash about his wife.

What he gets however, is admiration looks. And he cannot be more proud.

The pride didn't last long unfortunately, as the more they do join mission for WISE, the more he notices how his coworkers (both male and females, especially those young ones who are new recruits!!) Start to swarm around Yor. Either asking for help in hand to hand combat trainings, choosing the best knives/weapons, asking advice to raise kids, etc.

Yor, the ever kind soul that she is, will always tries her best to help them. And that making the WISE people even dare to contact her outside the jobs. Asking her company for shopping at the mall, having lunches at the park or fancy restaurants, going undercover in a prestigious balls, and two or three of them even dare to ask her company to investigate the newest movies at the cinema!!

Twilight starts to shoo them one by one. But several dares to talk back to him, saying that their marriage is only a fake one. Just for Operation Strix. As per his own reports.

Twilight tries to retaliate by showing them the rings he has bought, and the plans he has made to give Yor the best vow renewal / proposal she will ever have.

However, to his horror, when he turn his back, he sees a junior already on their knees and taking Yor's hand, asking her to stay with them forever. They even dare promising to give Yor the best life she will ever have.

Twilight is so ready to pull out his gun and kill them. Spy career be damned. He WILL take his wife away from this thirsting wolves!!

But before he able to act any foolish acts, Yor firmly rejects the ask(s), saying that she is a married woman. And that she is Twilight's. And they better respect that.

All jealousy vanished from Twilight's chest. He feels so proud and falls even harder for his wife.

All meticulous proposal plans forgotten, Twilight scopps his wife right then right there, and goes to give her the ring, and the long deserved holiday for them. Away from any jobs.

And from that day onward, Thorn Princess is strictly paired with Twilight in every mission. No negotiation.

All ask for help or advice from any WISE agents are redirected to Handler.

The asks ceased to exist after Handler makes sure to answer each of them thouroughly and meticulously.

Twilight thanks Handler profusely.

Handler smacks his head for getting her involved in unecessary mess, and shoves piles of extra missions at him.

But Twilight gladly does all of that, because it means that he can spent more time with his badass wife.

[limeade-l3sbian]

I want to end my blogging for the night with dream I had this morning:

I was at a mall and I was about to leave on a Disney cruise. For some reason, Marshawn Lynch was both my uncle and travel agent 💀We were sitting there and he was helping me plan two days on the cruise and I was like, "No, yeah, I'm ready to go but I don't know how I'm going to pay for it. Like, how much does my insurance cover?" And he was just like, "😐" and I slowly forced myself to wake up out of embarrassment 😭😭

[indynerdgirl]

Topgun AU Ideas

As I was scrolling through the Topgun tag on AO3 the other night, I realized that I was starting to see the same tropes and AUs over & over again. And while not a bad thing at all, personally, I'm just starting to get a little bored of reading the same story over & over.

So I started thinking about what kind of AUs I would love to see in the Topgun fandom and then I started making a list and it kind of spiraled out of control. Oops. 😆

I now present to you all my somewhat organized list of AU ideas! And feel free to use them for any fandom, I was just thinking about Topgun as I came up with them all. It's also by no means an exhaustive list so I probably missed some obvious ones.

Military AU ideas: Pentagon/Joint Chiefs/White House Advisor (think The West Wing but for the military - this is the one I've been dying to see someone tackle!) Navy JAG NCIS Blue Angels Air Force Instead of Navy Astronauts/NASA Test Pilots Naval Academy Instructors Adversary/Aggressor Squadron Office of Naval Intelligence Sailors Instead of Pilots Submariners Instead of Pilots Naval Flight School Instructors (Aviation Preflight Indoctrination, Primary Flight Training, Intermediate Flight Training, and/ or Advanced Flight Training)

Character AU ideas: Natasha is Maverick's daughter/niece  Bob is Maverick's son/nephew  Natasha is Ice's daughter/niece Bob is Ice's son/nephew Maverick is Amelia's father Penny Is Also a Pilot Penny’s Father Is An Air Force General Obligatory Goose/Carole/Ice Lives AUs Maverick’s Dad/Mom Lives Any of the younger pilots is the kid of one of the other 86 boys

And a whole lot more under the cut!

American Historical AU ideas: Colonial/Revolutionary War Post-Revolutionary War Lewis & Clark War of 1812 Mexican-American War/The Alamo Wild West (good guys or bad guys) Organ Trail The Gold Rush (California or Alaska) Pony Express Civil War/Reconstruction Transcontinental Railway Cattle Drives Industrial Revolution/The Gilded Age WWI Bootleggers/Rum Runners/1920s Jazz Age Great Depression/Dust Bowl WWII Korean War Vietnam War 1950s/Greasers Moon Race/1960s NASA 1980s/The Cold War

Other Historical AU Ideas: Ancient Greece/Rome Middle Ages Renaissance Tudor Elizabethan Georgian Regency Napoleonic Victorian Edwardian

