reach negotiator

Scarab's impact on Diplomacy

So one of the things that I have thought about regarding Blue Beetle and the Reach was why exactly they needed an infiltrator unit in the first place. Their comic plan would have worked without Beetle fighting for them, and besides if they needed fighters, Tovar or the Reach probes or off world Scarabs could have also done the job. So why take the security risk of having a scarab?

The short answer, Diplomacy.

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At Your Mercy

The harsh winter in Mirkwood and the absence of a certain Elvenking do not leave you any other choice than hoarding all the blankets you can get.

Rating: G
Fandom: The Hobbit
Prompt: Imagine how Thranduil convicts you of late-night blanket stealing. 
Pairing: Thranduil Oropherion x Reader
Type: Reader insert, one-shot, fluff
Date: 16th February, 2015
Words: 1977
Warnings: Pure unadulterated fluff. A way too cheesy plotline. Overprotective Thranduil. Grammatically questionable Sindarin: “my love” (meleth nîn), “sweet dreams” (elei velui) and “love of my life” (meleth e-guilen).
A/N: This is the first and the only story that made it through my gigantic writer’s block. It is not more than an apprentice piece I wrote two years ago based on an imagine on @sindarinkisses, a now inactive Tolkien writing blog.
Beta’d: @jezvontesse

Originally posted by avengers-of-mirkwood

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10

On Oct. 22, 1961, when America’s senior diplomat in West Berlin, E. Allan Lightner, Jr., attempted to cross the newly-erected Berlin Wall at a major checkpoint, Checkpoint Charlie. He was stopped by East German authorities who wanted to see his papers, but Lightner insisted that only the Soviets had the authority to check his papers.

He eventually turned back from the border, but Gen. Lucius Clay ordered that the next U.S. diplomat who needed to cross the border would be accompanied by military police in armed Jeeps. The next diplomat did cross the border with the Jeeps.

But Clay still wasn’t satisfied. He sent M48 tanks to the checkpoint and had them rev their engines. The Soviet commander requested permission to call an equal number of tanks out in response and Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev approved it. 

So T-55 tanks pulled up to the opposite end of the street and, approximately 82 yards away from each other, the two sides threatened each other for 16 hours from Oct. 27-28, 1961.

News crews rushed to the scene and the world watched with bated breath to see if this would be the flame that set off the powder keg and descended the world into nuclear war.

But neither country wanted to fight World War III over paperwork in Berlin. President John F. Kennedy ordered back channels to be opened to reach a negotiation. Khrushchev agreed to a deal where the countries would take turns withdrawing a single tank at a time.

The Soviets withdrew a T-55 and, a few minutes later, America pulled back an M48. The process continued until Checkpoint Charlie and its Soviet counterpoint had returned to their normal garrisons of a few soldiers on either side.

Today, the intersection has a replica checkpoint and a number of historical exhibits. Aside from the Cuban Missile Crisis the following year, Checkpoint Charlie may be the closest America and Soviet Russia came to blows in open warfare.

I’m not entirely sure why some of my followers follow me (since my blog is a mix of a bunch of different stuff) but hopefully everyone can enjoy the Reach Negotiator in all his glory.

(I actually hit 100 a little while ago, but real life problems and the fact that I didn’t know what to do for hitting 100 kept me from making this until now XP )

(also I made this because I can’t get over how glow-y Negotiator is in this panel: LINK! )

The Replacement City

On September, 13th,  2005 at 11:17 am local time, the city of Vancouver, and indeed, much of the greater Vancouver area as we know it, vanished in a flash of light. It was no military attack or terrorist action, at least as far as anyone knows; there was simply nothing there, possibly as far down as the mantle. 

This lasted approximately 5 seconds, just enough time for satellite imagery and the crew of a syndicated genre TV show recording just outside the affected area to register that it happened and record that it was, in fact, missing.

And then something came back in its place.

The next several days were very, very exciting for everyone involved, as several things were discovered in short order:

The new city was inhabited, including a large refugee ghetto housing several thousand Vancouver residents, who claimed to have been in the place for months, rather than the few seconds the actual city was gone.

Within about 200 miles of the New City, the laws of physics are slightly different. The square cube law is more of a suggestion, for a start, given one of the local staples is giant beetle. Also there are wizards. Lots of wizards.

There are at least twenty new minority groups, including various species that were thought to be the province of fantasy writing. 

