#commander kruge

[trek-tracks]

There should have been a version of TNG's "Time's Arrow" where they run into Doc Brown in the late 1800s, but everyone's confused because wasn't he a Klingon?

[mrthemovieman]

[tough-n-dumb]

#1 kanej pls. preferably pre-book 1 or even show verse but whatever works best!

thank you!! your wish is my command :) set pre-book 1 (i did change the phrasing of the prompt just a little bit just to fit the flow better, imo) i'm sorry it took a couple days to get to this. i had a difficult time deciding on what exactly i wanted to write and this is not quite the fluff i thought it was gonna be lol. hope you enjoy it anyway!

1. “Oh my God. You’re in love with her.” (Kanej)

(Content warning: references to Inej's time at the Menagerie)

The front door to the Slat slammed open and Kaz quickly ushered Jesper and Inej inside—the latter hanging onto the former for support and limping from a deep and bloody gash in her thigh.

"Get her upstairs—"

"Kaz, I'm fine—"

"Should we get—"

All three of their voices, speaking at once, were drowned out by a bellow from the first floor office and the man within it.

“Brekker!" Haskell shouted. "Get your ass in here!”

Kaz shot Jesper a hard and uncompromising look. "Upstairs. Now," he hissed under his breath. The two of them disappeared into the stairwell with quick nods. He didn't miss the way Inej's face contorted in pain; how a slight whine left her lips as she took halting steps forward.

Kaz stepped into Haskell’s office, barely held together restraint kept in every movement. Haskell was not as committed to this show of will.

"Would you like to tell me why the hell the stadwatch was here tearing apart the Slat not one bell ago? What did you do you little skiv?"

"I didn't do anything," Kaz grit out. "I told you we didn't have enough manpower to do this job the right way but you said—"

"Oh, don't try to put words in my mouth."

Kaz took a deep breath and folded his hands over the head of his cane. "Sir," he began, the formality sickly on his tongue, "if I may. This job was set up to go wrong from the start. We're lucky no one took a harder hit. That we didn’t lose anyone.”

When we had first seen Inej stumbling down the alley and coated in blood, he wasn't so sure that would be the case. Even in the dim glow of the street lamps he could see the ashen cast to her face. She’d been moments from dropping before Jesper careened around the corner and scooped her up into his arms, motioning frantically for Kaz to start running.

"The Wraith took a pretty serious hit."

Haskell perked up at that. "She's fine though, yes? I spent a lot of kruge on her and I expect to get my money's worth."

“Yes,” Kaz said too quickly, too confidently. But gnawing fear—fear he hated—settled deep within him. “That remains to be seen,” he corrected. And if she isn’t, I’ll have your head on a pike outside the Exchange.

“Good. Though if she ever can’t work as a spider anymore, at least we know she can make us money on her back,” Haskell said with a wink.

Maybe it was the sting of the Dime Lions and the stadwatch officers they'd paid off getting the drop on them tonight. Or maybe it was the way Jesper had been able to help Inej when he couldn't; when he could only stand there useless, shaking at the thought of another person he lov— he valued losing their life to his folly. But Haskell's words—useless garble he could usually tune out—broke a dam within Kaz.

“If you ever,” he spat viciously, “imply you’ll send her back to a pleasure house again, I’ll make you watch as I feed your shriveled cock and balls to the nearest pack of rats.”

Haskell’s face went slack, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. But it was quickly replaced by a dawning realization that lit up his eyes, clarity replacing the cloudiness of perpetual drink. He looked gleeful.

"Ghezen, boy! You're in love with her, aren't you?" Haskell laughed heartily, slapping a hand on his thigh. "Of course Dirtyhands would fall for his whore. Though I didn’t think you’d have it in you.” His smile was wide and grotesque, a suggestive eyebrow raised on his sweat slicked brow. The room seemed to narrow, the shadows gaining sharper contrast. Haskell continued chuckling to himself.

"She isn't mine and she isn't a whore.” The rasp of Kaz’s voice hid the way it rattled with anger. “She's one of your crew, a Dreg, and I caution you to remember that." It took everything within Kaz to keep his breathing level; his tone stern but placid. He sculpted his face into a wall of impassivity but his blood boiled and churned. If he didn't leave Haskell's office soon, his fist might accidentally find a target in the man before him.

"If it makes you feel any better, I think she's sweet on you too. Though it's always hard to tell with those girls, especially Heleen's. She trains them so well, you know."

Kaz let his cane clatter to the ground and lunged at Haskell—one hand planted firmly on the desk and the other wrapped around his cheap, gaudy tie—and tugged until the older man was half-sprawled on the desk.

"Are you sure this is a conversation you want to have?" He yanked on the tie harder and Haskell made a choked, gurgling noise. "Because I can assure you it'll end with you losing a hell of a lot more blood than Inej has tonight."

Kaz released him with a hard shove, the jarring momentum sending Haskell tumbling backward in his chair and crashing to the ground. Kaz didn't wait for a response, just grabbed his cane from the floor and shoved the door open hard, the hinges groaning with force.

