jet edge

I got tired of the submissions from people who are on good terms with the Crows, and appear to think that this is an easy thing to be. The Crows are just as frightening as the Gentry, in many ways. If you start to think of them as safe, or trivialise their regard by assuming you can buy it with minor things - scraps of food and respectful nods that cost you little to nothing - then you are going to have a very bad time.

Thus, as a public service; a trilogy of anecdotes:

The first thing they tell you about the Crows is this: Some say that if they love you they will lead you home, no matter how far you have wandered. But the crows do not love many.

Once, there was a student who paid faithful tribute to the Court of Crows. She offered food and trinkets at noon each day, and sang to them when the moon was full. She presumed herself safe, that she had bought the shade of their sheltering wings.

Then she watched as her roommate, her dearest friend, was Taken out from under one of the Crows trees. In her furious grief she swore revenge, but with summer break just around the corner, her friends thought she’d get over it. That she’d cool her head.

She came back with a shotgun, and a box full of neatly-stacked shells, and her friends and fellow students paid the price for it. Those were a bad few days. People lost friends.

No-one ever saw her again, or a body. But Jim from down the hall swears up and down the janitor came away with a bucket full of red water.

Do not anger the Crows. Do not presume their favour. It is theirs alone to grant, and they owe you nothing.

Once there was a student who took heed of the stories of the Crows. He left them offerings and read them poems, and this they tolerated, though they never showed him special favour.

He grew resentful of this lack, and stepped up his efforts. He bought them lavish gifts; outcompeting those who left them food or trinkets. He praised them during his breaks, striving to outdo those who simply nodded with respect. Every time they fluttered and shifted on their branches without gracing him with affection, his ugly fury grew.

Iron and salt stop only the Gentry. He found a feather on his pillow one morning, jet black and ragged-edged and stained with blood. Rather than taking this as a warning and a caution, he showed it to all who would look; let words boil out of his mouth that put form to what he felt he deserved. The next night, he dreamed of harsh croaks and cold air, and sharp beaks pecking out his eyes and tongue.

He woke up blind and mute, never to covet them again.

Do not insult the Crows. Do not try to buy their favour. It is not a thing to be sold, and you are entitled to nothing.

Once there was a student who was Taken by the Gentry. He laboured under Their affections until they released him into Elsewhere; uncaring as to his fate. Knowing what would befall him if he lingered, he searched desperately for a route that would lead him home.

A black shape took wing from the trees above him, and thinking himself safe, he sobbed in relief. He had always paid his respects to the Crows, and now he wept with joy and promised them much if they would lead him back to safer lands. More came, and he followed the ever-growing flock deeper and deeper down forest paths.

Eventually, he reached a clearing where the bare earth was dyed crimson. Human bones lay scattered on the ground, pecked clean of flesh. The flock settled all about him, and at last he remembered.

Not for nothing is a group of crows named a murder.

Do not rely on the Crows. Do not ask for their favour. They are neither safe nor tame, and they are bound by nothing.

[x]

Divided: Part 22

Pairings: Bucky x Reader, Steve x Reader

Warnings: angst, violence, fluff 

Word Count: 1998

Summary: As you try to escape from Siberia you come face to face with a new opponent 

Authors Note:   I always love hearing from you all, so drop a line with thoughts or predictions!  

Divided: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21


“Scorpion!” You jump beside Bucky, your arm tensing around his midriff as you all stumble to a halt, hearing T’Challa’s firm voice echo down the cold stone hallway.  

You feel Steve shift quickly as you duck out from beside Bucky and come to stand in front of him, your shoulder’s rolling into a defensive position as T’Challa cautiously approaches, his helmet tucked under his arm.

“Y/N…” Steve warns quietly, as your fingers fly to your knife at your hip.

