#fearmonger | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blankdblank · 2 years

Text

The White Dove Pt 11 - Xmas

Three weeks into December and everywhere you looked sat glaring symbols of Christmas opposing a few Hanukah references, and all you had to distract was the few days you had shifts and a dance class until the word seemed to shut down just leaving you and your pain. You just had to keep busy in the lull of daily tasks to keep attention between messages from your friends who had gone out of town for the break to visit family or family friends. As long as you stayed busy tears would be less likely to be a constant guest. Off of psychology books you had shifted to self help books on mourning loved ones to try and help yourself only to feel worse in every example shared within the few you tried to read.

The day before the big one however an old grudge had kicked off more than one of your warning flags online while you lay awake thanks to another evening of pain within your joints. A couple inches longer your arms tucked to your chest in your roll onto your belly to keep from twitching out of annoyance to silence the pain that paused only when you were in motion. Close eyed over your back you felt one of your bees scanning the rest of your body who confirmed that your legs were just over an inch longer as well. Being under five feet wasn’t easy in any way, though how you would gain every inch to come if it were like this had a tear spill out from the corner of your eye across the top of your nose. Everything was closed today and all you had to do was wait for the time that everything would line up just how it was destined to.

Amongst all the cruel things Hydra had been behind in the past the most ridiculous of them was their annual face off against Santa Claus since the days that Hitler himself had sent them after the mythical figure. Nowadays Hate-Monger, the latest clone of Hitler up and walking around now had set off clues that he was headed to New York and with it you sent a proverbial flag up the flagpole to warn a man who had a score to settle with him. Just twice you had crossed paths with The Punisher and while you wouldn’t be braiding each other’s hair anytime soon there was a sort of understanding from both times at least that no ammunition had to be wasted on the other.

Christmas was meant to be a happy time of year, especially with the bringer of such joy supposedly on his way several networks showed progress of his work online. Though it seemed only Hydra was set to be raking in all the goodies as King T’Chaka and his son had arrived with a group of female guards to take their seats at a meeting of the UN. Tonight was the night and you had plans to get ready before the big showdown would kick off.

*.*.*

Another year with that hunk of junk case would not happen. Inside the trunk of his old Buick the case holding an old vibranium shield and vibranium layered suit Isaiah Bradley wished to be rid of. The return of Steve Rogers had brought up bad memories he hoped had been locked away and like the Tell Tale Heart that case had been driving him mad. So to the tallest bridge he could find he was driving to dump the damned thing off into the river. Once close enough paying half a leg in an empty parking garage a set of crashes had him park and slip out of his car to go and see what was going on to interfere with his plans.

*.*.*

What looked to be a good city block of soldiers in what looked to be white snow blending SS uniforms in front of swastika emblazoned tank and air ships that had dropped them. You could only sigh as Hate-Monger’s cackling self sat atop the tank barking orders to the sight of people in windows above staring in shock or backing away to find a place to hide. A cleared throat on your left turned your head and you couldn’t help but grin seeing The Punisher looking you over with hold of a gun he was reloading the chamber to, taking note of the smoking spot on your shoulder from your rush out of the smoking UN building behind you. Luke Cage on his left had you say, “Hey, you brought Cage too, nice.”

Cage gestured to your shoulder, “You’re smoking.”

“Happens,” you said patting a hand on your shoulder to snuff out the smoke but leaving the pen width hole. The sudden crash of the Hydra agents you had bound inside the building who tried to ambush King T’Chaka that leapt through one of the only unbroken windows on the main floor for a showy entrance to lure attention had you say, “Oh goodie, they’re alive…” The sound fire of a missile from the tank turned your head back to the approaching formations as you shouted to the King and his son inside the car on your right, “Stay down!” The men on your left took note of the heads that lowered in the rise of your hand to summon a monstrous wall of vines that erupted in flames to dissolve the cocoon it formed around the projectile.

Four of the now spear wielding guards who had escorted the King and Prince to the meeting made easy work of the Hydra Agents and returned to their places surrounding the car until their safe vehicle could arrive to remove them. Normally they would have killed anyone on the instant a hand was laid upon their rulers, and yet the smooth dispatch of the group who had ambushed them had their curiosity peaked to see who had tried to save them. The Punisher said lowly in his usual way, “Leave Hate-Monger to me.”