A handful of Dregs stood statue-still in the common room, eyes bulging. He saw Pim open his mouth to say something before Anika promptly smacked him upside the head and pulled him and Rotty away.

The trudge up the stairs was long and laborious, his breath coming in hard pants that weren't entirely from the climb and his aching leg. He paused on the third floor landing outside of Inej's room and heard gentle murmuring coming from the other side of the door. Jesper said something he couldn't catch, and Inej let out a tinkling laugh that made Kaz's heart jump.

He stood frozen, tempted to knock—tempted to burst into her room and see with his own eyes that she was okay, that she forgave him for the night's errors. He didn't.

what's the job and what went wrong? idk! just go with it! thanks for reading! again, this is pretty different than what i initially planned and it's still a bit rough, but i hope it was still a satisfying read!

fic prompt meme

[dollsahoy]

Harrison Ford was Spielberg's original choice to play Eddie Valiant, but his price was too high. Chevy Chase was the second choice, but he was not interested. Bill Murray was also considered for the role, but due to his idiosyncratic method of receiving offers for roles, Murray missed out on it. Eddie Murphy reportedly turned down the role as he misunderstood the concept of toons and humans co-existing; he later regretted this decision. Robin Williams, Robert Redford, Jack Nicholson, Sylvester Stallone, Edward James Olmos, Wallace Shawn, Ed Harris, Charles Grodin and Don Lane were also considered for the role. Ultimately, Bob Hoskins was chosen by Spielberg because of his acting skill and because Spielberg believed he had a hopeful demeanor and he looked like he belonged in that era. To facilitate Hoskins' performance, Charles Fleischer dressed in a Roger Rabbit costume and "stood in" behind camera for most scenes. Williams explained Roger was a combination of "Tex Avery's cashew nut-shaped head, the swatch of red hair... like Droopy's, Goofy's overalls, Porky Pig's bow tie, Mickey Mouse's gloves, and Bugs Bunny-like cheeks and ears." Kathleen Turner provided the uncredited voice of Jessica Rabbit, Roger Rabbit's wife. Tim Curry auditioned for the role of Judge Doom, but was rejected because the producers found him too terrifying. Christopher Lee was also considered for the role, but turned it down. John Cleese also expressed interest for the role, but was deemed not scary enough. Peter O'Toole, F. Murray Abraham, Roddy McDowall, Eddie Deezen and Sting were also considered for the role. Christopher Lloyd was cast because he previously worked with Zemeckis and Spielberg on Back to the Future. He compared his part as Doom to his previous role as the Klingon commander Kruge in Star Trek III: The Search for Spock, both overly evil characters which he considered "fun to play". He avoided blinking his eyes while on camera to portray the character.

[defconprime]

Commander Kruge, Klingon

[bookworm-center]

Dirtyhands and the Bloodbender: Introduction

Author's Note: Decided I want to post my Kaz Brekker x fem!reader on here! It's currently on Wattpad under the title of "Dirtyhands and the Bloodbender" if any one wants to look.

Dirtyhands and the Bloodbender

Introduction

They say Kaz Brekker doesn't need a reason.

Most say he would kill a man by hitting his head in and watching him bleed to death, simply for the fun of it.

I knew better than most. Kaz Brekker always had a reason. Usually for kruge, or revenge or sometimes blackmail, but a reason nonetheless.

How do I know? I'm his second in command. Most assume that spot belongs to Inej, (after all, what is Dirtyhands without his Wraith?) but the Dregs closest to him know that the spot beside him is mine and mine alone.

And who am I exactly, you're likely wondering. Well that's something I suppose you'll find out on your own. All you need to know now is that I am not Kaz's right hand woman for nothing; I am dangerous and not many dare cross me, but those that do don't often make it out alive to regret it. And those that escape me tell the tale of my wraith in hushed whispers throughout the crowded masses of Ketterdam, calling me by the name "the Bloodbender".

[heavenboy09]

Happy Birthday 🎂 🥳 🎉 🎈 🎁 🎊 To You, 1 Of The Most Legendary Funniest American Actor Of The 1960s In Cinema 🎥 & Tv 📺 & More Of The Century

Lloyd was born on October 22, 1938, in Stamford, Connecticut, the son of Ruth Lloyd (née Lapham; 1896–1984), a singer and sister of San Francisco mayor Roger Lapham, and her lawyer husband Samuel R. Lloyd Jr. (1897–1959). He is the youngest of three boys and four girls, one of whom, Samuel Lloyd, was an actor in the 1950s and 1960s. Lloyd's maternal grandfather, Lewis Henry Lapham, was one of the founders of the Texaco oil company and Lloyd is also a descendant of Mayflower passengers, including John Howland. Lloyd was raised in Westport, Connecticut, where he attended Staples High School and was involved in founding the high school's theater company, the Staples Players.

