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chroniclesofamber · 5 years ago

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THE CHRONICLES OF AMBER & History Lessons II

The first two books of Roger Zelazny’s Chronicles of Amber — Nine Princes in Amber and The Guns of Avalon — were written between 1967 and the early 1970s. The Vietnam War cast a long shadow from the 1960s into the first years of the next decade. In Nine Princes in Amber, for example, one of the most memorable episodes of action and conflict occurs in the seventh chapter:

“The sheets of light and heat flapped a steady, welling thunder as we ran, and the waves of warmth beat upon us, washed over us. Soon they were right there alongside us, and the trees blackened and the leaves flaked down, and some of the smaller trees began to sway. For as far ahead as we could see, our way was an alley of fires… We made it to the fork, though, beating out flames on our smoldering clothing, wiping ashes from our eyes… We ran through burning grasses… The interlocked branches of the trees overhead had become as the beams in a cathedral of fire…”

The Vietnam War was part of the nightly news back then. Stories and images of napalm and agent orange falling upon the jungles of Southeast Asia were current at the time and the quote above would have resonated in the American consciousness. But it was not just the horrors of war haunting America. There was also civil unrest and a rebellious younger generation ready to take up arms against the old guard who had nourished the conflicts and tensions leading to the strife stretching from the ’60s into the ’70s.

After the baptism of fire experienced by narrator and main character Corwin — which concludes with the provident arrival of riflemen trained and led by him to defend Amber and position him as the kingdom’s effective ruler — he finds himself at the top of a society struggling with an uneasy and temporary peace. Powerful foes have been unleashed upon the immortal city, and it looks like it may have been an inside job. In fact, it may even be that Corwin himself has provided unintended assistance to the enemy. This self-reflective attitude of examining one’s own role in the evils plaguing the world belonged very much to the troubling era which began with the assassination of President Kennedy and ended with the resignation of President Nixon.

SIGN OF THE UNICORN (1975)

History: The longest gap between the publication of any of the books of The Chronicles of Amber: three years. An air of defeat hangs over America, as well as over places beyond. The Club of Rome puts out its report “The Limits to Growth” and in 1974 the world population reaches four billion. The Apollo 13 failure of 1970 has left its mark, followed by a decline in support for the program dooming the final three missions to cancellation. Apollo 17 therefore sees the last men on the Moon in December of 1972, when one of the most popular photographs ever is taken — the iconic “Blue Marble” image of a nearly full Earth — and soon becomes an emblem of the environmental movement. In contrast to the “Blue Marble,” in the summer of ’72 the Pulitzer Prize-winning “Napalm girl” photograph makes headlines, and less than a year later the last U.S. soldier leaves Vietnam subsequent to the Paris Peace Accords. The war is over and the U.S. did not win it.

The war may be over, but deep problems remain — a description of the years during which Zelazny wrote Sign of the Unicorn, but also a description of the contents of the book itself. “The Troubles” — as the conflict in Northern Ireland comes to be called — of the United Kingdom undergo a rapid escalation: the British Army shoots dead 14 unarmed marchers on terrible Bloody Sunday; the British embassy in Dublin is burned down during rioting all over Ireland; bombs detonate in Whitehall and the Old Bailey; car bombs set by the Ulster Volunteer Force in Dublin and Monaghan kill 33 civilians and injure 300 others.

Meanwhile, a story just as big unfolds on the other side of the Atlantic: Five White House operatives are arrested for the burglary of the Democratic National Committee offices at the Watergate Hotel. Nixon orders special prosecutor Archibald Cox to be fired over his subpoena of recordings of incriminating White House conversations, but is eventually compelled by the Supreme Court to release the tapes. Impeachment proceedings underway, the public and even members of the Republican Party against him, Nixon resigns in August of 1974 and the unelected Vice President, Gerald Ford, becomes President. Likewise, Eric falls and Corwin steps in as the interim regent of an Amber reeling from war and internal strife, a state of affairs closely matching the condition of America as offered in Nixon’s resignation speech.