“Stand down young one, I am not after you.” The king speaks gently, his eyes flicking past your smaller stature to Bucky’s injured form behind you, his half unconscious body leaning heavily on Steve. “I… I was wrong… I am here to make things right…”

Your eyes dig into him, flicking up and down his form as he moves slowly closer. You connect with his gaze, noticing the lowering of his defenses. Your muscles soften as you look at him, your eyes flicking behind you to Bucky, his legs weakening the longer he stands there.

You nod curtly moving clumsily forward towards T’Challa as your hand pulls back from your knife. You stumble slightly and he catches you gently, sliding his hand into yours to shake in agreement.

“We need to get out of here. We need your help.” You speak quickly, your own vision blackening around the edges.

“My jet.” T’Challa responds hastily, guiding you forward, helping you walk as Steve shifts Bucky into motion behind you.

“I’m fine,” You whisper, recoiling slightly from the gentle king, your eyes flicking up to him, pleading, “Please… help him.”

T’Challa nods softly, releasing you in front of him as he turns behind you, stepping back to slip beside Steve, relieving your Captain from the weight of his friend, as he settles himself beneath Bucky’s arm, taking on his weight.

T’Challa leads Bucky quickly past you and Steve, moving with more agility then either of you could have managed, despite Bucky’s weakened state and size. Steve falls into step beside you, working towards the exit, the cold wind catching around you, causing you to stumble as you step out onto the snow.

Steve moves quickly beside you, wrapping his arms softly around you as he steadies you on your feet. A small tear slips from your eye at the pressure of his arms. You stand for a moment, your eyes blurring as you watch Bucky and T’Challa in the distance, feet from the King’s jet.

“Y/N… are you alright?” Steve speaks quietly, his chest pressing into your shoulder as the warmth of his breath brushes over your ear. You laugh dryly as the tears begin to fall down your cheek once more.

Your eyes flick up to him over your shoulder, pressing into his chest, allowing his arms to wrap tighter around you. “Are any of us going to be alright?” You whisper.

Steve ducks his head slightly, pressing his face lightly against your hair as you close your eyes, relaxing gently into him.

He breathes deeply, inhaling the scent of your hair, the lingering smell of your conditioner still detectable over the days of dirt and sweat. He moves softly, his hand gliding up to your cheek to wipe a tear from your face as his lips press tenderly against your forehead.

You jump at the soft rumble of T’Challa’s jet, as the engines surge to life. You shrug awkwardly from Steve’s comforting embrace as you begin to limp forward once more, his tall form, silently falling into step beside you, his arm pressing softly against your lower back, providing you stability.

You limp gingerly into the plane, spotting Bucky laying on a cot along the wall, seemingly unconscious, his eyes closed and breathing steady with his arm draped lightly across his chest. The methodic clicking of T’Challa’s fingers against the controls allow you to relax slightly as you move towards the young King, Steve following silently behind you.

“Thank you, T’Challa. I am in your debt…” He nods slowly, glancing up to make firm eye contact with you.

“What… what made you change your mind?” You bite your lip as the words slip from you, unable to control your curiosity, unknowing of what T’Challa’s journey to this point had entailed.

“I’m guessing he discovered his father’s real murderer.” Bucky coughs dryly, propping himself up gingerly on his remaining arm. “Buck!” You breathe loudly, your head whipping around as you move quickly to him, the adrenaline pulsing through your body, allowing your movements to be uninhibited as you slide to your knees beside him.

He looks down at you, taking in your quickly bruising cheek bone, the dark purple stain, visibly spreading along your skin, even under the thin layer of blood and dirt oddly patterned from your various tear tracks.

He smiles sadly at the sight of you, memorizing your wide eyes that gaze so lovingly at him as you rest beside him, his hand twitching softly under his weight on the cot as your own fingers fly forward to grasp it, incasing his warm fingers in your grip.

“You are correct Sargent Barnes.” T’Challa speaks calmly, responding to Bucky’s hypothesis as your head turns quickly back to T’Challa. He looks stoic, at peace now at the discovery of the truth.