He is an American actor. He has appeared in many theater productions, films, and on television since the 1960s. He is known for portraying Dr. Emmett "Doc" Brown in the Back to the Future trilogy (1985–1990) and Jim Ignatowski in the comedy series Taxi (1978–1983), for which he won two Emmy Awards.

Lloyd came to public attention in Northeastern theater productions during the 1960s and early 1970s, earning Drama Desk and Obie awards for his work. He made his cinematic debut in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (1975) and went on to star as Commander Kruge in Star Trek III: The Search for Spock (1984), Professor Plum in Clue (1985), Judge Doom in Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988), Uncle Fester in The Addams Family (1991) and its sequel Addams Family Values (1993), Switchblade Sam in Dennis the Menace (1993), Mr. Goodman in Piranha 3D (2010), Bill Crowley in I Am Not a Serial Killer (2016) and David Mansell in Nobody (2021).

Lloyd earned a third Emmy for his 1992 guest appearance as Alistair Dimple in Road to Avonlea (1992), and won an Independent Spirit Award for his performance in Twenty Bucks (1993). He has done extensive voice work, including Merlock in DuckTales the Movie: Treasure of the Lost Lamp (1990), Grigori Rasputin in Anastasia (1997), the Hacker in the PBS Kids series Cyberchase (2002–present), which earned him Daytime Emmy nominations, and the Woodsman in the Cartoon Network miniseries Over the Garden Wall (2014).

Please Wish This Legendary Funny Actor Of The 1960s Of Cinema 🎥 & Tv 📺 & Other Forms Of Entertainment A Very Happy Birthday 🎂 🥳 🎉 🎈 🎁 🎊

YOU KNOW HIM

YOU LOVE HIM

& HIS VOICE IS ICONIC THROUGHOUT THE WORLD 🌎

THE 1 & ONLY

MR. CHRISTOPHER ALLEN LLYOD👴 AKA DOCTOR EMMETT BROWN OF THE BACK TO THE FUTURE TRILOGY 👴🚗🕐⏩

#ChristopherLlyod #DocEmmettBrown #Taxi #BackToTheFuture #Anastasia #TheAddamsFamily #WhoFramedRogerRabbit #Cyberchase #SpiritHalloweenTheMovie

[departmentq]

A reminder that in Star Trek III, Kruge's officer was named Maltz. He could could have commanded, “bring me a chocolate, Maltz”

ferengi character named quo so that everytime their boss checks in on them they go “what’s the status quo?”

[hanakogames]

(okay the actual scene as filmed is ridiculous and the voicing is weird and all, but the sheer frustration of THIS FUCKING GUY)

iirc it is a little clearer in the novelisation (can I find my copy? although, if you’re not aware, the old trek novelisations had loads of stuff in them that were not in the films at all. sometimes things that were intended but got cut, sometimes just the author running with it and inventing whole backstories and plotlines for characters who were only in the film for ten seconds and then died. ah, here’s the book)

"Don't be a fool!" Kirk cried. "Give me your hand -- and live!"

The commander lunged toward Kirk. Kirk jerked back. Kruge's fingers grazed his throat, then slipped away. He started to fall, but with a supernatural effort he vaulted upwards again and grabbed Kirk's leg.

Kruge abandoned his hold on the cliff and clenched both hands like claws around Kirk's ankle.

Jim Kirk felt himself sliding along the rough surface of the cliff, off-balance, only a handsbreadth from the edge. He struggled back, digging his fingers between the hexagonal patterns where the basalt continued to fragment. His fingernails ripped, and he left streaks of blood on the dark stone as he slipped further and further over the edge. The fierce heat of the magma gusted up around him.

He heard Kruge laughing again, laughing with contempt and victory, laughing at the death of Kirk's son, at Kirk's determination to save his friends, at Kirk's defeat, and at Kirk himself.

"Damn you!" Kirk cried in a rage. "I have had -- enough -- of you!" He kicked out angrily, and again, desperately.

Kruge's grip loosened, faltered, and broke.

Kirk scrambled back onto the cliff.

Kruge tumbled down, with nothing to break his fall but the glowing magma.

[pointy-eared-hobgoblins]

[multistoty]