Lesson: Corwin finds himself the target of an attempt to frame him for the murder of Caine, his brother Gérard pummels him in a fight and dangles him over a cliff, he is nearly stabbed to death in his suite only hours after Brand is knifed in similar fashion, in the misty city of ghosts known as Tir-na Nog’th he is attacked and comes perilously close to plummeting to his death. In this context, the cautions of his sister Fiona regarding the dangers of wearing for too long the ultimate artifact of power, the Jewel of Judgment, take on new meaning. She warns it can kill him. The information possibly saves his life, as it persuades him to remove the Jewel when at the brink of death. The lesson is bigger than that, however. Corwin learns that power without knowledge or wisdom is dangerous and can be fatal, something which his brother Eric, as king, did not discover in time.

Journey: It all begins with Corwin’s discovery of a crime and a corpse, which leads straight to his learning of Random’s attempt to rescue Brand from his tower. And it ends with Corwin and Random, along with Ganelon, looking down upon the damaged Pattern (also the result of a crime, though they do not know that yet), just a day after Corwin’s meeting with a freshly rescued and recovered Brand. Crimes call out for investigation and from the first pages of the first book Corwin has played the detective. In the opening scene, Corwin has questions for Random and in the final scene he finally has some answers. Now he knows from his interview with Brand that there was a conspiracy by the red-haired faction to seize Amber’s throne, that Dara is descended from Chaos and intended for that throne, that a game has been in progress where he has been but a useful knight and where the broken Pattern before him is the board upon which it has been played.

Watergate, Painful Endings...

...and Perhaps Resurrections — the Mid-’70s

“The sun was that great orb of molten gold we had seen earlier. The sky was a deeper blue than that of Amber, and there were no clouds in it. That sea was a matching blue, unspecked by sail or island. I saw no birds, and I heard no sounds other than our own. An enormous silence lay upon this place, this day. In the bowl of my suddenly clear vision, the Pattern at last achieved its disposition upon the surface below. I thought at first that it was inscribed in the rock, but as we drew nearer I saw that it was contained within it—gold-pink swirls, like veining in an exotic marble, natural-seeming despite the obvious purpose to the design… A dark, rough-edged smudge had obliterated an area of the section immediately beneath us, running from its outer rim to the center.”

Dark times are depicted in Sign of the Unicorn amidst the darkest days of the Seventies. OPEC launches its oil embargo, soon doubling the price of crude, all just after the dollar has been devalued 10%. A recession affecting most of the world ensues, and the oil crisis does not wind down until 1974. Cults, destructive to themselves and often to others, appear in newspapers and on television. The Manson Family is sentenced, the Symbionese Liberation Army abducts and brainwashes heiress Patty Hearst, the Heaven’s Gate UFO cult is founded near San Diego.

Violent groups on the radical left, however, are increasingly foiled and contained: the Baader-Meinhof Red Army Faction is arrested; the Japanese Red Army, in decline after the Lod Airport attack, is defunct as an independent organization within a year of the attack; the Angry Brigade ends its run in a British courtroom.

At the same time, the political left makes gains: Labour’s Harold Wilson returns as Prime Minister of the United Kingdom; Helmut Schmidt of the Social Democratic Party becomes Chancellor of West Germany after a spy scandal brings down his predecessor; centrist Valéry Giscard d’Estaing succeeds Pompidou as President of France; the Carnation Revolution overthrows Portugal’s dictatorship and restores democracy; the Democratic Party logs historic victories in the House, Senate and state Governorships. The Old Bailey sees the first woman serve as a judge, the U.S. Congress sends the ERA to the states for ratification, women are finally admitted to Dartmouth College, the FBI hires women as agents for the first time, equal pay for women is mandated in Australia — liberal politics enjoys a resurgence during this period.

Whether intentional or not, the revolutionary red-haired cabal of Amber mirrors the restless idealists of the times, violent and otherwise, hoping to institute change. The overreach by forces on the right, responsible for the deaths of the Kennedys and Martin Luther King Jr., at last seems to come full circle with the resignation of Nixon and a national rejection of the authoritarian wielding of autocratic power. As already suggested, the hubris Eric demonstrates (like Nixon) in crowning himself king and regularly resorting to the most dramatic powers of the Jewel of Judgment brings him to his death on the slopes of Kolvir.