And you nodded, “No problem, I, I got all the Nazis.”

Unable to help it Luke Cage smirked at your nod to yourself in the slip of your hands underneath your jacket to bring the twin axes from their holsters across your back, “We’re gonna help you with the Nazi’s too.”

On your toes you bounced to get your stance ready and said, “Just see how many are left when you get there.” Straight ahead you shot off making Cage smirk and sprint after you leaving The Punisher to seemingly linger behind to advance on his own pace, unable to keep up with the both of you. And while Cage was virtually bullet proof you weren’t, and on an icy strip you dropped to your knees latching one of your grappler chains to the base of one axe you swung around you to take out the front line of soldiers.

Around your arm the chain looped in the return of your grip on the handle for a stunning leap up to start a bounding attack from chest, side, back and wall between the soldiers who were more Cage’s stature. Effortlessly the soldiers, now apparently clones with identical faces and body structures, fell in groups of three to your almost invisible barrage.

A soft whimper and squeal however turned your head. And in the opening of an alley a soldier that had you leap out of the formation was seen to be advancing on a pair of small children with their mother. Now The Punisher had reached the lines of marching targets and was powering his own charge towards Hate-Monger, who was watching with apparent glee exclaiming loudly on how his troops would cut you all down. ‘Resistance was futile.’ The phrase uttered and in a whip of your grappler chord the stray soldier was flung away back into the path of a bullet meant for The Punisher. Lifting a foot you skidded to a stop at the wall across from the mother and children muttering, “Resistance is futile, every bad guy, buy a new threat book.” When your eyes fell on them you asked, “Where you headed?”

“Two blocks, East.” You nodded and gave the pathway a glance and said, “I’ll cover you to the corner, then you cut to the next block over and go from there, alright?”

The mother nodded and then pulled her children into her arms with wide eyes shifted at Cage’s shout of, “BEE!” From the center of the group a four wheeler with a crank machine gun on top of it had stopped and aimed right at you.

“Oh great,” you muttered and leapt from the wall to the curb tearing a door off an abandoned old VW van that was on cinderblocks and gradually being turned into a graffiti coated art piece. Back in front of the trio with a wall of vines that shot out of nowhere from behind you they shrieked and heard the ricochet of bullets across the door to crash into the barrier you lined the door on your side for some added protection you held in front of your body. Only growing minutely heavier with every bullet that flattened and squished by another to crash into the back of them thanks to the endlessly firing gun.

“Run,” Isaiah Bradley heard in his wide eyed view of the cowering trio behind the gradually splintering vines failing to get up and moving to safety. Again the tinier than expected Misique repeated the order then dropped with a pained squeak from a forward lunge of a stance behind the door. Grimacing at the stray bullet that grazed her lower leg now dropping her to a hip still holding that glittering mist lined door while Cage fought to get to that gun as more and more clone soldiers piled up to block the way.

Just a hunk of junk. Useless scrap metal. Now that case and his parked car had him in an instinctual trotting turn backwards to his parked car. He hated this suit and shield, and every inch that eased over his skin just about burned, but before he could even question it his hand and arm locked into his shield’s brace and of he sprinted to help, however unarmed or rusty he may be. Nazi’s were trying to take over New York on Christmas Eve and he would be damned if he wouldn’t grant them an inch without a fight.

Bullets once burrowing into the door or vines while he took notice of the three Dora Milaje, who had raced over to help now with suited up Prince T’Challa to get the mother and children to safety, now bounced off the shield held in front of Bradley and yourself. All at once he dropped to a knee to block off the onslaught to help your tiny target of a self. Off your hip he had guided you to be lined up behind the lengthy barrier against his chest. His shield alone in sight was a jaw dropping moment for Cage and the others from Wakanda who knew of him right away. “What’s the plan?” Bradley asked with his hand still on your side feeling your breath steadying as your foot was able to take your weight again in the start of the healing of your gunshot wound.

“Punisher gets Hate-Monger and we get the Nazi’s.” You said and asked in a glance at his chest and waist for any weapons, “You don’t have any weapons.”

“No.” He replied and you gave a nod.

“I got a baton, or a knife, probably a bit small for your grip.”

And behind the shield he smirked saying, “Baton is fine.” And you slid one under his hand on your side you pulled from your jacket pocket. “Thank you.”

