spy case

I’m trying to sort out Emily’s past since this new info has come up in the Beyond Borders episode and:

She graduated high school in 89’ and presumably started college right away because she’s an overachiever who was determined to make something of herself. She went to Georgetown for undergrad (til 93’) then Yale for grad school (til 95’). This part is hazy and we know she lied to Hotch about being in the bureau for the full 10 years (96ish-06) when she started, but part of that narrative could be true and she might have started at the FBI right out of college. From there, at some point, she got an internship at the UN that concluded before or in 2001, considering she said they halted the investigation of her and Clara’s friend’s murder due to 9/11. I assume she went from there to Interpol (knowing her language/international skills she got hired right away) and was only there a short while before being transferred via backstop to the CIA, specifically to the JTF-12 task force, which was said to be assembled after 9/11. Clyde, her Interpol boss, recommended her so he must have seen a lot in her as a newbie even. It was never specified exactly how long she was a spy, but their last case was the Doyle one which concluded in 2004 (7 years before 2011) so it seems it was only a few years. After that wrapped, we also don’t know exactly what she did for roughly a year and a half, but I assume it involved getting re-acquainted to a normal life (while making sure Declan was okay and trying to get into the BAU to gain stability for the both of them, as stated). And then she barged into Hotch’s office with her cardboard box…

on this post im getting a lot of “husband and wife” explanations and that got me thinking, imagine miss pauling and spy having to do a mission together where they have to pretend to be husband and wife, and both of them smirking on the inside bc they know how fucking gay they actually are

edit: now with art!

If Love Were Easy...

Originally posted by multifandomimagines-17

Not my gif

Based on Sentence Prompts:  #145 - “If love were easy we’d be writing songs about better things.  Like pizza.”

Peter Quill x Reader, Female Pronouns, Some Angst, Mostly Fluff

Word count: 2.1 K

           You knew you shouldn’t be jealous.  You knew Peter loved you, he said it often enough and showed you in all the little ways.  He danced with you on the ship, made sure you were always near on missions, volunteered to do the laundry, all the things that’d make any girlfriend’s heart melt, but then there was Gamora.

Keep reading

When I was Seven, I Stole a Horse

Okay backtrack to before the horse stealing before we start this story.

Growing up, my best friend was a boy named Ben.  Benjamin, if he was being annoying, to which he’d retaliate with Keejamin, which is not and never has been my full name.

Ben lived next door to my grandparents, and we were born within a few weeks of each other and were best friends pretty much since the time he crawled under the fence into Nanny’s backyard and helped me make mudpies (not that either of us actually remember that, seeing as we were two, but no one was particularly happy with the unrecognizably muddy toddlers).

Anyway, Ben would catch our car coming down the road and have hopped the back fence and made it through Nanny’s house to open the front door for us before Nanny or Grandad had even noticed we’d pulled into the driveway.  We had fake weddings with my little sister as the flower girl / priest.  We threw water balloons at his older sisters and their friends.

And one time we stole a horse.

So Nanny’s and Ben’s backyards attached to a field.  There was a fence in between, and three or four horses that lived in the field.  They were nice horses and didn’t even bat an eye when a couple of small children would hop the fence and run around in their field, and they liked us because we’d feed them apples and carrots.

Since they liked us so much, we decided to steal one and keep it for ourselves.

Why would two seven year olds decide to steal a horse, you ask?  The answer was simple

We were bored.

(Also Ben’s sister and her friends wouldn’t let us into the treefort to play pirates so technically it’s their fault we stole a horse.)