Eric has died, yet while Corwin and Brand both tread recklessly close to death they instead return bearing valuable new information — and, in one case, an enchanted mechanical arm — introducing the theme of resurrection and restoration. The Vietnam War at last is over, the crisis of the Nixon presidency has ended; the world is nowhere near out of the woods, but these events provide scope for respite and relief, and perhaps…hope? Vietnam and Watergate have together represented a perpetual storm cloud over America, a weight upon the world. The oil crisis has been harrowing, but soon leads directly to alternative energy R&D and long-needed improvements in automobiles. The world is still beset with sweeping, deep-seated problems, and the clouds have not truly cleared, but rays of hope are breaking through to shine on both beautiful inspirations and stark realities, much as the brilliant sun of the real Amber illuminates the broken Pattern in the final scene of Sign of the Unicorn.

“‘Then—looking for congruence—that would be about where our own Pattern lies,’ [Random said as we regarded the oval area of smooth, level rock].

‘Yes,’ I said again.

‘And that blotted area is to the south, from whence comes the black road.’

I nodded slowly as the understanding arrived and forged itself into a certainty.

‘What does it mean?’ he asked. ‘It seems to correspond to the true state of affairs, but beyond that I do not understand its significance. Why have we been brought here and shown this thing?’

‘It does not correspond to the true state of affairs,’ I said. ‘It is the true state of affairs.’”

[...to be continued in a future post...]

#chronicles of amber #roger zelazny #sign of the unicorn #the chronicles of amber #the seventies

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fuckyeahfluffybunnies · 8 years ago

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How much blush CAN you wear? So, so much. I made a bullet bra to go with my corset. Not bad for a first go but much more work to go.

#bulletbra #bullet bra #corset #corsetiere #authenticcorset #peach #1920s makeup #directionshair #1920s hair #20s hair #20s makeup #fingerwaves #orange hair #napalm orannge #special effects hair dye #hourglass #extreme hourglass #messy apartment

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braindamageforbeginners · 6 years ago

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MFAQ

Cycle 9, Day 1

So, before we get to today’s story, let me just quickly review today’s events. If you ever go in for hard-core, experimental, black magic chemotherapy, the first day of each cycle is always a complete circus. Everyone will want a piece of you (literally; I have to give blood draw and urine sample), and everyone wants to see you (the physicians, nurses, research staff, and the PA running the research team)(that would be Boston PA, for those of you keeping up to date). Also, to my physician or research friends who might be reading this, always take into account patient condition and/or special considerations. This is critical when you have a patient who has trouble with the heel-toe walk because they (the patient) sprained something in it the other week, and are still a bit sore. The big hold-up is that my veins and skin are, like the rest of me, slowly toughening and becoming impervious to conventional weaponry. Er, needles, I mean (I realize that might sound nonsensical, but the nurse who installed the IV - who’s done that to me on several previous occasions - noted that my skin was toughening). The good news is, by the time I finally got that sweet, sweet chemo, it was 1:30 pm, which means I probably won’t get the usual nasty side-effects until at least 11-ish, so there;s a chance I’ll be fully-functional this evening. Speaking of functioning, it’s also worth noting that I’m back on Temodar, too, this week, so expect my usual chemo-brain typos, half-thoughts, etc. until, let me check... Sunday? Oh, gods, this is going to be a very long week. Also, it feels like i got ten minutes of sleep last night, so there’s also a strong possibility I’m just sleep-deprived and rambling.

Anyway, since I’m out of ideas at the moment, and I’ve encountered some new questions, I thought I’d run those, with a caveat. So, these are questions either I’ve been asked, other patients I know have been asked, or questions I’ve thought of (or had new insights on). I bring this up because I recently used an online question someone had about getting their fifth brain surgery, and a few folks I know panicked on my behalf. Folks, I appreciate that response, but, at the same time, remember who’s writing this. I turned a dentist’s recent orders that I brush more into a moan-fest. I turned a sprained ankle/knee (still not sure which) and resultant X-ray into another gripe-fest. I am a grade A hypochondriac; rest assured that any major change in my medical condition isn’t going to be wasted on a bullet-point question.

1, Does [X] hurt?

Yes. Yes, it does hurt. I was asked this by a nurse this morning when they were having trouble getting a vein and making a repeat attempt. My rule for this is, use the Golden Rule. If it would hurt you, it probably hurts me. Today’s little insight is, even if you’re operating at a dramatically increased pain tolerance, it’s not like the little stuff is less painful, it just bothers you less (or you’ve developed some sort of coping mechanism to deal with it).