“What’s the plan?” T’Challa asked sliding to a stop at your side cutting off Bradley who he nodded his head to and got a nod in return. “Good to see you Captain.”

“You, um, what are you called?” You asked the armored Prince.

“Black Panther.”

“Ah, there like a spectrum of panthers?” You asked then to his shielded smirk you shook your head, “Not important. Just um, stay there a moment, don’t move.” You said and he held his kneeling position through the bounce of two bullets off his chest only to feel your boot press into his knee for an awe strikingly fast lean from behind the shield to launch yourself at the soldiers.

Ax free with kicks, maneuvering of limbs to break the bodies of those carrying them accented by a whip of your grappler chain the four wheeler was now unmanned and you slung yourself back to the crumbling wall of vines to hand the now upright Captain a gun you had taken and look him over saying, “You have no pockets…” A hidden set of pockets on his boots and the inside of his shield were loaded with the magazines you had collected for him and back into the clone troops you all sped to cut them down to the very last one.

A fly over of one of the helicopters that dropped more soldiers had you say, “I got the birds,” then speed off kicking the bullet riddled door off the ground where you’d dropped it to your grip to race to the tallest building nearby.

When your back was turned however fresh from the SHIELD jet that had arrived from a trip out in India to fetch Dr Banner, War Machine came to a hover looking over the scene before him muttering, “I know there are not Nazi’s in New York right now.” Familiar faces of former soldiers had him line up with your allied group to help take a more steady sweep of the clones out of their tries to break off down the side streets and more as they parachuted down on a second fly over.

“Which one goes to the roof?” you asked coming into the view of the Security Guard who had been hiding from the wall of glass lining the lobby behind a pillar and alcove of crème colored marble to match the polished floors and brushed copper ceiling and light fixtures.

“That, that one,” he said after a stare at your stained and snow sprinkled self. “But it needs a key.” Before he knew it instead of tossing you the key he found himself inside the elevator with you trying not to smile as you began to hum and bop your head to the lively violin holiday tune.

“What’s going on out there?” he asked a few floors to go.

“Just Hitler’s clone Hate-Monger with an army of cloned Nazi’s who are after Santa Claus.”

“Well,” the guard said in a stunned blink, “He would be on the naughty list for life.”

“That he would. But War Machine showed up and Iron Man can’t be far behind.” When you were a floor away you said, “Might want to hug the wall for this.” He followed the guideline and just in time as the pitter patter of bullets that grazed the rooftop to the elevator the heat scanner had picked up bodies on their way up to collide with the again raised shield of a door as you shot out of the open elevator.

Just a pause for a moment to reload and you had your break to lower the door, and in a double handed grip your body spun to hurl the door that caved in the door on the side just enough room for you to leap off the roof inside. Three tosses of bodies later four of your bees flew up to keep hold of the controls while you used your grappling chords to fling the men from their seats out to plummet to the ground far below. To yourself alone again you smirked and whispered, “Hot bird coming in,” to the pilot’s seat you went and settle down taking control to angle the chopper back to the group who turned at the bird coming from the opposite way the others had.

The rain of bullets at the Nazi’s and a missile launched at the tank Hate-Monger fled from had your group cheer even if just internally at the mysterious way their little friend had captured one of the birds. Although the caved in door was a major clue. In your break to chase down a string of more four wheelers and motorcycles Iron Man after blowing up another chopper came straight for yours. “Fucking Nazi’s on the ground and let’s fire at me, hmm?”

A missile was launched and all you could do was hit the self destruct sequence, ready a grappling hook and take hold of your door shield on your leap out of the chopper. Around a stone feature on the side of a tall building your chain latched to grant you atop your door a scuff of a slide to a dangling stop on the side of the building to watch the chopper implode taking the missile with it before either could damage the city and cowering people below. A spotlight from Iron Man landed on you and over his speaker he said, “Christmas Eve, really Bee?”

All you could do was sigh and kick out of the way from where his blaster aimed then swing back through the scream triggering break of the window behind you on the building still loaded with people hiding out before they got the all clear to head home. The chain let loose and recoiled to wrap around your palm while you darted inside to manage the maze of cubicles between you and the stairwell as Iron Man flew himself inside.