“And here I thought it was kruge,” Kaz teased with usual deadpan nature. He knew Inej would understand. Nothing had been safe even in his own careful curated factory of human emotions since he laid eyes on her. Yet, the farm boy from Lij and the barrel boss couldn’t look away. His eyes could react more than his hands could. give her some of what he waned too. Some of what she deserves.The air was full of salt and secrets. The moon is a loyal companion.It never leaves. It’s always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Every day it’s a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human.Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections. But there’s something about the darkness, the stillness of this hour that creates a language of its own. There’s a strange kind of freedom in the dark; a terrifying vulnerability we allow ourselves at exactly the wrong moment, tricked by the darkness into thinking it will keep our secrets. We forget that the blackness is not a blanket; we forget that the sun will soon rise. But in the moment, at least, we feel brave enough to say things we’d never say in the light. After all, the kiss of shadow had always been the realm with which they walked in. Gold shimmered no matter what, but few could make darkness look as good as she did. His avenging angel with silky hair sun stained, ocean flooded cheeks, a constellation of freckles, and a smile that cracked apart his spine. She seemed so unburdened and it warred inside of him. Love didn’t end all at once, no matter how much you needed it to or how inconvenient it was. You couldn’t command love to stop any more than a marriage document could order it to appear. Maybe love had to bleed away a drop at a time until your heart was numb and cold and mostly dead. She'd disappeared like a broken star, leaving the world untouched, save for the bits of missing light that no one would ever see again. Kaz prefered to ask his questions of his crows directly for truth too late was as useless as a meal to a dead man. And maybe a certain amount of anger had plucked dirty hands out when he had been hoping to be merely her Kaz. His dearest Inej. The only saint he’d believe in or altar that he’d pray too. Looking into her eyes, it was like she was oxegyn and he was dying to breathe. Yet, he was Kaz Brekker. Snarling and shark like, beautiful in ways that only broken things could be. Every good story needs a villain. But the best villains are the ones you secretly like. Dirty Hands wasn't dangerous because he was evil; the barrel boss was dangerous because he couldn't tell the difference between evil and good. Yet, she was the starlight to his darkness. And he was eclipsed by fury and concern seeing her painted and crimson. Sticky copper smell something he was familiar with. But this was his crow, his inej, his responsibility. He hadn’t wanted to cave Specht’s head in. Hopefully, they’d make it into his office. He’d been trying. Something he hadn’t gone out of his way to do for years. Numbers, schemes, heists were all less stressful than touching the soft olive skin of the woman with which he loved. The ghosts, they never go away. They call to you in unexpected moments, their hands lacing with yours and pulling you down paths that lead nowhere. “ There are no rules when it comes to survival, you should know I wouldn’t fault you for that, wraith,” his voice is wetstone rasp though with the softness only Inej recieved. An upturn of his snarling lip. She was one of a kind. His head nudged towards the office. A tap of his cane against the floor as the roaring club assaulated his senses. Brick by brick. This was his investment. His closest friend. “The rest of ketterdam is not you. You know that.” 

(It’s five am here but I am absolutely excited book or otherwise, from Kaz @multistoty ) ❛ is that blood? is it yours? ❜

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄: 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬. @multistoty

🗡 Had it not been for that one brief moment of eye contact they shared after each of Inej's returns, it would have barely been evident that Kaz Brekker and his Wraith had any concern to spare on each other.

The overseas journeys had grown longer, more dangerous, but so had the sense of freedom.

Freedom; It was more seasalt sensation than sweet liberation, comforting enough to make all fear fade, to shift her focus almost entirely on the blade in her hand and the promise of justice so close within her reach. No strangeness of foreign grounds could rattle her. No bloodied wound could knock her off her feet, not quite as hard as the recollection of someone waiting; waiting for her, draped in familiar shadows.

Ketterdam had not changed, but the Crow Club seemed to stand taller, echoing with laughter and a sense of mania.

Inej had not noticed the dried blood on her shirt, the bruises on her shoulders and arms. The adrenaline of a victorious battle had yet to fade. If anything, it was only fueled by the fire of Kaz's eyes, the absence of audible concern in his question.

Is that blood? Is it yours?

Inej took one steady step closer as they stood amidst the chaos of foul music and ecstatic bets and loud laughter; she gave him one long look of suppressed amusement, like he should know better than to immediately assume danger against her.

When she answered, she did so slowly, purposely, so that he would hear her voice over the Dregs' singing.

"Not entirely," she said, "But would it matter? It remains Ketterdam's form of currency. As long as you pay with it, there is no care on whether it is stolen, or sacrificed, or both. It may very well be mine, even if it was shed by a punished target rather than my own wounds. Would it matter ?"

An obscene sort of humor, one that she had studied in him.

Inej breathed in, averting her gaze for just a moment and hoping that she had made it clear that she was mostly unharmed.

Silence settled between them, even in this centre of mayhem.

"Good to be back, Kaz," she muttered, her heart racing, the same way it did when she stared at the sea from the very edge of the ship.

[atomic-chronoscaph]

Christopher Lloyd as Commander Kruge - Star Trek III: The Search for Spock (1984)

[defconprime]

Commander Kruge

[light-yaers]

Fools in the Darkness: Chapter One

Darkling x Reader

Warnings: Death, violence, drugs (Parem), NSFW and sexual content. This content is explicit and 18+ at some points.

A/N: I caved. I am a wildly stupid individual who has no control over her actions. I know I might come to regret posting this so fast and thus forcing myself into my third ongoing x reader fic, but I also just generally don’t care. I’m still working on No Saints and Sweet Esacpe, just as a slower pace due to my mental health, but this baby here floated out of me like melted butter. I’ll be alternating between uploading this fic and my currently ongoing others! I just had to get this shit out of my system about Shadow and Bone, fr. 