Why did we think we were physically capable of stealing a horse and getting away with it?  There were a couple reasons behind that:

  1. I was reading a lot of detective and spy books and figured I knew enough to pull it off
  2. Ben just liked to steal stuff
  3. Ben was also a really good liar
  4. Nobody ever expected sweet little Kee with her pink dresses and pigtails to do anything bad
  5. If we did get caught, we could always blame it on a sister

So we started planning.  It was a pretty good plan for a couple of seven year olds.  We spent two or three months on it before we actually tried to steal it, and had a pretty solid heist going, including

  • Around the clock surveillance, courtesy of Ben and his night vision goggles he’d gotten for Christmas, through which we documented exactly when the horses were in the field and when their owners came out
  • Multiple tests to figure out which horse was the slowest, the easiest to lure with apples and carrots, and which was the easiest to put a Barbie jump rope harness on, among other tests, so we could pick the best horse for the heist
  • Finding the best path out of the field and cutting the wire fence open inconspicuously enough so no one would notice but we’d be able to get the horse out
  • Researching horse care and heist stuff at the elementary school library 
    • because it was 2004 and neither of us had internet
    • we did a project on spy work at the time too to provide an aliby for if the police somehow decided that the seven year olds should be the ones being questioned about the missing horse
      • the grade two teacher thought our project was really well researched and that we seemed really into the topic and we got a really good grade on it
  • Watching James Bond a lot
  • Avoiding talking about it in front of my sister because Sam was the ultimate tattle tale
  • Hiding all our plans (which were written in my glitter gel pens on pink paper) in the hollow book I got Ben for his birthday so no one could find them

(that’s all I can remember at the moment, but I know there were other parts of the plan)

So the time finally came for the heist.  We’d picked out victim and had everything ready to go and had to be back by noon cause Nanny was making grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch.

We would get the horse, get it out, and it would live in a secret clearing in the forest by the beach until the police stopped looking for it and then it would live in Ben’s treefort.

So we went out, dressed in black like all the good spies and armed with a bag of apples and carrots and a jump rope.

I fed the horse while Ben got the jump rope situated because he was taller, and then we lead it down to the back of the field and through the cut fence and into the forest.

We got about halfway to the secret clearing when my Cabbage Patch Kids digital watch alarm went off to tell us we had fifteen minutes until Nanny was expecting us for lunch.

Fifteen minutes was not long enough to get to the secret clearing and get the horse situated and get back for grilled cheese.  And Nanny would ask questions, because Ben was definitely the type to be late to things, but I was the kid who taught herself to read analog clocks in kindergarten and would point out to the teacher that the clock says it’s 10:06 and gym is supposed to start at 10:05 so why are we still in the classroom?

(as a side note, the times on the day’s schedule only lasted about a week into each school year before I’d annoyed the teacher so much she took them down)

So we hashed it out and decided we’d take the horse back and re-steal it after lunch.

We got it back it back into the field with no problems, closed the fence up, removed the jump rope, and were inside the house as the clock struck noon for our grilled cheese sandwiches.

(”What have you two been up to today?  I haven’t seen you all morning.” “Oh, we’re just playing spies.” “Sounds lovely.”)

Lunch ended and we ran back to the back door eager to restart our heist and–

–it was pouring.

The complete opposite of the weather needed for a good heist.  Rain meant mud and mud meant footprints and footprints meant the police could find out it was us who stole the horse.

So we postponed it to the next weekend and went and went out to have a mud fight instead.

My friend Sarah’s horse (Tiny rural town.  Most people had horses or sheep or other large animals and didn’t have to resort to stealing them) had had a baby over the weekend and she’d printed off pictures to show everybody.

“But Mommy says we’re gonna sell him cause horses cost a lot of money to feed and we’ve already got three.”

That brought my attention away from the pictures of the cute baby horse, because it didn’t make sense.  According to my research, horses ate hay and carrots and apples.  None of that was expensive, right?

“How much does it cost?” I asked, and Sarah shrugged.

“Mommy says each of them costs a couple hundred dollars every month.”

Now, this was a problem, so I had to go find my partner in crime.

Ben was with some of the other boys, doing whatever seven year old boys did.

“Ben, we have a problem.  Code red.”

(That was our super top secret spy code in case we needed to talk about the heist.  Nobody would be able to figure it out.)

So we went somewhere slightly private and I told him how much Sarah said it costs to feed a horse.

“I only have eight dollars and twelve cents,” I told him.  “And I don’t get an allowance, so I won’t get more money till my birthday.”

“I need my allowance to buy candy,” he said, and we stood there for a while, trying to figure out how we could make this work.