Fandom AUs: The West Wing Firefly The Avengers Agents of Shield Star Wars Star Trek Harry Potter Percy Jackson Ocean's 11 Mission Impossible Bourne Tom Clancy/Jack Ryan Jack Reacher John Wick Friends New Girl Supernatural How I Met Your Mother Chuck Downton Abbey CSI Jurassic Park Indiana Jones The Office Parks and Rec Pacific Rim

Other Profession AU ideas: Coffee Shop Book Shop Bakery/Candy Maker Winery/Distillery Restaurant/Chef Bartender/Bar Mechanic/Car Repair Shop Doctor/Medical/Hospital Firefighter/Police Officer/Detective Wildfire Firefighter Florist Tattooist Gardener/Gardening Horse Racing Motorsports (NASCAR/F1/Motocross, ect) Professional Sports (baseball, football, hockey, soccer, basketball) Rodeo/Bull Riding Olympians Air Racing (it’s a real thing!) Actors (movie or stage)/Celebrity Ballet Dancers Teachers College Professors Lawyers/Judges National Park Ranger Cruise Ship Pet Groomer/Veterinarian Farmer/Rancher Banker/Financial Bodyguards Zoo Museum/Living Museum Musician/Band Mall (everyone works at different stores at the same mall) Marketing Archeologist Spies Reporters/Journalist News Anchors Lifeguards Assassins Criminals/Thieves/Heist Bounty Hunter

Misc AU Ideas: Royalty/Lost Royalty Time Travel Fae/Fairy Mermaids/Selkies Witch/Wizard Werewolves/Vampires Fantasy/Magic (including modern/urban settings) High Fantasy Dragons Soulmates (color blindness, first words, timestamps, matching marks, can share emotions, Red String of Fate, can share dreams, can see/talk to each other in dreams, can write on each other's skin, telepathic, Soulmate Goose of Enforcement) Omegaverse/ABO (not everyone’s cup of tea, just putting it out there!) Roommates Pirates High School College Mob/Mafia Fairytale Arranged Marriage Accidental Marriage Fake Dating/Engagement/Marriage Superhero/Villain Apocalypse/Post-Apocalypse Forbidden Love Boarding School Space/Sci-Fi Road Trip Summer Camp Immortal/Reincarnation Hallmark Movie Amnesia Pen Pals Resurrection Animal Shapeshifter May this list inspire all of you amazing fanfic writers out there! 💜

[boombox-fuckboy]

Podcasts Crowdfunding

Let me know if I'm missing any, and I'll add them.

Hi Nay (Act 3)

Closes 2023-04-07

Hi Nay, literally translated to “Hi Mom”, is a supernatural horror fiction podcast about Filipina immigrant Mari Datuin, whose babaylan (shaman) family background accidentally gets her involved in stopping dangerous supernatural events in Toronto.

Arden (Season 3)

Closes 2023-04-13

In Season 3, Bea, Brenda and the rest of Team Arden will be heading to NYC, the Very Large Apple, to investigate the robbery of the lost painting A Long Summer's Night. Stolen in 1929, the masterpiece by mysterious artist Ronald Overton has been missing ever since... except for one night, July 4th, 2001, when it appeared in the background of a photograph taken by siblings Linus and Demi Callas at a party that neither can quite remember.

The Last Echoes (Season 1)

Closes 2023-04-20

The Last Echoes is an audio drama that tells the story of one planet's decision after they're offered membership in the galaxy's greatest alliance. It also tells the stories of 8 people living on worlds that are nothing but history and memory and gives audio glimpses into the sound of those lost worlds.

Twigs and Hearts (Season 1)

Closes 2023-04-21

A book that ties many together. Who picks up a copy? What powers do they serve? Between missing people and people missing, who will you trust? Twigs and Hearts. Open at your own risk. Twigs and Hearts is a queer supernatural horror audio drama that questions reality, relationships and radios.

Project Gnosis (Part 2)

Closes 2023-05-01

Project Gnosis follows supernatural agents, both monsters and beings of legend, as they travel around the world to stop conspiracies and acts of terror waged by forces from humans to cryptids. Follow a jiangshi, a werehorse, and an Irish legend in a story filled with a diverse and talented cast.

The Attic Monologues (Season 2)

Closes 2023-05-01

The Attic Monologues is a serialised urban fantasy audio drama from Audio Verse Award winner Morgan Greensmith, following Nyx Ryland, a drama student who starts practising with a mysterious collection of monologues they discover in their attic. But when they start receiving strange threats from the supposed author of these monologues, it all begins to feel like more than just coincidence.

Brimstone Valley Mall (Season 2)

Closes 2023-05-02

It's been almost three years since this dark comedy fiction podcast left our fans on a cliffhanger. And wasn't that fun? Now here we are! Three years and a global pandemic later, bringing you a final season that will answer all of your burning questions! Like: What happened to Hornblas? Will our demons make it back to the mall? What IS a bagel bite? We want to wrap up this story in a way that's more satisfying than a five finger corndog shoved down the gullet. And with your help, we plan to do just that.