Banter from him and tries to lure you out marked the moments as your bees worked out a map of where people, Stark, and the door was. The main difficulty being how to keep him from attacking you and the innocent people scattered on the way to your exit. Only for you to in the end of a clever path to freedom have to lift your door when Natasha popped in through a window she broke of her own to help in the chase.

“Honestly? None of you saw the Nazi’s downstairs?! Hitler’s clone?! Heil myself and all that and you come after me?!” you said in a dive across an aisle to miss the smoke flare Stark set off that sent people in a panicked flurry to the fire exits kicking off the alarm throughout the building.

“Don’t you try distracting me, Bee! Someone said there was a bee problem in New York while I was gone. Time I did something about it.” He shouted then dropped at the marble sized stun dart you threw at his back when he passed you. Like a paperweight trapped inside his suit he had to lie there until his system rebooted itself just leaving Natasha who looked you over when you turned your head to face her.

“Just you and me,” she said cockily readying the grip on the blade in her hand.

“Not just us,” you said and in the leap of Steve Rogers through the broken window she had entered. Blindly his hands got to releasing his parachute, a sound paired with his glass crunching landing that had her flinch and for just a moment lower her gun granting you the chance. Easily you leapt over a cubicle to jump to the door that she barely was able to shoot in the small opening that allowed the bullet to catch you in the side. Hard and fast your body fell to roll down a small flight of stairs and come to a loud stop that broke her smirk as she turned to look at Steve saying, “I told you to stay on the jet, I had a clear shot.”

And in a shake of her head and trot to catch up with her prey in the stairwell he said, “I’m not leaving all the Nazi’s to you two.” Looking down at Stark on his way to follow after Natasha to see who she was chasing. “Thought the suit was unbreakable, Stark.”

“The bug shut off Jarvis somehow.” Was heard muffled from inside the suit. A streak of blood was all Natasha could find that later would be shown to be a mixture of sources and deteriorating by an additive to keep the source dna a mystery.

Down through the stairwell you sped and to avoid Hawkeye, who was in wait on the ground floor, you dove through a plaster wall to get to the janitorial pathways to a back exit. At the sudden hole in the wall he scoffed and forced himself to jump up and wiggle through to get after you with help of Natasha and Steve when they caught up and heard where you went to chase behind him.

Where you had assumed the riders were gone by chance they came around the corner. With hold of your grappling chain you raced to grab the handlebar of the lead bike to use the slide of your bent leg into his side to help force his body in a flip over your back to tear him off as you took over it fully. “Buster,” you said to the bees in your hair gaining a trilling chirp in response, “How is that emp going?”

The answer came in a sudden plummet of darkness for the block including the rapid fling of passengers from the bikes around yours that locked up colliding with the four wheeler to cause a mini explosion. Yours you protected with a cloud of your mist over its body to keep racing back to the others still audibly heard battling for the safety of the city. The sound on the pitch black streets however would be the only hint of where you had gone to.

A reindeer pulled sleigh diving in front of the trio, now burst free from the back exit of the building you were speeding away from, caused Hawkeye, Natasha and Rogers to drop to the ground fast asleep. Tony upstairs as well drifted off even to Jarvis’ powering up sequence warnings after your charge had worn off. And in a flanking position Dasher at the front of the line of reindeer kept pace with the crotch rocket you turned back to flank Hate-Monger and his remaining troops.

Creating a glittering yellow ramp of bees for the bike at the perfect angle you slapped an explosive charge on the side of the tank and leapt off to roll back down the ramp to a stop watching the bike collide with the lead four wheeler in the second wave of three to take out the back soldiers. The explosion bright enough to light up the view of The Punisher shooting Hate-Monger point blank. Cage nearby took out the final few behind War Machine’s barrage of his own on the opposite corner after taking out a jet of his own. The sleigh as you rose to a knee circled the battle zone clearing away the damage and bodies in the growing fall of snow, magically clearing the blood off of your clothes and mask but little else.

Panting slowly to calm your heartbeat your head turned to the Dora Milaje who was standing and staring straight at you in search of your injuries to Bradley’s approach to help you up. “I like your, um, stick, thing,” you said making her smirk as your natural accent came out hinting English wasn’t your first language at a loss for the proper word. “Gold?”

“Vibranium painted gold.” She replied and you nodded.

