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tashas-cauldron-of-magic-soup · 2 months

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The Ballad of Kazimir Littlemoon, Part 1: Menzoberranzan (1/2)

"This boy should be dead, and she would make sure that he was."

Kazimir, or Kaz, Littlemoon is a Dungeons and Dragons character, and now a BG3 Tav, of mine. This is his story.

Contents: Menzoberranzan (1/2) Menzoberranzan (2/2)

The Surface (1/2) The Surface (2/2)

Waterdeep (1/2) Waterdeep (2/2)

CW: violence common to drow society (cruelty to intimate partners, child neglect, ableism)

Phaeravine ascended to matron mother of House Vrammith, 35th house of Menzoberranzan, in the year 1361. The year of her ascension was the beginning of a period known as the Peace of Lolth, when a yochlol of the Spider Queen appeared during the sacrifice of a male drow. This handmaiden announced that Lolth wished all shedding of drow blood cease until further notice. An effort to replenish their numbers after considerable losses in recent years. The announcement included the halting of male and child sacrifice.

However, this peace would never have a chance to officially end before the Silence of Lolth broke it unintentionally in 1372.

And in the midst of this peace, House Vrammith was scrambling to secure their power that seemed to be slipping away. But their newest matron mother’s position was being questioned all over Menzoberranzan from the very beginning. To put it lightly, Phaeravine was not the house’s first choice of successor.

Her lack of ambition, among other traits, made her claim to matronhood debatable from the beginning. Phaeravine was flighty and unstable, with capricious whims and no real direction. She was only placed in the position as a result of a power vacuum. Her mother, former matron Larynda, was assassinated by agents of House Ousstyl. Poisoned at one of her lavish dinner parties, falling ill that same night. Dead in her bedchamber by morning.

Phaeravine’s elder sister, Cazza, was the preferred choice of matron due to her unyielding shows of force and her striking beauty. The arrangements for her ascension were already in the works when tragedy struck. In a stroke of madness after her mother’s funeral, she disappeared without a trace. As though she’d walked off into the Underdark unprovoked, never to be seen again. Phaeravine was the next female heir, followed by a string of brothers and sisters too young to be trusted with the position.

She took the matronhood in a startlingly fast ceremony, lest the lack of a house leader alert rival houses to any weakness in their ranks.

The other feature that marred her reputation was her plainness. Drow valued beauty among the most coveted of features, and Phaeravine was unremarkable in her countenance. In an effort to make up for this shortcoming, she found a favored consort in Nalaxle. He was one of the most attractive males of their house. Delicately boned, with eyes of a fine rose color nearer to pink than red, and a full head of thick and wavy pale hair. He was a skilled wizard, deadly clever and well trained in the arts of illusion and conjuration. And both matron and consort bore the trademark sign of House Vrammith. Ears that curled upward at the ends.

Phaeravine hoped that by choosing one of the most sought after males, and proceeding to guard him like a piece of treasure in a dragon’s hoard, that she would curry favor amongst the other women of the house. It was merely a show of force, demonstrating that she was supreme and could possess whatever she wished. Unfortunately, this move sowed tension between her and those that also coveted Nalaxle.

And Nalaxle had no say in the matter, no male ever did. But he did relish the opportunity to further his station through the matron, even one that was largely disliked. It mattered not to him. All that mattered was making it easier to plan his escape by using the diplomatic protection a matron provided. Nalaxle had wished for years to leave Menzoberranzan and go to the surface, leaving Lolthite society behind. His mother was an arachne, a cleric of Lolth. And he watched her murder his father, the only person who ever showed him a semblance of care, in cold blood to make him into a zin-carla. After that, all devotion he felt to the Spider Queen had vanished.

Nalaxle hated Phaeravine, and most other members of his house. But he could pretend when needs must. So he did. And he kept up the facade of a devoted consort, and aided in her vying for power in what ways he could.

Phaeravine’s matronhood would come further into question during her first pregnancy. In an unusual turn of events, Phaeravine carried twins. She spent days on end praying to Lolth that the twins be female. Such a blessing of two concurrent female births could secure her position and show Spider Queen’s favor.

Instead, she gave birth to twin males, Calvyrin and Ruathym. Phaeravine was the laughing stock among the nobility of Menzoberranzan after the news. Not only were they male, they were unattractive infants of ill temper. Even lacking the ears of the Vrammith. It was remarkable how little the twins resembled their supposed father. Little did Nalaxle and the others know, but Phaeravine in her instability ordered a slave male that caught her eye to lay with her for a few nights before having him killed to keep the tryst a secret.