Fic Masterpost

Word Count - 3.4k

Chapter One

Ketterdam covered up your secrets perfectly. It’d only been a matter of weeks since you’d fled there, after travelling the exhausting journey across East Ravka until the Fold had stood before you; brooding, dangerous, a death-wish just to look at, let alone enter it.

Maybe you had to thank him for one thing, General Kirigan, because without him—

You never would have crossed the Fold on your own.

Maybe Ketterdam was made for a person such as yourself. Dark, danger around every corner, full to the brim with power-hungry men and women trapped behind silks. You’d never warmed to anyone yet, but that wasn’t a surprise—it was easy to hate people in the Barrel, but even easier to take their kruge and send them sailing upon the True Sea without another glance.

Kerch was a merchant port, stuffed with expensive clubs and those with no money troubles, armed and ready to open their pockets if they so wished. There were two sides of the docks—Fifth Harbour; the lavishly bright sector for the rich and wealthy—and the Barrel; a breeding ground for crime, killings and losing all of your kruge in one night.

You’d made acquaintances with the Barrel rats from the very beginning, hearing stories about the destruction they caused. You’d much rather not be on the side of the wealth, but the side of fear.

“I found her wandering the harbour, Kaz,” A petite lady in dark clothes spoke to her boss. She’d dragged you from the bustling harbour, flying you through the dark streets of Ketterdam. You tried to hear her footsteps across the cobblestones, but she left no footprints, like a Wraith in the night.

Kaz approached his desk then, stepping into the small lamp light of his office in the Slat. Kaz Brekker was a man that no one wanted to cross. With his clenched jaw and unforgiving stares, the Bastard of the Barrel was cut-throat in every sense of the description.

“She’s a rat, Inej. Not our responsibility—,”

“Do you see the clothes she’s wearing?” Inej cut over Kaz, stepping towards him abruptly. He stayed in place, looking at his Wraith in the eyes, unwaveringly. He regarded her for a moment, taking all of her in, before turning back to you.

His eyes skimmed you up and down, traversing the darkened and muddied fabrics on your body.

“A Kefta,” He whispered it, his eyes widening. “It doesn’t look like the usual Second Army attire,” He added. You perked up, trying to keep your expression as blunt as possible. After your journey, it wasn’t hard not to show anything—you’d been forced to endure a quiet and agonising journey for a month, while trying to stay in the shadows at the same time.

“Because it’s not,” You spoke up, for the first time since entering Brekker’s office. Kaz turned his attention to your face, stepping forward menacingly. His crow-headed cane slammed the wooden floorboards threateningly, but you weren’t scared—

You’d crossed the fucking Fold on your own. Nothing scared you anymore.

“Who are you?” He questioned, trying to keep his voice steady. Men like Kaz tried not to show off what they felt either, but the curiosity in his tone was undeniable. You cleared your throat.

“How much time have you got?”

Fjerda, 1 Year Ago

It was a risk to take, that was for sure. But choosing whether to go through the Fold or around it was a no brainer. Evidently, it had paid off so far, as you and your sister travelled through the barren coldness of Fjerda, headed for the Ravkan border.

“How much farther?” Your sister chided. She was older than you by a year, but on this mission, you’d taken charge. You shuffled into your pack, pulling out a tattered map and a compass. You set the point to North, calculating the miles you had left to trudge to safety.

Your sister wasn’t Grisha, no—you were. A Squaller; untrained, unenthusiastic about your power and utterly afraid of the Druskelle. But you’d had no choice in getting you and your sister safely around the Fold. There was no other way to go from where you’d first found asylum in Novyi Zem; going through Fjerda was the safest route to the Ravkan army.

You smiled at the map. “Five miles. Then we’ll be in Ravka,” An exhausted but relief filled scoff fell from your lips. You locked eyes with your sister, before the two of you embraced tightly. “We’ll be safe soon,” You whispered in her ear, enjoying the small warmth you got from her bare cheek pressing against your jaw.

“You’ll be safe soon,” She replied, bringing a hand to rest on the back of your neck. She pulled away then, as the tears began to well in her crystalline eyes. “You put yourself in this danger to keep me safe. I’m the older sister—I should be keeping you safe,”

“It was this, or through the Fold,” You spoke, furrowing your brows at her. “I’d rather take on twenty druskelle than step foot in that heaping mound of darkness,” Laughter trickled from both sisters, floating over the snow-covered trees and giving you hope.

You both continued forward tirelessly, mercilessly, trudging through inches of untouched snow and praying to whichever god out there who was listening. You prayed for your sister’s safety, for a safe life for her in the First Army. You prayed that you could stay with her—

A Squaller you were, yes, but over your dead body would you be taken to the Little Palace. You knew that’s where Grisha were trained for the King, you knew it was different. Your abilities didn’t define you; Saints, you barely even used them.

They were unpredictable. And you were scared of hurting those around you without meaning to. Ever since an incident when you were younger, you’d almost been afraid of your own power. You kept it hidden from those who you didn’t know closely.

Those who knew you were Grisha in Novyi Zem called you zowa—blessed, in Zemeni. It also meant Grisha, so you didn’t know if they were simply calling you what you were, or if they were commenting upon how strong your Squaller abilities were.