2. Do you want us to pray for you?

Yes. Deep, dark admission time, I asked a friend of the family who’s in Rome to light a candle for me. I know that, as an avowed agnostic who is deeply suspicious of organized religion (belief and faith are all fine with me, but organized religion is to those things what enriched uranium is to regular old radioactive isotopes - neither good, nor bad, but far too potent to let loose without some prior inspections and restrictions in place), I shouldn’t go in for that, but, a different friend of the family lit candles for me in the Vatican on each of my prior to brain tumors, and you do start getting suspicious. Having said that, if you can do more for a cancer patient, do more. If prayer is the best you can do, I’ll take it. Honestly, I don’t think it’ll make any sort of long-term impact on objective reality, but when you’re the slowest, weakest member of the pack, it gives a bit of a morale boost to know someone would at least notice your absence. Having said that, don’t do the classic American thing and outsource what’s intended as a kind gesture to someone else; I’ve gotten weird robocalls from “prayer centers,” which seems somehow worse than people praying for me or offering to pray for me. Again, if you can do more for a cancer patient directly, get off your ass and do it.

3. What should I expect of my brain cancer treatment?

I can only speak for my own treatment, but, basically, expect neurosurgery (which is still the biggest, nastiest, most-side-effect-inducing thing I’ve encountered, although the maintenance chemo isn’t fun), if you’re lucky (if it’s surgically accessible, that’s very good news; because it’s not near anything critical to basic survival - like breathing or speech comprehension), followed by a brief break, followed by six weeks of radiation and chemo, followed by 12-24 months of maintenance chemo. I’ve discussed (Hell, i kept this blog as a journal) assorted side-effects associated with each of these, and I’m still actively discovering new ones. But, here’s the thing; at each step, if it looks like the cure/further treatment might kill you, your doctors might be rather hesitant to go on with more.

4. What’s chemo like?

I don’t have any new insights on this but it gets asked (both in-person and via Internet) so frequently, I always feel compelled to answer it. It’s probably just as bad as you’d imagine, The side effects are numerous and dangerous (one of the long-term side effects of Temodar is, I believe, leukemia).

5. My insurance/doctor can’t kill me!

This was an online one, and I see it in a lot of people who finally have to read through that fine-print on their health insurance now that they’re a financial liability. First of all, human life doesn’t have any sort of measurable, US dollar value, which means that if there isn’t a major financial incentive to keep you alive, especially if it now costs more to keep you alive than you can directly pay. So, yes, assume your insurance will pull the plug on you the minute you try to cash in on your policy. Doctors, although usually less-directly responsible, can - and, based on anecdotal evidence, this is more common than you’d imagine - refuse to treat patients if they think the treatment will cause more harm/danger than good. This is usually a good thing; because you don’t want to stay on chemo long enough for it to kill your liver or kidneys, but that can cut both ways. And then there’s just basic incompetence and/or what the British Medical Journal calls “medical misadventure,” which is the fancy term for when the folks on your medical team or hospital make a fatal boo-boo.

6. Any new insights about proper mind-set?

Yes, and this one ties it all together. One of the downsides of doctors being hesitant to treat patients when they think it’ll do more harm than good means that GBM patients were, until very, very recently, written off. It is, at this point, I get to write about Ben Williams, PhD. B. Williams was one of the very first (if not the first) brain cancer (specifically, glioblastoma) patients to convince a major medical center to treat him. That was in 1995. Ben Williams is still alive. I’ve heard his name before, but I bring him up now, because he thinks (based on some interviews I’ve run across) that the major key to curing chronic, incurable cancers, is just to keep alive, and healthy enough to take more punishment and/or chemo on as-needed basis, and just keep zapping, poisoning, and frying any of those recurrent mofos until they give up. Admittedly, there’s a large amount of random chance and luck in that approach, but I now feel extremely lucky that the Warlocks rolled out from minute one asking if I’d like my chemo “Agent Orange” or “napalm” flavored. And from that perspective - that all it takes to survive a terminal cancer diagnosis is just grim determination to take more punishment, it is nice - possibly even necessary - to feel like someone is invested in your survival. It does help me take another step across the abyssal plain knowing someone’s willing to light a candle for me in the Vatican (thanks, Donna), even if I’m not much of a believer.

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creaturebehavior · 4 years ago

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special effects hair dye isn’t in business anymore?!???!?? i feel like a piece of me is missing

goodbye napalm orange..... i would have stocked up if i had known sooner.....