But the secret would catch up with her in the bastard twins, fathered by a rothe herder. Phaeravine did her best to assuage any doubts about their lineage by threatening to have questioners’ tongue cut out for their insolence. A favored threat of hers.

Luckily for the matron, the twins were selected for military training as children, having inheriting their mother and father’s muscular frame. They would be taken from the Vrammith Tower and boarded in the barracks of Menzoberranzan. After they left, Phaeravine did her best to pretend they no longer existed. They died with their commoner father in her eyes.

The disgraced matron took to severe asceticism to supplicate herself before Lolth and plead for her favor. And partially to ask her forgiveness for her misguided breeding. She fasted for months on end, spent days praying and offering sacrifices. And from this self-imposed exile, she emerged ready once more to add to her progeny.

Phaeravine and Nalaxle would struggle to conceive due to the matron’s years of extreme fasting and exhaustion. But inevitably, Phaeravine would fall pregnant once more. Surely, this would turn the tide of Lolth’s favor and prove successful.

A healthy male greeted her in the summer of 1371. He was a well-built infant with the same rose colored eyes as his father. There was no doubt who fathered him, in fact. He bore much of Nalaxle’s beauty. But for his size, he had a strong cry and a hardiness that must have come from his mother. The last shreds of her fortitude were given to him.

Though, the news hit Phaeravine like a tidal wave. A third son, under any other circumstance, would be killed immediately. A sacrifice to Lolth to be carried out by the infant’s mother, a show of devotion to the Spider Queen. This infant ought to be dead.

However, the Peace of Lolth persisted. The Spider Queen had yet to announce its end. Meaning sacrifices of both males and children, and certainly male children, were still outlawed. And it was expected that a matron mother of all people obey the orders.

Phaeravine refused to even look upon the infant, let alone touch him. Her midwives tried desperately to show her that the boy had the makings of a good house male, looking so much like his father. Swearing that he must be a sign from Lolth. For her to have a third son that cannot be sacrificed must mean the boy was destined for greatness. But the matron would hear none of it.

She would show Lolth that she was not to be toyed with. This boy should be dead, and she would make sure that he was.

Phaeravine prepared herself to travel, even in her weakened state, and called upon her court ladies to join her. Before she left, she had her midwives, and all others who knew of the boy to be sworn to secrecy. She would have them flensed and fileted if they told anyone the truth. To anyone who asks what became of her third infant, it was a stillborn daughter. Born too weak to live on account of Phaeravine’s troubles to conceive in the wake of her exile. That Phaeravine was simply too ambitious in her need to build a thriving family, and now must take time to strengthen her body in preparation of her next child.

The matron then left with the infant and her court ladies to protect their small journey outside the city. To anyone who looked on, it appeared that the matron was simply leaving the city to mourn the loss of her stillborn daughter.

When they were far enough from Menzoberranzan, Phaeravine wrapped the infant in spider’s silk and left him at the mouth of a cavern. Since she could not risk Lolth discovering her plot to kill the infant outright, to have him die an accidental death of exposure would arouse less suspicion. Before she left him, she bestowed upon him a name.

Elendir. A drow word for the keeping of tradition.

#oc:kazimir littlemoon #dnd #dungeons and dragons #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 oc #drow

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dandunn · 2 years

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kaz 94?

94 - unadvised

(art by bromantically/beanies-doodles)

"What?" Kazuya said, turning his head to the dragon at his side. The stifling heat of evening was starting to make him feel like a large shellfish, being gently steamed in a pan with white white and onions. He could barely concentrate on what his boyfriend was saying.

"I said that this is a stupid idea," Matty said, his muscular arms crossed over his chest. "You don't have to impress me, I already love you."

Kazuya snickered and grinned, showing all of his teeth. Matty loved his smile.

"Can't your aunt make us some kind of ice magic to keep us cool?" Matty said, waving the leaf-shaped fin on his tail in his face. He had been doing it so much that his tail was on the verge of sprain.

Even for cold blooded dragons, the heat in London that summer was unbearable. Staying in the tiny one-bed flat with its dinky fan and no air conditioning was out of the question, leaving the pair of dragons wandering the London streets at night, desperate for some way to cool down.