You’d never even met another Sqauller. You had nothing to compare yourself off of.

With a mile until you hit the Ravkan border, you stopped abruptly. Plumes of smoke rose high above the skies, coming from somewhere further on before you. You stuck your hand out, halting your sister from walking any further.

You were silent, listening for any signs of breakings twigs, compacted snow, or other indications of druskelle being near.

“Saints, you look like a fentomen,” Your sister scoffed beside you.

“Quiet,” You hit back with.

“What is it?” She spoke again, quieter this time, but not by much.

“Quiet,” You hissed.

You both waited another few minutes, silently standing like statues in the garden of the Grand Palace. You let out shaky breaths as you eventually straightened yourself once more, clutching onto your sister’s forearm for dear life.

“It’s okay. We just need to be wary,” You whispered. She nodded in response.

You both set off once more through countless trees and untouched snow. But you didn’t get far—until two druskelle spotted you. Neither of you could speak Fjerdan, and you were a fucking Grisha. This couldn’t have been any worse, when you were so close to being free.

“Hje marden,” One of them spoke. They were both tall, with broad shoulders and the white hair and blue eyes of Fjerda. Neither had beards—they were in training to being full druskelle. The trainees were always worse than their commanders, you thought. They would do anything to prove themselves to their superiors.

You tried not to shake as they circled you and your sister.

“I’m sorry, we don’t speak Fjerdan,” You said honestly. The druskelle immediately changed. Their hands rested upon their guns, ready to fire if need be. You raised your hands to the sky as your expression dropped. “Please! Please, we are just travellers—uh—we are perjenger—,”

“Perjenger? Travellers? To where?” The second druskelle spat.

You glanced at your sister quickly, knowing that if you answered Ravka, you’d both be shot immediately. Ravka was at war with Fjerda—Grisha were at war with Druskelle.

“Kerch,” You said strongly. “We have to go through Ravka and Shu Han. We can’t cross the Fold,”

For a moment, you thought it had worked. The druskelle looked at each other gruffly, muttering some words in Fjerdan. You clutched onto your sister’s arm tightly, not planning on letting her go now until you’d both crossed the border.

“Wait here,” One of the men said, as he began trudging back through the snow. He disappeared in the white landscape, leaving you with one druskelle.

You stayed quiet, feeling the warmth of your sister next to you. You glanced at her then, traversing your gaze over her side profile. Her nose, which was the same as yours; her eyes, brighter and more beautiful than your own, mimicking your mother; her hair, lighter and softer than yours. She was shorter than you, smaller than you, getting a lot of genetics from your mother, while you took from your father greatly. His height, his broad shoulders, his darker hair.

But she was your only family left, your only love and focus and everything.

And you were less than a mile from getting her to safety. You were less than a mile from being free of this Saint forsaken country, full of killers and fascists and men who only cared about power.

It was one druskelle against a Squaller. One against one. You could do that. You could beat him.

That’s what made you push your sister back, falling into the snow slowly as you brought your hands together. The druskelle yelled as he saw your movements, trying to aim his gun at you between your eyes, but it was too late—

In a flash, you summoned a storm that whipped him off of his feet. It circled him, gliding him backwards through the trees as you kept pushing and pushing, ignoring the raging winds as they whipped your hair from your face and agitated the snow on the trees.

“Come on!” You yelled behind you, as your sister scrambled up from the floor to stand beside you. She held your arm sturdily, watching fearfully as the druskelle struggled against the rapid winds that you wielded.

You thought that was it—you could both run with the time you’d bought—but that’s when the entire druskelle camp rocketed through the tree line. They yelled and boomed as they came to aid their brother, pushing back against the furious winds you were trying desperately to wield.

“Drüsje!” The commander yelled, storming through the group as he set up the largest of their guns—a machine gun, aimed and ready fire. You gasped, and for a second the winds wavered—they wavered long enough for the machine gun round to penetrate the small snow snuffed tornado that you’d created—

Until those bullets trickled over the blanketed ground, moving steadily closer and closer—

Until one landed straight through the heart of your sister.

All you remembered was that time slowed, then, as you saw the bullet exit her shoulder blade. She fell to the floor, unclasping her hands from your forearm and collapsing into a shocked heap on the floor. You remembered the way her blood dyed the snow. You remembered the way her eyes stayed open—

And then you remembered screaming.

It was a blur, as you tensed all of your limbs to the point where they yelled beneath your skin. You mustered all of your strength into this one storm; one that was merciless and unforgiving, circling all the druskelle in the clearing around you. You knew that soon all of the air would fade from within the eye of the storm that whipped devilishly around them.

You knew that soon they’d all begin to run out of oxygen and pass out, or better yet—maybe their hearts would stop. Cease to beat, drained of any energy to fire more rounds of bullets or kill Grisha for no fucking reason.