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sleaze-ball · 7 years ago

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Favorite hair dye ??

For green Manic Panic electric lizard is my go to base color, but I always custom mix. Special effects Napalm Orange is the best orange dye tho.

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achievebisexuality · 7 years ago

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hey, i was wondering if you or any of your followers could please help me? im going to dye my hair rimmy tim colours and i cant quite decide which shades of orange and purple would be best. i was looking at maybe Joyride and Napalm Orange by Special Effects hair dye, but i wasnt sure if that would achieve the best results and i cant find out which dyes jeremy used for his hair. does anyone have any colour suggestions?

Any suggestions guys?

#Ask #Anonymous

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publicly-unacceptable · 7 years ago

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I finally have enough hair to rock space buns and I feel so adorable 🔥🎃🔥

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reapers-carino · 8 years ago

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Can you by chance. Write me a story of Meihem. But it's were Mei cleans up Jameson. Like he has a nice suit on and bathed. Yes bathed and she shows him off to everyone and roadhog last?

“Jami-Jamison sit still please!”

Mei’s voice was exasperated as she tried to get her fidgety boyfriend to stop moving and splashing as she scrubbed shampoo into his soot-laced hair. She was being careful and gentle, not wanting to pull out any more of his constantly shedding, thinning hair out. The petite woman stood outside of the bathtub in her room, Junkrat’s sitting form still coming up to her shoulders as she bathed him. This is what it had taken to get Junkrat into the tub, the promise that ‘she’d join him’. And join him she had, just not as naked as Jamison would have liked; already bathed and dressed in her namesake deep blue tanktop and a pair of shorts that Jamison had offered to take off for her. She declined.

Instead, Mei had motioned for him to enter the tub she had already filled with piping hot water, just the way he liked his showers, and had an array of bath bombs set up outside of the tub as a affectionate atonement for her deception. Jamison had pouted fiercely, arms crossed and grumbling about how his ‘lil snowflake’ has tricked him. He kept up his behavior until she had begun to scrub heartily at his back, drawing purrs from the lanky Junker, his body turning to putty for the rest of the bath. Mei was thorough, scrubbing dirt, soot, gunpowder and whatever manner of mess clung to his skin. It took time and elbow grease but soon, Mei had managed to find what really lay under all those layers of unclean. His skin was tanned, if not a bit red from her aggressive washing, and he was covered from head to toe in freckles. Mei’s fingers had lingered, quietly assessing the freckles with intense curiosity before Junkrat would grab her hand and nip at her fingertips only to be blushily admonished. Now she had finally made it to his hair.

“Can’t help it, darl”, Junkrat exclaims, fidgeting a bit more before tossing up his arms. “Tickles! That ‘n I feel…naked!”

“You are naked”, Mei answered back, expression deadpan but tone holding a hint of a chuckle.

“Yeah I am”, Junkrat answered with a waggle of his bushy brows, tittering as Mei flicked him light in the back of the head. “I mean without me dirt! Just don’t feel natural!”

Mei understood, she really did. The Omnium explosion had torn a hole in the ozone layer above continent of Australia, leaving the land highly susceptible to adverse weather conditions and a concerning lack of protection from the sun. Heat prevented clothing being used as a skin protectant so instead dirt, mud and various homemade concoctions guarded them from debilitating sunburns. Mei had done her research, her expertise in climatology granting her insight into the possible ripple effects a severe climate changes might have on a society. The Eastern coastal cities used technology to bubble their city, the less sophisticated Junkers used dirt. But they weren’t in Australia anymore.

Roadhog had taken to daily bathing as if it was an old, dear friend, the elder Junker always clean and smelling of whatever perfumes or colognes or deodorants caught his fancy. Junkrat, however, had never been a daily bather, had never known the joys of relaxing in a hot shower or tub. The demolitionist would lament how Roadie would ‘hold him down in the water and scrub ‘im like a dog’, often followed by the agitated statement of ‘just wash your own ass and I wouldn’t have to’. But bathing was out of his comfort zone, the dirt and soot on his skin kind of like a comforting blanket when he wasn’t ‘home in Oz’ anymore. He had gotten better since he had been at the Watchpoint though. Mei’s soft reminders of he couldn’t lay in her bed if he was dirty combined with Mako’s nurturing threats to drown him again actually coaxing the man into washing at least twice a week of his own volition. Now the only smell that seemed to linger with him was that of gunpowder and firewood, even when he was covered in a fine layer of dust. Tonight’s event, however, demanded absolute cleanliness.