“Ah, painted gold,” you said looking up at Bradley who offered you a hand you tensed your hold of it to stand on your still throbbing ankle you’d heard a pop in on your fall down the stairs. “Nice, I just have,” sharply you panted a breath out as a second of the Dora Milaje lifted your long sleeve shirt brushing the side of your jacket back to reveal a trail of blood still oozing from the gunshot wound surrounded by an already darkening bruise fingers pressed to the cracked ribs above it. “Kevlar,” you whispered to finish the sentence then brushed your shirt back down to catch her eyes, “Your hands are cold.”

With a smirk she said, “You are wounded.”

“It’ll heal. Few hours, bout a day for the bruises.”

The stringy view of your side underneath the bulky protective layers had Bradley say, “Looks like you haven’t eaten in weeks.”

“I eat nine times a day,” you fired back, “I’m just short.”

“Short,” he repeated in an amused tone then looked to War Machine as he came closer looking over your group.

And in disbelief he asked, “Was that Santa?!” You nodded and he looked you over asking, “Um, you okay? You’re bleeding.”

“Ya well, Tony chased me out of a chopper and Widow shot me on my way out of the office he forced me into. Apparently I’m more enticing than Nazi’s.”

War Machine asked, “They alive?”

“Ya, let them a few blocks that way. Something involving cubicles. Thanks for not shooting me.” You said uncertain of what else to say to the man you’d gotten to know who had seemed so protective of you outside of your armor you hoped wouldn’t recognize your voice or stature.

He nodded and in the shut of his helmet he said, “Merry Christmas,” then flew off to go and locate his friends while Cage and The Punisher shook hands and parted with Bradley fondly as the armored car arrived loaded with T’Chaka and the rest of the Dora Milaje.

The King gave you a kind look after his own greeting to Bradley to say, “We thank you Misique, for your assistance tonight. Should you ever find yourself in Wakanda we would repay your protection with a show of our gratitude and warm welcome. May you have a holiday season of comfort and plenty.”

“Wow, that’s very nice of you, and I’ll try to keep you warned on if Hydra tries to come after you again when you come to town. I wish you and yours a bountiful Yule as well.”

They were grateful and did have to get on their way to return safely to their jet that would fly them back home leaving Bradley who said, “I have a roast at home, let’s get you something to eat.” He wasn’t going to let you head out into the night alone with bullet wounds to stagger off and bleed out. “I’m parked in the garage over here.”

View of the cameras had him sigh and you said, “They won’t have footage of your car or face.” That had him look at you and then to the bee with glowing green eyes nestled in your braids, “Chester saw you jump in and scrubbed the footage.”

“Chester?” he asked, “You, name the, bees?”

“Yes, they all have names. A part of me. I don’t really have many friends, but at least in the fleeing bit the hive tries to help keep cover of escape routes for the few who help me.”

At the trunk of his car he opened he added his shield and removed his suit he dropped on top of that inside the case again he shut and then the trunk over it. A group of bees lured his attention to the bag they carried from its hiding spot you took hold of with a thanks to them in their path to nestle inside of your hair to join the others and rest. “How did you get tied into this? With Hydra, you’re a kid.”

A sudden tear that fell down your blood and smoke splattered mask had his lips part, and lost in the cascade of physical and emotional pain of the evening you said, “They killed my parents.”

“Oh,” he let out in a pained sigh, “You’re one of those babies they steal.”

“I wasn’t a baby,” you said then looked away to draw in a breath to keep from crying.

“I have never seen anyone they stole able to do what you can.”

“Why they took me, I was special.” You cracked out wishing to jump leap out of the parking garage and deal with the painful landing to race off to avoid this conversation.

“Well I’m certain that your parents, for how hard you fight, they must have fought so hard for you.”

That only brought on more tears in a shake of your head, “My mom was on a ventilator,” and your voice broke as you said, “she tried.” That had him move closer and rest a hand on your shoulder.

“I didn’t mean to strike a nerve. I never got to see my boy grow up, but let’s get some food in you.” He opened the door and he covered his passenger seat you removed your jacket to try and minimize the stains you could give it. When he took his own seat he asked, “You in school?” Trying to not have this as awkward silence. “You seem about my grandson’s age.”

“I’m in High School. Actually won a scholarship for some University courses to take as well, gotten a few packets of New York Universities that will offer me place on their campus to get ahead on degrees I might want.”