“Wait? The psychiatrist, you found him? What happened?” You stammer a series of unanswered questions, your brow furrowing in confusion at the timeline of the past few days. T’Challa sighs softly, cocking his head towards an occupied seat on the jet that none of you had yet to even glance at.

“Zemo!” Steve growls, his chest tensing defensively as he looks at the man in the King’s custody. T’Challa’s hand rises softly, effortlessly restraining Steve from his desired hostile response.

But no one was fast enough to stop your reaction. In one quick moment, you had risen to your feet and moved swiftly in front of Zemo. With the last bit of strength, you had you retracted your fist, reeling back as you deliver a swift punch across Zemo’s face.

With satisfaction, you feel his jaw buckle beneath the forceful contact of your knuckles, a cry of pain slipping from him as he looks back at you, his lip bleeding.  The plane erupts around you, Bucky watching in shock at your aggressive anger, the burst of rage so unlike you.

“Y/N! Woah… hey, jesus.” Steve sputters quickly as he moves behind you, his hands locking firmly against your biceps, gently but firmly restraining your arms by your side.  

“Let me go, Steve! Get off me!” You protest loudly, as you pointlessly pull at your Captain’s firm grip. Zemo smirks at you, his tongue darting over the blood now dripping from his lip as a snake like smile pulls across his features, his eyes darkening.

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you yet?” He growls, his eyes glinting up at you, his smug smile tight across his face.

You yank against Steve’s hands, twisting out of his grip, his fingers releasing painfully from your shoulder’s as you fly forward but T’Challa was just fast enough.

The quick king catches you around your waist, knocking the wind out from you as your foot manages to fly up, connecting roughly with Zemo’s shin, producing another satisfying grunt of pain.

“That’s enough.” T’Challa scolds, holding you firmly against his chest as you try to twist away from him.

“Why him?!” You bellow, your eyes burning with rage as you focus in on the creator of all your pain.  “He was happy! We were happy! He wasn’t a threat to you, he did nothing to you! WHY HIM!?”

Zemo sits there, his mocking smile pulling across his features, as you finally relent in your thrashing. T’Challa’s grip now supporting you more than restraining.

You breathe heavily, leaning into T’Challa’s arm as the fight finally drains from you. Your eyes never disconnecting from Zemo’s hungry gaze, as if he was gaining energy from your pain.

Your breathing steadies as your eyes break the connection, flickering to Bucky’s tense form, as he fights to stay upright with the aid of his remaining arm. His brow furrowed as he watches you with concern, his mouth drawn tight with grief as he processes your words.

Taking a deep breath, you plant your feet firmly on the ground, swelling to your full stature in front of Zemo, his cocky stare flickering with hesitation as you focus on him.

“Hear me, and listen well you piece of shit. There is a vengeful power in this world that will see that justice is paid for your crimes. Whether it is a higher power, a lawful act,”

You pause, leaning forward slightly and dropping your voice, speaking slowly to make sure he understands the seriousness of your threat, “or me personally enacting justice on your treacherous ass… I will make sure that you pay for your decisions.”

You watch as a flicker of real fear flashes across his eyes, his frozen smirk barely hiding his concern.

“Y/N,” Bucky speaks quietly, your eyes flick to him, your vision feeling blurry as if you were snapping out of a haze, your defensive posture relaxing slightly at the sound of his voice. “That’s enough…” He whispers, his blue eyes focusing in on you as you nod numbly, “…that’s enough.”

“We’ll take him to Ross.” Steve speaks firmly to T’Challa, the king nodding in agreement as he glances at Bucky.

“It’s the best way to at least start clearing your name.” Steve explains, looking over to Bucky. His dark hair falls in heavy curtains around his face as he nods in response, his eyes trained on you as you move slowly over to him, sitting down on the floor in front of the cot, your back resting gently against the edge of the bed.

“We can’t let Ross get a hold of Bucky, not until there’s been enough time to clear his name for good.” You speak quickly your eyes flashing between T’Challa and Steve.