Tonight was the first official formal gala for the newly legalized Overwatch. It was an all hands on deck event, even the uncouth Junker required to be on hand site, to let the world know about their brand new, legal reputation. Best behaviors were expected and anyone stepping out of line would be reprimanded. Normally this wouldn’t be nearly as threatening or terrifying as one might think, but when Ana was the one doling out the punishment it was no joke. Mei sped up the washing of his hair as much as she could, the dirty burn blonde locks turning gold-platinum in the bright light of the bathroom. Wiping her forehead, she took a half-step back to appraise her hard work and couldn’t help the blush that rose to her cheeks as she surveyed him.

She had always believed that Jamison ‘Junkrat’ Fawkes was attractive but seeing him clean and pristine was something brand new. In the oddest of ways, he was devilishly attractive in his duality. He was raunchy and dirty and passionate and excitable and a chaotic force that gave hurricanes a run for their money, but he could also be gentle and tooth rottingly sweet and tender. Nibbling lightly on her bottom lip, Mei could feel a blush rise to her cheeks, only growing darker as Jamison stood up with a flirty smirk on his lips. Mei’s hand clapped over her face, less in embarrassment and more in exasperation as the Junker shook his hips, his dick slapping his thighs audibly. How he managed to do that in a tub, mostly filled with water without either of his prosthetics would be impressive if it wasn’t so damn raunchy.

“You are impossible”, she sighed, dropping her hands from her face and rolling her eyes at him, not fighting the slightly amused smirk that crossed her lips. His toothy grin didn’t waver, but the movements of his hips stopped as he Mei moved closer and reached out to him.

“Knew ya couldn’t keep your hands offa me snowflake”, Junkrat teased as Mei’s arm easily wraps around his small waist, helping to hoist him out of the tub and setting him down on a chair she had brought into the room.

He practically purred like a pleased feral cat, shaking his shoulders as Mei gently pat him down with the towel, drying his skin gently and carefully. Next came a layer of unscented body lotion, a spritz of a special cologne and a gentle combing through his hair. Junkrat blabbered on and on as Mei groomed him tenderly, his golden eyes glittering as he relaxed underneath her tender touch. The Junker made a mental note to return the favor but for now he would bask in the delightful feel of her hands all over his body. As Mei backed away from Jamison, he couldn’t help the cheeky grin and unbalanced pose she struck for her. The petite Chinese woman’s hands jump of to her lips, stifling the giggles that he was able to so easily pull from her lips. Mei’s giggle was like music to his ears, soft and tinkling and punctuated with a slight snort if something was especially funny to her. Hearing her laugh was one of his greatest goals and he was pretty successful at it most of the time, stroking his pride and filling him with as much warmth as a napalm.

“Ey Mei”, Jamison questioned as his eyes darted around the bathroom, searching for something and not finding it. “Where’s me arm and leg?”

“Oh I have a surprise for you”, Mei exclaimed, clapping her hands together in sudden remembrance. She held up a finger before rushing out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, returning with something held behind her back. “Ta-da!!”

She thrusts her arms out, a grin on her face as she revealed her gift for him. They were newly built prosthetics, streamlined and completely black with bright neon orange lights and joints as highlights. The arm was extremely similar to Symmetra’s, but it had obviously been sized and created just for Junkrat. His peg leg was done in a similar fashion, the shocks and joints and cushioning covered while still tapering off into a thin, high shined black peg. A nervous smile settled on Mei’s lips as she waited for Jamison’s reaction, eyes dropping sheepishly to the new prosthetics.

“I-I hope this is okay”, she exclaimed, face growing redder as she locked her focus on the limbs. “I-I know you made all of yours but I-I thought th-that maybe a formal pair might be nice! S-So Satya helped me to design so-some. But it’s okay if you don’t like them! I ho-hope I didn’t overstep…sorry.”

When Junkrat still hadn’t replied, Mei peeked up at him through her lashes, her face and neck burning as she finally looked at her boyfriend. His bottom lip was quivering, a watery smile on his lips, tears of joy actually rolling down his cheeks.