The local language was a close enough cognate to Renaissance era Italian that it broke at least one Ethnolinguist. He broke further when he learned about translation spells.

The local ruler was an elected monarch called the Doge, which led one meme spawning some eight years later to be -very different-.

Oh, and the reason the earth under Vancouver  vanished was at least in part to accommodate a giant fuck-off labyrinth filled with monsters and traps. “Delving”, a sort of salvage operation with swords, was and is,  a major part of the local economy.

It took nearly a year of negotiations to reach an accommodation, and so the current state of affairs treats the new city, Genuat, as an independent state, with various treaties in place to allow pursuit of fugitives from Canada and extradition, along with civil rights guarantees. 

Several abandoned temples of the less savory deities have been given for use as embassies to foreign powers. (The US being housed in the temple of Gorgo, lord of vulgarity, was not an intentional insult, unless you believe that the gods of the alternate universe somehow influenced the lots that were cast to determine who’d be housed where.)

Any visitor to the city may acquire a delving license and attempt to strike it rich in the depths below, but has to complete a training and safety course first. 

Head Trauma

A bluepulse OT3 fic

EDIT: For those who would find reading this on Ao3 easier on the eyes, here’s the link: Head Trauma (Ao3 version)


The loud crack was enough to make the team momentarily freeze, their eyes darting skyward to lock on Blue Beetle. For a moment he was spiraling toward the ground, his wings beating unbalanced and irregular. For that split second Impulse felt like his heart stopped. Almost as quickly as it happened he righted himself and flew straight at the meta who had thrown the giant chunk of concrete at his head to take him down quickly and efficiently.

Robin thought for a moment of ordering a tactical retreat, but they were so close to completing the mission, and judging by the way Blue Beetle was making quick work of the situation he was fine. ‘…Finish the mission. Then check in as soon as possible.’

As soon as they had secured the weapons-shipment Robin notified the League and ordered his team to fade back. The moment they had regrouped to wait for pickup from Nightwing, Tim turned to Jaime and spoke. “Are you okay? That sounded like a serious hit.”

All eyes turned to focus on Jaime. His head tilted to the side, but he didn’t armor-down. The look in his eyes was… off.

“Blue?” Bart asked as he darted over to his side.

Gold eyes glanced at Bart, inscrutable, but not hostile or warm. When he spoke it was all too clear that Jaime wasn’t the one speaking. “There is a problem,” he said without Jaime’s accent, “The head trauma is serious. Jaime Reyes is currently unconscious.”

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The Cuban Missile Crisis

At this time in 1962, the U.S. was in the thick of the Cuban Missile Crisis. Here’s a brief recap of what exactly happened during those thirteen days.

It’s not hard to imagine a world where at any given moment, you and everyone you know could be wiped out without warning at the push of a button. This was the reality for millions of people during the 45-year period after World War II, now known as the Cold War. As the United States and Soviet Union faced off across the globe, each knew that the other had nuclear weapons capable of destroying it. And destruction never loomed closer than during the 13 days of the Cuban Missile Crisis. 

In 1961, the U.S. unsuccessfully tried to overthrow Cuba’s new communist government. That failed attempt was known as the Bay of Pigs, and it convinced Cuba to seek help from the U.S.S.R. Soviet premier Nikita Khrushchev was happy to comply by secretly deploying nuclear missiles to Cuba, not only to protect the island, but to counteract the threat from U.S. missiles in Italy and Turkey. By the time U.S. intelligence discovered the plan, the materials to create the missiles were already in place. 

At an emergency meeting on October 16, 1962, military advisors urged an airstrike on missile sites and invasion of the island. But President John F. Kennedy chose a more careful approach. On October 22, he announced that the the U.S. Navy would intercept all shipments to Cuba, but a naval blockade was considered an act of war. Although the President called it a quarantine that did not block basic necessities, the Soviets didn’t appreciate the distinction.

Thus ensued the most intense six days of the Cold War. As the weapons continued to be armed, the U.S. prepared for a possible invasion. For the first time in history, the U.S. Military set itself to DEFCON 2, the defense readiness one step away from nuclear war. With hundreds of nuclear missiles ready to launch, the metaphorical Doomsday Clock stood at one minute to midnight. 

But diplomacy carried on. In Washington, D.C., Attorney General Robert Kennedy secretly met with Soviet Ambassador Anatoly Dobrynin. After intense negotiation, they reached the following proposal. The U.S. would remove their missiles from Turkey and Italy and promise to never invade Cuba in exchange for the Soviet withdrawal from Cuba under U.N. inspection. The crisis was now over. 