Eventually, it was decided that we wouldn’t be able to afford to own a horse unless we waited until after my birthday and Ben never ate candy again, and neither of us were good with that plan, so the Great Horse Heist of 2004 came to an end.

We burnt the plans that weekend in Ben’s backyard and managed to blame the pile of ashes on one of his sisters.

So yeah.  That is the story of the time I stole a horse for about twenty minutes.

Nobody besides me and Ben (and now all of you) know that this actually went down, because somehow we managed to hide this deranged plan from absolutely everybody and then we were too scared they’d send us to jail if we told anyone and then I kind of forgot about it until earlier today when my friends were talking about how I was probably the only one of us who’d get into heaven and had I ever quote unquote sinned before?  (Answer: yes, because I stole a horse, so I’m probably not getting into heaven either)

The moral of this story is that, had Ben not decided I had cooties the next year and that that meant we couldn’t be friends anymore, we would probably be criminal masterminds by now.

The Mercs in every fanfic ever
  • Scout: "What da hell was dat crap!? I jus' wanna run all over da place and drink my Bonk!"
  • Engineer: the mom friend, wants what best for everyone and is too pure for the universe
  • Pyro: "MMPH MMPH MMMMMPH!!!" ( I mean, that one's a given)
friendly hugs of the inquisition
  • Iron Bull hugs you like you’re one of the crew, squeezing you hard, smushing you into his body.  He greets you loudly, and you have to snatch a quick breath before your face is full of grey skin and hard muscle and an elbow behind your neck, precisely placed just in case.  Old spy habits, he says later.  Sorry.
  • Sera hugs awkwardly, all angles and space and light, hesitant pats on the back.  Hugging is a new experience for her and she needs time to adjust to the fact that someone wants to hug her just because.
  • Blackwall’s hug is a brief squeeze, a side hug almost.  At one point in his life he was warm and open and larger than life; at one point in his life he hugged that way, too.  But that was then.
  • Cassandra almost looks embarrassed when you hug her, which you do because the opportunity to make her blush is too tempting to pass up.  When she finally returns the gesture, it’s surprising in its fierceness.  You feel the muscles of her arms and shoulders bunch, and she always manages to pop something in your back.
  • Cole is new to hugs but he likes them, likes to slide his arms around you like you are a precious, breakable thing, likes to fold you into himself and breathe you in.  In truth the way he hugs is a mirror of you, so he hugs you and you hug him for as long as you both want, and it never grows uncomfortable.
  • Varric always laughs before he hugs, or chuckles, or says something.  “Hey,” he’ll grunt, or “c’mere.”  He hugs with one thickly corded arm; you’re glad he doesn’t hug you with two, because if he did you’d be face to face with that magnificent chest hair and you don’t think you’d be able to survive the meeting.  Varric is so considerate.
  • Dorian flings his arms open for you; you have an urge to run into them and be spun around, like in the romance novels Cassandra reads.  You never do, but return his enthusiasm gladly, clothes rustling as bodies meet, arms thumping around each other.  Before he releases you, he presses his cheek to you briefly, just a touch.  His mustache tickles.
  • Vivienne doesn’t hug, darling, but she will air kiss, first right, then left.  If you try to go left first it’s all over, and the privilege will not be given back for a week.
  • Solas hugs quick and sudden, pulling you so fast into him that you’re left breathless.  It’s over before you can react, the space between you recreated in half a second.  He fills it with a quietly spoken, “My friend.  It is good to see you.”
  • Leliana hugs slowly, her arms tightening around your ribs bit by bit.  Affection is rare for her now, and she will savor it whenever she finds it. When you part her scent lingers on your skin, and for minutes afterwards you keep catching whiffs of it, over and over.
  • Cullen hugs you properly, one arm around your shoulders, the other arm around your chest, hugs you for the perfect amount of time, hugs you with the perfect amount of tightness, the point of his chin pressing lightly into your shoulder.  He hugs deliberately, and doesn’t pull away fast.
  • Josephine hugs so innocently, both arms under yours, elbows bent and at waist height, forearms flush against your back.  Her eyes always sparkle, and sometimes she will even lift one foot up just slightly, and point her toes.

anonymous asked:

Any update on fbi and firefighter derek fics? ☺️

These fics were recently updated here and here. You can also check out the spy tag here. Here’s an update for the spy tag in case you’re interested.