“For me”, Junkrat questioned, pressing a hand against his chest and grinning wider and wider. He roughly pushed the tears away, sniffing hard and giggling softly. “Thank ya, snowflake!”

“You’re welcome Jamie”, Mei said warmly before slightly shaking the limbs. “Let’s finish getting ready!”

“Whoa…nice look Junkman!”

“No fricking way….nice going Mei!”

“Impressive…”

“Nice looking, my friend!”

Junkrat was fighting a mix of emotions; to puff out his chest and bask in the glory or to shy away because all the attention was making him sheepish. Mei held onto his hand light, smiling up at him in a way that managed to push the anxious buzzing from his stomach. She really had gone all out to make sure the both of them looked their best. She had her hair half up, half down, a small bun held back by a white chrysanthemum pin while the rest of her hair fell in soft waves around her shoulder and face. Her dress was a crimson floor length halter top a-line with a knee high slit that showed off her toned calves and cream colored heels. Her makeup was soft and sweet, a sweeping of pink blush and a deep pink gloss across her lips. Junkrat had gushed, slack jawed and starry eyes as Mei had gotten ready that evening, fawning over her with what felt like hundreds of compliments. She was sure that she had heard how beautiful she was and how lucky he was to have her and how everyone would look like shit in comparison. While Mei was nothing to sniff at, everyone was gawking at Junkrat.

Mei had gone above and beyond to make the younger Junker look just as amazing as she always thought he did. He wore a black tuxedo and white dress shirt, tailored and fitted to fit the lithe frame of the demolitionist; orange tie, handkerchief and dress socks a pop shocking pop of color against the monochrome outfit. The right leg of his tux had been rolled up, showing off the new, sleek black and orange prosthetic he had been gifted, Mei gently holding onto his black hand. His light blonde hair had been combed back and gelled into a coif, giving his angular face a stylish, sharp look. With all the dirt gone, hair styled and dressed in actually fitting clothes, the Junker looked his age if not a bit younger. He looked attractive and clean and completely unlike the Junkrat they had grown used to, Junkrat practically glowing with pride at all the compliments being bestowed upon him.

“Oh Mako”, Mei said with a grin, adjusting her glasses needlessly once more as she peered across the room. The man had placed himself in a corner, away from all the action and attention that was buzzing around towards the front of the hall. Smiling apologetically at her friends, she began to push through the small throng of agents that stood in front of them. “Sorry sorry, we will be right back.”

“Oy Hog”, Junkrat exclaimed, a part of him perking up as soon as he caught sight of his bodyguard and best friend. “Whatcha think mate?”

Mako was without his mask, his silver bushy brows lifting in surprise as his dark eyes studied his employer. Roadhog glanced at Mei before giving a slight wink, grunting low in his throat and giving a slight shrug of the shoulder. The both of them giggled softly as they watched his shoulders sink before Junkrat moved forward and placed one heavy hand on Jamison’s shoulder and the other on Mei’s

“Nice”, Roadhog said simply, the single worded compliment making the younger Junker’s eyes light up, a tittering giggle leaving his mouth. “Good job Mei.”

“Oy it’s my face mate!”

“And she actually made it look halfway decent.”

“Fuckin’ ru–”

“What was that?”

“N-nothin’ mate! I got it, thanks for the compliment!”

Mei covered her mouth, tickled pink and proud at the highest of compliments coming from the other Junker. Squeezing Jamison’s hand lightly she smiled sweetly at him, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand tenderly.

“You look very nice.”

Junkrat’s eyes lit up even brighter, giving a sharp toothed grin to his petite date.

“Well thank ya darlin!!”

#borkbirk #mei-ling zhou #Junkrat #Jamison Fawkes #meihem #overwatch #overwatch fanfic #Reapers-carino

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the-mr-rightttt · 5 years ago

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The Legacy of War

Although officially concluded almost forty-five year ago, the Vietnam War – referred to locally as the American War – remains a chapter in our history yet to be fully understood.

As a high schooler, I remember completing the requirement of enrollment in the Selective Service. We were told that this was simply a formality; our military was now an all-volunteer force. That exercise was akin to a ‘coming-of-age moment’ for me. I was arriving at a stage in life where it was possible for me to go off to war to fight for my country. Yet, I was still a kid. Thinking back to that time of life – seventeen years old – there was so much that I had not experienced or learned. Just a couple generations prior, young men at that same precipice in life faced the real possibility of being drafted and told to go to war. A war in the jungles of some far-away place; a place where tomorrow was today, at least when viewed through the lens of everyone and everything that was known to them up to that point in life. Young men from the ghettos of urban America, and those from the small towns of middle America alike, sent halfway around the world to fight in Nam.