“Very good,” he said, “Very good.”

Straight to his home he drove you and at the lights on and noise of the tv he ushered you into the bathroom closest to the door as he calmed down his grandson who was supposed to be sleeping at a cousin’s house. “Eli, you are supposed to be at your cousin’s.”

“There’s Nazi’s in New York and Cap is on the news! That’s your suit! Came home and the case was gone! Gramps you said you’d never suit up again!”

Isaiah sighed and said, “I saw a kid in trouble. Had to help, and we have company.”

“Is it Luke Cage? Cuz Ben down the block will go just ape over proof that we had Luke Cage in our house.”

“It’s the kid, looked like she hadn’t eaten, got roughed up a bit. Gonna feed her and then take her home.”

“You, you brought like a person here? Gramps! She’s gonna know who you are! You don’t show the bat cave to just anyone!”

Isaiah scoffed and rolled his eyes, “This is my home, and it’s Christmas.”

“Gramps! Super hero 101-!”

Under the tap of the tub you washed your hair using the towel and blow dryer from your bag muffled by the perimeter your bees had set off to muffle the noise. Over the scab on your lower leg, ribs and the side of your neck bandages were added along with the fresh jeans, sweater, long socks and boots. Without your mask or armor you exited the bathroom and left your bag by the door making Eli beside his grandfather fall silent in a stare at the young teen girl with purple eyes and dark raven curls even Isaiah had to take a look over your true face he wouldn’t have expected underneath that mask. The only telling proof was the braid down the side of your head with the bees resting along it to leave the rest to pool over the other side of your face and shoulder.

Eli said, “You, you got caught up in this?” he gestured to the news footage of the battle captured from people filming above. “Hey, you were in that parade, with the flags.”

With your Swedish accent you answered, “Ya, your grandpa helped me out, though.” With a nod he jumped into helping you sit for the meal in a far different welcome place as a guest than some random lady he had expected to have eating with them.

When you were getting ready after the hearty meal to head out again with a second fresh coat you left with your bag Eli asked when he escorted you to the door. “So, you um, heading to church in the morning?”

Up at him you looked with a brow ticked up a moment before you said, “I’m not Christian, actually.”

“Oh, Jewish, that’s cool too. I got some Jewish friends. They go to temple, you have one?”

“I just moved to New York not long ago, hard to pick.”

“I get that, my Gran always took me to hers so I go there.”

He said and Isaiah chuckled saying, “Get to bed, I’ll be back after dropping our guest off.”

Back to the car you went withholding your giggles to climb back in for him to close the door and walk around to climb in on his side. “Where am I taking you?”

“I live in Queens,” you said making him look at you for how far you traveled for the battle and expected to travel back again after. “The closest subway stop will do or you won’t be back until after Santa gets to your home.”

“You always take the subway this time of night?”

“Yes. Had four jobs through the summer, I’m a familiar face.”

Outside the subway stop he parked the car with a sigh and said, “I have a good idea what you can do, but I know everyone has a breaking point.” You caught his eye taking hold of your bag, “I know what I faced, religion is harsh to come to terms with, but the support could help.”

“I’m from the Norse faith. There aren’t exactly churches or temples here in our faith. Sort of have a reputation.”

“Ah,” he said and you flashed him a quick grin.

“Thank you, for the help and the food.” His eyes lowered to the slip of paper he accepted, “If you need help, I’ve read your file, compared to Hydra, some times this system isn’t much different.” He looked at the number you had given him and you said, “The number works, on an untraceable network.”

“Thank you. Not much left for them to take from me if they tried.”

“Doesn’t mean the idiots won’t try,” out of the car you climbed and shouldered your bag to stroll into the subway stop as he pocketed the slip mentally reeling about what was coming next on his way home for what he expected to be a sleepless night.

Alone on the platform in wait for the right train you stood leaning against the pillar with your phone in your palms, keyboard extended, scanning through your back doors in both Hydra and Shield. A red flag of notices drew your focus on signs that something was being put into motion involving Isaiah Bradley’s file. Through the link with your bees two in your apartment brought out your laptop you had built yourself that opened it allowing you a smoother pathway to unleash what you had swirling in your mind right now to halt them going after that kind man.