The storm was the largest you’d ever summoned, engulfing the entire druskelle camp and uprooting trees from their homes in the cold, hard Fjerdan ground. You saw them get sucked into your whirlwind, flying high, high, high until they eventually slipped out of the storms’ gusts; then they fell back down to earth, landing aggressively and dangerously on the ground below and being spat out at any random location.

You didn’t stop the storm, not even when you saw a tree fall atop a druskelle, crushing him where he’d stood moments before. The commander was the last one standing, rising above his suffocating men to look at you, face on, menacingly.

“Drüsje like you deserve to lose that which you love,” He boomed, using his remaining energy to cast you to Hell.

You wasted no time when you adjusted your stance, focusing the brunt force of the storm onto him—you decreased the eye of the storm until it flowed over him, and only him, grunting all of your strength into the circling winds that now surrounded him utterly and completely.

You collapsed at the same time that the commander did, falling into inches of snow and crawling exhaustedly to your sister. She was motionless, cold, her lips turning blue by the second as her blood continued to flow on Fjerdan soil. Dead. Gone.

Tears cascaded down your cheeks without any indication of stopping, but you couldn’t sob. It was impossible when you were already holding your breath, too afraid that if you were to breathe, only screams would pour from your coarse lungs.

The clearing was deserted, now, as druskelle bodies laid motionless on the snow-covered ground, their camp up ahead completely destroyed. Broken branches, twigs, tree trunks were dotted around, acting as just another indication of the destruction that you were truly capable of. Saints, you wanted to know if you were a normal Grisha, a normal Squaller, since those old women on Novyi Zem had looked at you like a weapon from the first day you could summon and control hurricanes and tornados at will.

Your fingers found your sister’s forehead then, swiping the hair off of her face. You cupped her cheek, laying your other hand upon her stomach. “Vaarwell,” You whispered shakily. “I’m sorry—I’m so sorry—,”

“Who’s there?” A voice spoke up from just beyond the clearing. You got up from the floor immediately, feeling a strange sense of power surrounding you. You waited silently, until First Army soldiers made their way to the clearing. A few stopped and checked the pulses of the druskelle upon the floor, before continuing forward until you were finally spotted.

A young man approached you slowly, holding his gun tightly, draped against his shoulder. “Was this... you?” He asked, looking you in the eye. His gaze dropped to the ground by your feet, seeing the blood-stained snow where your sister lay dead, before he looked back up to you.

He was joined by the rest of his crew. They slowly approached you, almost as if they were trapping you within a circle of their bodies. You stepped back once then, keeping your chin high and proud. The young man at the front was trying everything to keep you calm, you could see it in his eyes, but what he didn’t know was that you were seething—

And nothing would stop that.

Without your sister, you’d be taken to the Little Palace. Without knowing she was safe in the First Army, nothing would get you through the rest of your life—

You were dead. Inside and out. Nothing would change that.

Without a word, you brought your hands together, far too quickly for any of the soldiers to raise their weapons in defence. You ignored their begs and pleads as you circled them within in your storm, slowly suffocating the air out of their lungs and seeing the way their eyes bulged uncomfortably in their skulls.

“General!” The young man shouted, clutching at his throat as he tried desperately to suck air into his lungs. His voice echoed throughout the clearing, travelling through the trees slowly, until an eery type of silence settled into the air around you.

That’s when he arrived—his horse just as black at the Kefta on his frame, the stubble on his chin and the irises of his eyes. He dismounted, ignoring the cries from the soldiers within your raging storm as he began to approach you, step by step by step, crunching through the snow broodingly.

You knew who this man was; General Kirigan of the Second Army.

The Darkling.

He got ever closer, walking around the circular storm. The gap was beginning to bridge, and the more it did, the more you faltered. He took one more step, and you lost it.

“Stop!” You yelled. “Don’t come any closer, Darkling,” He stopped on command, keeping his arms by his sides, but the corners of his mouth upturned into a smile. “You find me amusing?” You spat.

“By the looks of this,” He gestured to the druskelle. “You were trying to get to Ravka. We’re here to help, yet you’re trying to suffocate my men,” You ignored his words, but you found your energy waning slightly—or maybe your heart was finally giving in. It didn’t really want to hurt anyone else, didn’t want to cause more damage than was already on your hands. “You’re a Squaller?” Kirigan asked, and that surprised you.

“Isn’t this how all Squaller’s are?” You asked in reply. Kirigin raised a brow at you.

“Not usually,” He said honestly. “You’ve never met another Grisha before?”

“I know what you’re doing,” You furrowed your brows at him. “You’re trying to distract me, to make me let my guard down and go with you willingly. I’d rather die than work for the King at the Little Palace,” Your breaths were getting more laborious the longer you held on to the storm. You were losing energy rapidly.

“Interesting,” The Darkling muttered.

There were a few moments then, where he was simply staring at you. Regarding you, analysing you, or perhaps— waiting for you to lose all of your energy. You were in a somewhat sticky situation, losing a grasp on your power with every passing second and feeling the intense gaze of Kirigan to your left.