“Especially now that Tony has his own personal vendetta… We all need to lay low for a while.” Steve speaks quickly, turning to the King.

“Your highness, I hate to impose on you more, especially after everything that’s happened the past few days…” Steve begins but T’Challa holds up a soft hand.

“You need speak no more Captain. It would be my honor to offer you sanctuary as you need it. I have a feeling we will need be better allies in the coming years.” T’Challa nods, shaking Steve’s hand softly as they both agree.

The king turns quickly returning to the controls as you twist your neck around to look at Bucky, his tired eyes already looking down at you. You pivot around, rising to your knees as you gently push his chest back down onto the cot, forcing him to lay down and relax.

You smile slightly as his warm fingers fly up to your cheek, rubbing tenderly at the fresh tear tracks streaking your cheeks. You stare down at him, moving gently forward to press your lips to his, a soft smile pulling across his mouth.

“Try to get some rest, love.” You breathe quiely, he nods, blinking heavily as his consciousness threatens to slip out again. “I’m right here with you, I won’t leave, I promise.” You whisper softly as your hand reaches up to pull his from your cheek, your fingers locking tightly around his as they slowly relax.

“Y/N…” He whispers softly, the way a lover does as they slowly drift off to sleep in the middle of a word. “Yeah, Buck? I’m right here.”

He smile’s slightly, “We were happy.” He whispers gently, his final word drifting off as he finally loses consciousness, falling to sleep once more.

You feel his words catch in your chest as your fingers tense around his loose grip. “Yes, love.” You choke a little as a sob catches your quiet words, “We were happy.”



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kickstarter

Hover : Revolt Of Gamers, Inspired by Jet Set Radio & Mirror’s Edge

Open world futuristic freerun / parkour game inspired by great games like Jet Set Radio and Mirror’s Edge

Key Points of the Game:

  • Crazy sensations of freedom and movement
  • In a 100% explorable openworld inside a vast futuristic extra-terrestrial city
  • Colorful cartoon HD graphics
  • Numerous characters to unlock and play
  • An experience system and a skill grid per character
  • join various clans
  • A dynamical scenarisation without interruptions
  • Non linear adventure and missions
  • The game can be switched to multiplayer at any time
  • Ability to create real time multiplayer events
  • First and third person view
  • Compatible and particularly adapted to the Oculus Rift
  • Gameplay technique through a quick and intuitive handling

About:

Halfway between the crazy universe from Jet Set Radio, the interactivity of a Mirror’s Edge and inspired by movies like the 5th Element or Star Wars, “Hover: Revolt of Gamers” places itself on another world and puts you in charge of a band of Gamers revolted against opression and the anti-video-games laws that rules the city.

You’ll have to free the citizen restrained by the autorities, localise and then infiltrate into control centers of the anti video games propaganda, retrieve gaming consoles confiscated from the population to dethrone the new Mayor, who is the cause of all that mess. Beware, some new security drones are patroling the city and you’ll have to be vigilent at the cost of being chased and having to shake them off.

For more information head on over to Kickstarter

External image

Patience Is A Virtue, But Jet Ain't A Saint

I honestly just wanted to write Jet being angry, because he deserves to be angry. Let Jet Be Angry 2k16.

(this takes place a few weeks or so after Ghoul joined the crew)

word count: 1,443

-

“Ghoul! Don’t you dare walk away from me!”

“You’re not my mom, so stop acting like it!”

The only sounds after that were a door slamming and a motorbike riding away. Jet stared at the door, still breathing heavily from the screaming match he just had. He turned around and punched the nearest wall with a vicious growl. “God DAMN it.”

Keep reading

Thanks for spending our education budget on fighter jets to ensure ‘edge’ in our 'regional’ defense Abbott. Seriously, the most dangerous thing in Australia is probably a fucking box jellyfish and I don’t think a fighter jet (a model that’s been plagued with issues too) is going to help with that. Someone needs to throw a vegemite sandwich at this idiot.