Straight to the internet with his real name blacked out of the files at the questions online as to who the black Captain America was his entire file as the Captain was published with clear aim of how he was treated afterwards, his 30 year prison sentence and the redaction of his entire military career. All underneath the title, ‘And How Did They Repay Him?’ of the thick chunk of paperwork copied electronically included a note from President Johnson, who had the chance to overturn his sentence, as each other President had. Who wrote a rather callous note that, on top of his treatment of the Mercury 13 killing the female astronaut program, killed the chance for freedom for a young black male who was treated so cruelly after serving so valiantly.

Just one click was all it took and the avalanche was unstoppable and by morning every newspaper team had met up to plaster the face of the hidden hero across their front pages by sunrise to ensure that no one could quietly put him back to some hidden corner of the country. Morning shows would be next to blast this news either for good or for bad and even to his shock and that of his grandson images of him in the past and present in that suit with shield in hand stirred something solid and untouchable even with Steve Rogers alive and back in his own Cap suit.

Over an hour you spent online monitoring the situation as well as what else was up with possible ways Stark was set on finding you until up the stairs you came to a stop at your apartment door. Once unlocked the door was eased open and shut promptly behind you to silence your hushed squeak at seeing the place decorated fully just as if your parents had done it for the last Yule celebration you had spent with them. Underneath a stocking beside the heater you had made powered by your bees sat a wrapped collection of Norse mythologies in your native tongue. An exact copy of the ones your father had read to you since your mother had gotten pregnant.

Tears and shuddering sobs you muffled with your arms as you collapsed to lay across the floor flooded out of you until tearfully you were able to force yourself off of the floor to crack open the first cover to relive these tales again. Even if you had to read them alone to the sound of the final twelfth night of the Yule celebration feed playing on your laptop from your hometown this was another step to being true to yourself, or the you that you hoped your parents might be proud of. Pain from your skirmish had you crawl eventually to bed to try and get some sleep leaving your bees to hourly health scans until at sunrise you had to be hoisted up by a group of them to get something to eat.

Inside your pantry and fridge a tear stirring ham and trimmings had you ready a proper feast with ample bites of an instant bowl of oatmeal until the feast was through cooking. More stories were cherished while you wrapped a heating blanket around yourself to try and loosen your muscles and sore joints around your sprained shoulder, ankle and severely herniated disk that was slowly healing itself.

Pt 12

All –

@sherala007, @mariannetora, @jesgisborne, @knitastically, @catthefearless, @theincaprincess, ggbbhehe4455, @lilith15000, @alishlieb,

Not nsfw(smut) - @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore

X Loki - @pastelhexmaniac

@jiminapickle

11 notes · View notes

sublimeobservationarcade · 5 months

Text

Calling Out The Fear Mongers

The Murdoch’s News Corp is at it again in Australian politics, making news rather than reporting on it. Sky News Australia, that blatantly one eyed right wing tabloid TV channel, is hard at it beating up BS into inflammatory stories. Calling out the fear mongers. Liberal party cronies and ex-staffers bleat non-stop anti-Albanese malarkey. The Australian newspaper in concert with Newspoll declares major popularity slump for the ALP federal government. This strategy of polling to start anti-government waves of public sentiment has been a long standing one for News Corp. They can then run multiple stories across their platforms with headlines about midterm slumps. The rest of the corporate media picks up these stories and runs with them, including the now chastened ABC.

Murdoch’s News Corp & One Eyed Opinion Based Reporting

Current affairs and news is all about click bait these days, so it is a tight focus on the politics of every thing rather than policy. Murdoch started the whole op ed, opinion based journalism decades ago. Consumers prefer to read gossip and opinion over substance and facts. Investigative journalism has become a rare commodity indeed. The Greek chorus of the Australian media repeats itself loudly, with young reporters unquestioningly following the bosses line. In actual fact, the Albanese government has achieved a lot in the China space for our trade revenue and the release of journalist Cheng Lei. Penny Wong and Albo have cleaned up the mess made by Morrison in the Pacific with our neighbours there. The economy is being well managed in a tight global downturn and inflationary period. Wages have started to go up for some sectors despite the gloomy times. The failure of the Indigenous Voice was a blow to the government and to the nation, however.