“Let go,” He spoke softly. “I can see you’re tired, you don’t truly want to kill these men,”

“You don’t know anything about me,” You forced your eyelids to stay open as a wave of exhaustion flowed through you.

“And you know me?” He chided. You moved your gaze to him then, as your limbs finally lost momentum. Your hands dropped to your sides, your storm dissipating into the cold air at the Fjerdan border. Soldiers sucked in breaths noisily, gaining back their vision.

You stumbled back once, forcing yourself to stay standing despite the immense urge to pass the fuck out. Kirigan stayed still the entire time, a softness on his jaw that you hadn’t been expecting.

“Everyone knows you,” You mumbled. “I never wanted to meet you, though,”

Your heart jolted then, when the General let out a scoff. You forced yourself to move. Step by step through disturbed snow, until you were back where your sister lay on the floor. You collapsed to your knees unwillingly, as your body threatened to blackout at any moment.

You laid a shaky hand on her collarbone, curling your fingers up to her jaw. Kirigan moved slowly in your peripheral, turning towards you but staying at the distance he’d always been.

“Don’t take me to Os Alta,” You muttered. “Please, don’t take me,” You looked up at the General with pleading eyes.

“Why?” Kirigan whispered with furrowed brows, as if he was trying to work out why on earth you didn’t want a life within the royal Ravkan walls, living in luxury, fighting with other Grisha and honing your power.

Your vision began to blur then, as black spots dotted the white snow that surrounded you.

You never answered the General, your body gave up before you could—

And all you saw was black.

Tag list of those who were interested from my earlier post (tell me if you want off/on the list): @notawritergettingtherethough @rbg1993 @mayallyourbaconburn @luminous-99 

[heavenboy09]

Happy Birthday 🎂 🥳 🎉 🎈 🎁 🎊 To You,  1 Of The Most Legendary Funniest American Actor Of The 1960s In Cinema 🎥  & Tv 📺 & More Of The Century

Lloyd was born on October 22, 1938, in Stamford, Connecticut, the son of Ruth Lloyd (née Lapham; 1896–1984), a singer and sister of San Francisco mayor Roger Lapham, and her lawyer husband Samuel R. Lloyd Jr. (1897–1959). He is the youngest of three boys and four girls, one of whom, Samuel Lloyd, was an actor in the 1950s and 1960s. Lloyd's maternal grandfather, Lewis Henry Lapham, was one of the founders of the Texaco oil company and Lloyd is also a descendant of Mayflower passengers, including John Howland. Lloyd was raised in Westport, Connecticut, where he attended Staples High School and was involved in founding the high school's theater company, the Staples Players.

He is an American actor. He has appeared in many theater productions, films, and on television since the 1960s. He is known for portraying Dr. Emmett "Doc" Brown in the Back to the Future trilogy (1985–1990) and Jim Ignatowski in the comedy series Taxi (1978–1983), for which he won two Emmy Awards.

Lloyd came to public attention in Northeastern theater productions during the 1960s and early 1970s, earning Drama Desk and Obie awards for his work. He made his cinematic debut in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (1975) and went on to star as Commander Kruge in Star Trek III: The Search for Spock (1984), Professor Plum in Clue (1985), Judge Doom in Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988), Uncle Fester in The Addams Family (1991) and its sequel Addams Family Values (1993), Switchblade Sam in Dennis the Menace (1993), Mr. Goodman in Piranha 3D (2010), Bill Crowley in I Am Not a Serial Killer (2016) and David Mansell in Nobody (2021).

Lloyd earned a third Emmy for his 1992 guest appearance as Alistair Dimple in Road to Avonlea (1992), and won an Independent Spirit Award for his performance in Twenty Bucks (1993). He has done extensive voice work, including Merlock in DuckTales the Movie: Treasure of the Lost Lamp (1990), Grigori Rasputin in Anastasia (1997), the Hacker in the PBS Kids series Cyberchase (2002–present), which earned him Daytime Emmy nominations, and the Woodsman in the Cartoon Network miniseries Over the Garden Wall (2014).

Please Wish This Legendary Funny Actor Of The 1960s Of Cinema 🎥 & Tv 📺 & Other Forms Of Entertainment A Very Happy Birthday 🎂 🥳 🎉 🎈 🎁 🎊

YOU KNOW HIM

YOU LOVE HIM

& HIS VOICE IS ICONIC THROUGHOUT THE WORLD 🌎

THE 1 & ONLY

MR. CHRISTOPHER ALLEN LLYOD👴 AKA DOCTOR EMMETT BROWN OF THE BACK TO THE FUTURE TRILOGY 👴🚗🕐⏩ 

HAPPY 85TH BIRTHDAY 🎂 🥳 🎉 🎈 🎁 🎊 TO YOU MR. LLYOD & HERES TO MANY MORE YEARS TO COME #ChristopherLlyod #DocEmmettBrown #Taxi #BackToTheFuture #Anastasia #TheAddamsFamily #WhoFramedRogerRabbit #Cyberchase #SpiritHalloweenTheMovie