While criticized at the time by their respective governments for bargaining with the enemy, contemporary historical analysis shows great admiration for Kennedy’s and Khrushchev’s ability to diplomatically solve the crisis. Overall, the Cuban Missile Crisis revealed just how fragile human politics are compared to the terrifying power they can unleash.

For a deeper dive into the circumstances of the Cuban Missile Crisis, be sure to watch The history of the Cuban Missile Crisis - Matthew A. Jordan

Animation by Patrick Smith

dean/cas // ‘red means i love you’ 

“Flowers have meanings for humans, don’t they?”
Dean raised an eyebrow at the question. Cas was looking over the long line of roses growing around the garden.
  “Sure thing they do,” The old gardener Mrs Anderson laughed. Clearly, she hadn’t taken Cas’s expression seriously. Dean sighed: they were there to work a case, not to discuss cheesy botanical pickup lines. But once something caught Cas’s interest, there was no walking away.
  “What do the white ones mean?” Cas asked, pointing towards the most prominent bush of roses.
  “Purity in general, but if you give them to someone they mean reverence, devotion, sometimes even the desire for a new start,” Mrs Anderson explained.
Cas nodded, fascinated.
  “What about the pink ones?”
  “Pink is gratitude.”
  “Orange?”
   “Passion, desire. Yellow ones, instead, symbolise friendship, companionship. It’s a ‘thanks for being you’ kinda thing.”
Against his will, Dean grew rather fond of watching Cas brush the roses. He felt a smile curl up his lips. Then Cas stopped, struck by something Dean couldn’t quite make out, since Cas was standing in front of it.
  “What about a red rose?”
  “Come on, Cas. Red means ‘I love you’, even I know that.”
Dean immediately regretted having spoken. Cas turned towards him, his mouth slightly open in surprise, and revealed the one single red rose of the garden.
  “That’s exactly it,” Mrs Anderson confirmed with a smile.
Dean stared and Cas stared back, until Mrs Anderson found it suitable to clear her throat and break their staring contest.
Tone down the gay, Winchester, Dean thought, although he knew by then that when Cas was around, his heterosexual facade would take a trip to Haiti.
He couldn’t stop looking at Cas for the rest of their visit, his heart clutching in a way it hadn’t done in a long time. Red, it was screaming. Red, red, red.


When Dean walked into the room that night, he stopped dead on his feet.
A corpse would have been less of a surprise. Which was a weird thought, but still. Hunting life and all.
On top of his bed laid a bunch of roses. There must have been at least twenty. He gulped and stepped closer: white ones, pink ones, yellow ones. Even a couple orange ones, although Mrs Anderson had explained it wasn’t exactly their season.
His stomach felt completely messed up. In a kinda positive way.
  “I couldn’t pick just one meaning,” Cas’s voice explained behind him. “So I got all of them.”
Dean turned around, well aware that his face was probably going through all those colours itself.
  “Thanks Cas, this is… Well, weird, but good weird.”
He glanced at the bed again. He had to say it. Cas got him freaking roses. Sure, Cas wasn’t completely accustomed with human habits but he had to know you don’t just buy flowers for anyone.
  “You didn’t get all the colours.”
The hell with it.
A little happy smile lighted up Cas’s face.
   “I wasn’t sure you’d want this one.” Cas took one single red rose from his back pocket. Until then, Dean could have sworn he would have laughed his ass off if anybody bought him roses. But with Cas… Cas screwed up pretty much all of Dean’s beliefs.
  “I couldn’t convince Mrs Anderson’s to give me hers, so I took a trip to Colombia. Mrs Anderson said it’s the country with the best roses. That’s why I didn’t come home in the car with you - sorry.”
Dean didn’t quite know what to say, so he settled for a snark remark.
  “That’s because you’re not a good negotiator.”
He reached for the bag he forgot by the door and took out the red rose from earlier in the garden.
  “I paid Mrs Anderson sixty bucks for this.”
Fuck the cheesiness, it was worth it. Cas’s face was completely, a hundred percent worth it.
  “It’s red,” Cas pointed out.
  “No shit, Sherlock.”
  “Does that mean you… love me?” Cas tilted his head, smiling in a much more confident way.
Dean wanted to say it. But the whole love thing… It wasn’t one he was ready to speak out loud. Yet.
  “Let’s just say it’s red for me.”
  “Good.”
Cas closed the distance between them and gave Dean a soft, almost teasing peck on the lips.
  “Because it’s red for me too.”