the fear monger! Dutton The Fear Monger Peter Dutton and his strategists have forged an attack plan in the mould of Tony Abbott’s in the Gillard days. The LNP will bully the Labor government whenever they can. Dutton is fear mongering over dangerous refugees released into the community by the High Court. He is banging his drum about the war in Gaza and going all anti-Arab. The yellow peril fear of China is never far from the LNP commentary. Dutton is crying wolf more often than that little boy in the story. Peter Dutton divided the nation by organising the defeat of the Voice by taking a partisan position on the referendum. He will be a wrecker from now until the government breaks or he does. The Australian hard right will be following the lead of the radical Republican party Trump campaign in the US. White supremacy and anti-LGBTQI dog whistling will never be far from the lips of these populist politicians on the right. The Murdochs will be right behind them amplifying their divisive messages. Dutton wants to create anxiety and social unrest, so that he can blame Albo for appearing weak. The Murdochs just want to make money and stay influential in the power stakes. Wars put the wind up folk. Watching little children being blown up on the telly is unsettling. Many of us are vulnerable to suggestions that we might not be safe, especially older Australians. “ Of the 140 or so released to date, we can count three murderers and “several” sex offenders. Others have been declared “security risks”, while others again have been associated with criminal gangs. It is possible also that some people may have had their citizenship revoked and have found themselves in detention awaiting deportation. Of those who have gone through the criminal justice system and been found guilty, all have served their terms, but were nevertheless kept in detention because they could not be deported to a third country.” (https://www.abc.net.au/religion/philip-dwyer-refugees-indefinite-detention-cruelty-compassion/103166888) It is no easy task to find reports of any depth into these stateless people, who have already served their time in prison, and are now being used as fear monger fodder by the opposition. My hunch is that some of them have been labelled as criminals without proper scrutiny. It is political tom foolery and our media just lap it up, rather than questioning it.

Coalition No Alternative But Much Worse The ridiculous state of affairs is the Coalition presenting themselves as some sort of alternative after 10 years in government making a mess of things. The social housing/rental crisis is partly their doing, as it happened on their economic watch. Robodebt, where 500, 000 ordinary Australians were wrongly accused of being welfare cheats and ended up costing the nation $1.8 billion was a Coalition policy initiative. The abysmal planning around Snowy 2.0 and the national rail network are all things that are going to cost tens of billions of dollars of tax payers money. The PwC corporate tax betrayal and the outsourcing of billions of dollars of government public service work to consultancy firms are all LNP federal government corrupt and immoral practices. The fact that the Abbott, Turnbull, and Morrison governments failed to establish a federal ICAC to police the politicians is another dodgy black mark against them. These guys and gals are far from the finest Australians. Scott Morrison made himself the minister of everything – remember! Climate change deniers that have put back the green energy transition by a decade. “The Refugee Council of Australia (RCOA) has welcomed the High Court’s decision that has found indefinite immigration detention to be unlawful and unconstitutional in cases where there is no prospect of people being returned. Paul Power, CEO of RCOA, has called for the urgent review of the cases of all people in immigration detention, to enable the release of those who cannot be returned, including refugees, people fleeing war and persecution, and stateless people. “Indefinite detention has always been morally wrong and unlawful under international human rights law. It is welcome to see the High Court start to overturn its 2004 decision of Al-Kateb and recognise that such detention should not be permitted in Australia,” Mr Power said. “ (https://www.refugeecouncil.org.au/refugee-council-welcomes-the-historic-high-court-ruling-finding-indefinite-immigration-detention-unlawful/)

Parliament house was a dangerous place for women with all those pissed politicians & staffers wandering about. The media needs to calm down and stop stoking fears around a bunch of refugees who have been through hell themselves. They are not Attila the Hun or something worse. In many instances, they are just stateless refugees who have been adversely labelled by our immigration services to deny them entry and a refuge. Aussies may be doing it tough right now, as I am myself, but it would be well to take these things with a grain of salt. The grass will not be greener on Peter Dutton’s watch for a large number of Australians. The ex-cop will be an authoritarian PM that Australia would quickly come to regret. Conservatives enrich the wealthy and powerful at the expense of those at the other end of the spectrum, witness Robodebt. Robert Sudha Hamilton is the author of Money Matters: Navigating Credit, Debt, and Financial Freedom. ©WordsForWeb Read the full article

#Albanese #Australia #fearmonger #moralfailure #PeterDutton #politics #refugees #Robodebt #statelesspeople

0 notes