The Vietnam War was commonly referred to as the Living Room War. Every day, Americans tuned into the network news as respected anchors and correspondents brought the horrors of the war to the public in ways never experienced before. Reports of casualty counts, sometimes numbering in the hundreds over the course of a single week, had a sobering impact on viewers. As a result, the nation became fractured in many ways, as our involvement triggered an assessment of many other intersecting issues being debated at the time:

Racism – why are black Americans being asked (or drafted) to fight to ensure ‘freedom’ and ‘democracy’ for a foreign population thousands of miles away when they could not expect the same at home? Upon arriving in the war zone, they were disproportionately represented, and often faced the same discrimination in the ranks that they did at home.

Patriotism – if you are morally opposed to the mission that you are being asked to carryout, does objecting by dodging the draft make you a traitor? Questions on whether the government is being truthful about the status of things on the ground, and overall strategy are fair to ask when sacrificing one’s life is the price to pay.

Classism – why are those mostly from the bottom rungs of the socio-economic ladder carrying a heavier burden in this conflict? Many with the means were able to avoid the draft initially, receiving deferments via college or connections.

In the weeks prior to visiting, I completed the 10-part, 18-hour documentary series The Vietnam War, by Ken Burns and Lynn Novick. A remarkable account of how in the immediate aftermath of colonialism; what was supposed to be a limited intervention involving only advisers and special forces, escalated to the conflict that it ultimately became, and concluded in chaos with the dramatic fall of Saigon. The backstory on many of the well-known images from the era were retold – a man moments before graphically being shot in the head, a monk setting himself ablaze in the street, a naked young girl severely burned by a napalm attack running, massacred villagers.

One other image from that period which sticks out for me, is that of Lyndon B. Johnson, defeated and head down in the White House over a war that he had inherited and become the face of. Of the modern presidents, he is one that I admire. Even though the tides were turning, he presided during a time when it was still not completely out of fashion to be a bigot. He took a stand and partnered with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. to pass civil rights legislation, a bold move for someone like him from the south. Sure, their relationship was complicated at best; and there were likely some transactional factors and aspects of political calculus that drove his decision to work with Dr. King. However, his actions remain commendable; especially when considering that we have a president today who shamelessly openly espouses those with racist sentiments – kindred spirits. Another element of the Johnson legacy often overshadowed by the war, is The Great Society set of initiatives and programs, many never fully realized. After seeing some of the decaying remnants of the machines and tools of war firsthand, I can only imagine what type of society we could be living in today had those investments been directed to books instead of bombs.

Over 58,000 Americans lost their lives in Vietnam. Countless more were wounded and permanently disabled. Upon returning home, many were not lauded as heroes as those in previous conflicts were; and they struggled with homelessness, substance abuse, broken homes, and the lasting impact of PTSD. One of my favorite movies of all time, Dead Presidents, vividly illustrates many of these wide-ranging aftereffects through characters who made that transition from happy, go-lucky kids; to the horrors of the battlefield, and then back. All total, Vietnamese casualties, including civilians; was well over a million. An unfathomable amount of death and destruction. Even after the war officially ended, its impact continued. Scores of Vietnamese, and American soldiers, who were exposed to Agent Orange have experienced adverse health effects. At the War Remnants Museum, I saw some of the most disturbing images imaginable, of individuals exhibiting severe birth defects from Agent Orange, some born years after the war ended. I also witnessed deep craters in the Earth, still present from bombs dropped 50 years ago. The land is still scarred from that dropping of defoliant, and from the presence of still un-exploded bombs to this day.

Personally, I feel that there were three factors that had an impact on this conflict spiraling out of control and continuing for so long. Profit – unfortunately, war is big business. Then, there is ego. Even when it became clear that the war was unwinnable; the imperial mindset and belief that by virtue, dropping more bombs, and a having a more powerful military, simply would achieve the desired outcome. Finally, I would say the careless disregard for human life; often exhibited by those with no direct impact to the outcome. It was not worth it.

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