jorirps  asked:

What would be the easiest way to tell the difference between a caring Fi user and a natural Fe user? I ask because quite a few characters I've seen you type as ESFJ are often stereotyped as ENFPs elsewhere online (Cher Horowitz being the prime example) and also because those are the two types I relate to most and I still can't tell you which I am for sure. Can Fe-doms hide emotions even when not very connected to their Ti? Will a Fi aux burst into tears when faced with heavy criticism?

I don’t think you’ll find a Fi-user inclined to cry in public, but they might go away and cry in private.

Fe-users conceal their feelings all the time, if they feel others would take them amiss, be insulted or hurt by them, or inconvenienced by them. 

The difference is … Fe is relieved to talk about their true feelings, so that Fe can process them and move on to heal them, and Fi doesn’t need assistance or reassurance when it comes to emotion. “Sharing” emotionally as a group is not Fi’s thing.

The distinction between SJ/NP is … what do your ideas revolve around? Do you entertain them constantly for their own sake (like Anne Shirley) or do you direct them toward a cause (like Blair Waldorf)? Are ideas the essence of your personality, to the extent where reality is hard to grasp and when it comes down to retaining details you lose steam, or are ideas things you toy with, you entertain for fun, and that do not drive your every decision in life? Can you put them aside and do details?

Regarding Fe or Fi … how much of your life is centered around others? Cher (and Blair, and Emma Woodhouse, and Regina George, and Dorcas Lane, many other Fe-dom characters) is constantly meddling in other people’s lives, because Fe enjoys being useful, and admired, and seeking the approval of others. In typical Fe-dom fashion, Cher sees someone in need and decides to help her out — putting her ideas to good use and earning peer admiration in the process. I’ve never known a Fi-Te user to do that kind of thing. Fe, however, is all over it, a lot of the time. Let me help yo. You do not fit in. You could do better, and people would not laugh at you as much if you changed a bit. To get positive attention, you need to blend in. Be more like others. I can help you with that.

Social values. Blend in, and good things will come to you.

Fi hates that. I don’t want to blend in. I want to be myself.

If that isn’t clarification enough, allow me to express what Fe feels like.

It is natural deviation from “me” to “us” — in everything. It takes note of, and may be offended by, things that offend others … or MIGHT offend others … to the extent where others’ opinions matter a great deal to Fe, even if it has no ball on the court. It is constantly checking to see, “Am I being appropriate? Do I fit in? What are the social expectations of the group? If I act like this, how will others see me? Will it offend them?” Not only that, it is watching other people as well, noting inappropriateness. If an action offends, goes against social constraints, or in any way hurts another person, it needs to be avoided … and quite possibly the person responsible needs a proper scolding.

Fi would look at something offensive and if it did not violate their moral system, would not care if the thing was offensive or not, because people have a right to express themselves through art. It doesn’t bother me.

Fe would look at something offensive and even if it was not offended, could see how another person might be offended and would care a lot. It might even decide a piece of art should not be created at all, since to Fe, the rights of the group are worth more than those of the individual. How dare you offend people!

Of course, this varies in each individual … but Fe worries much more frequently about being offensive or causing offense than Fi does. Fi concerns itself more with upholding its strong moral values. 

Yet another example of this would be in Game of Thrones, when Ned Stark argued with Robert Baratheon and the entire King’s Council about whether or not it was appropriate to murder Daenarys Targaryen. Ned, a Fi-user, said no, absolutely not. It violated his moral principles: we do not kill pregnant children. She is not yet a threat. Littlefinger argued with him out of his own lesser Fi-values: it did not concern him, and it made logical and tactical sense to kill her. But just about everyone else at that table was a Fe-user. They argued in an attempt to negotiate, to reach a general consensus of agreement, so that all of them could feel all right about their decision as a group. Ned finally got fed up and walked out. He refused to compromise and left. Typical of Te. I don’t agree. This is wrong. I’m leaving. No further conversation required or welcome.

But Fe works with Ti, and asks, “Is this always wrong… or are there situations in which it might be right?” Fluid morality, dependent on the situation at hand… likely, if society changes its views, to consider changing its opinions.