Sidequest by  bleep0bleep | 11.4K

Agent Derek Hale has been working up the courage to ask his partner Stiles out on a date (finally!) when he heads out on a solo mission—without Derek. Eager to provide support, Derek arrives in Beacon Hills, only there is no mission, and Stiles’ dad thinks Derek is Stiles’ boyfriend.
Well. It could be worse.

my boyfriend, the ex-spy. by  matildajones | 6.4K

Derek tries to live a normal life… it’s hard when his boyfriend used to travel around the world shooting the bad guys.

Stiles Stilinski: Spy! by  AnnoyinglyCute, eeyore9990 | 24K

Stiles Stilinski, a desk-bound CIA analyst, volunteers to go undercover to infiltrate the world of a deadly arms dealer, and prevent diabolical global disaster when the field agent he’s assigned to — and in love with — is killed while on a mission to retrieve the coordinates for a nuclear device.

He might even make it out of this alive if Agent Derek Hale would stay the hell out of his way.

I realised that my latest group of OCs fit really well with this post, so I drew this. In order, Luna, Elva, Milo, Iris, Dion, Shay.

The only one there wasn’t a pun for on the original post was polysexual, so I gave Luna the opening line. I tried to give everyone at least one colour from their pride flag (Luna’s scarf, Elva’s lipstick, Milo’s shirt, Iris’s whole outfit, Dion’s hoodie, and Shay’s t-shirt.) Iris is wearing an ace ring. I’m disappointed Shay’s t-shirt is cut off because says ‘panda monium’. Which, since they’re pansexual, is kind of a double pun. That’s all you really need to know about Shay - this is probably the proudest they’ve ever been of their friends.


The Clandestine World of Numbers Stations,

After the end of World War II and during the Cold War, there was a drastic increase in a phenomenon now known as “numbers stations”.  Numbers stations are shortwave radio stations which broadcast exceedingly odd and unusual broadcasts, such as a long list of numbers, a random list of letters, or a nonsensical list of words or phrases. It was not uncommon for such broadcasts to interrupt the communications of ham radio operators, truck drivers, air traffic controller, and shortwave radio enthusiasts.  Speculation grew as to what these numbers stations were used for, but the sudden increase in such shortwave traffic during the Cold War leads to only one plausible conclusion; that they are clandestine coded broadcasts used by governments to communicate with spies and other intelligence agents.  Today there are a number of shortwave radio hobbyists whose past time is to locate and identify the source of these numbers stations.  With certain equipment it is possible to trace a shortwave radio signal to its source, and with a given location it can be quite easy to infer whose is making the broadcasts.  For example, one of the most popular numbers station, known as the “Lincolnshire Poacher Station”, was traced to the Royal Air Force Base in Akritiri, Cyprus.  Thus it is logical to assume that the British Government had some role in its broadcasts between 1988 and its closure in 2008.  Over several decades scores of stations have been identified belonging to the US, British, Russian/Soviet, Israeli, French, German, and numerous other governments. All of course, deny knowledge of such broadcasts.

When the Cold War ended in 1989, the number of numbers stations decreased drastically.  While today numbers stations are still common, they are nowhere near as common as they were during the Cold War.  Along with the end of the Cold War, the invention of new communication methods which are more advanced and more secure could explain the decrease in the use of numbers stations.    More and more numbers stations are becoming commonly used by less powerful nations such as North Korea and Cuba.  Cuba especially has been known as a prolific shortwave radio user, albeit not a very effective one as dozens of Cuban spies have been rooted out and prosecuted using shortwave radio messages as evidence (see the Attencion Spy Case and The Miami Five).  In addition, many numbers stations today have been found to belong to non-governmental groups, such as rebel groups, freedom fighters, terrorists, drug cartels, and organized crime.