“Auntie Iris works all day making magic for her job, I’m not gonna show up and bother her at this hour.” Kazuya grumbled.

“I think she might prefer being bothered over us both getting a breaking and entering charge.”

It was a very good point, but Kazuya’s mind was already racing ahead, single track mind with one goal: get out of the heat.

"What's one more? My brain is melting," Kazuya moaned, the crest on the top of his head extended out as far as it would stretch in a desperate attempt to cool down, "can't think, let's just go."

A pair of deep red eyes set in a scaled black and crimson face rolled at him. Matty looked like a dragon who had crawled out of a fantasy story, the ones where evil gold-hoarding dragons destroyed villages and tried to roast little halfling people with hairy feet.

Until you got to know him, the first thing Kazuya had seen him do was attempt to pull off a skateboard trick and almost de-bollock himself on a railing.

You might have called it love at first sight.

Matty was a total idiot, which made him a perfect match for Kazuya, because he was also an idiot. Together they coasted along in the kind of serenity that only complete brainlessness can achieve.

They were moving through a tight alleyway, towards the back entrance of a large ice skating rink.

They snuck past a night guard, and Matty pressed himself against Kazuya, using his chameleonic scales to blend them both into the side of the building.

Another guard passed by, one that Kazuya didn't see coming. Matty beamed as the guard passed, allowing them to sneak into the building through a degraded old back door.

The ice rink was deserted, smoothed out and scratch-free, ready for the next day of hundreds of people to loop and whirl around on its surface.

The air inside was deliciously chilled and Kazuya's scales sang in relief. He was so excited to feel the cold ice of the rink on his body that he broke into a sprint, vaulting the barrier.

Matty burst into loud crackles as Kazuya's feet went out from underneath him.

"Hey shut up!" Kazuya cried, tears springing in his eyes as he continued to slide on the ice, his clawed feet either side of his head. "You wouldn't be laughing if I'd cracked my skull open!"

"It would take a lot more than that to crack your fat head open." Matty called back, holding his stomach as if he were afraid his guts were about to burst out. He grabbed the sides of the rink as he stepped out onto the ice, talons slipping and sliding until he bore down on the ice with his claws.

"See, it's easy if you don't rush." Matty made his way over to Kazuya, using his claws like snow shoes and taking wide, looping steps. He was doing pretty well until Kazuya grabbed his ankle and pulled him down. A surprised yell and a thump later and Matty was lying perpendicular next to him.

"Oh look, you fell." Kazuya said flatly. Once he had unhooked his feet from around his ears he sighed. The ice felt damn good against his back.

"Huh, would you look at that?" Matty replied. He too groaned a sigh as he rubbed his scales against the ice, making scraping sounds as his many spikes and spines perforated the surface. "I hope that wasn't part of the 'you trying to impress me' thing."

"What would you say if I said it was?"

"I'd say of course you impressed me babe, well done."

"Fuck you."

They lay there, nuzzling each other affectionately before deciding to do a few loops around the ice. They managed to get in a few complete circuits before the police came, tipped off by the silent alarm on the door they had snuck in through.

"Hope it was worth it." The cop said as he slipped into the front seat, after handcuffing them both and dumping them in the back seat.

Kazuya and Matty snickered, covered in ice and still feeling the delightful residual coolness from their time on the rink.

"Hey mate, we don't have any taxi fare, could you drop us off on the corner? We'll walk back home, it's fine."

"Shut up!" the cop snapped.

#ask a cowboy #my writing #my ocs: Kaz #you get Matty too its a 2 for 1 deal #idiot dragon boyfriends #again art is not mine I had it commissioned #I havent drawn Matty yet I probably should

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micolashsucks · 7 years

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Hmmmm I should really branch out and draw some different characters, make my art appeal to as many people as possible....

*draws the same three characters again and again*

#.txt #dkaflkdjfsl sorry I'm chatty today #you guys don't even know the extent to which I do this. I have hoards of kaz otacon and dave art

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difeisheng · 2 years

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top 10 reads of 2021

Tagged by @eldritch-elrics!

Tragically for me, 2021 was not a year of reading books so much as buying them and hoarding them on my shelf. I would say around 90% of what I read this year was fanfiction, and I don’t have 10 books I can remember to fill this list with, but I still have a few titles I read this year that I absolutely loved (going in chronological reading order):

Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo - Y’all, I had this book for two years and all throughout quarantine, and I didn’t read it until this January and I can’t believe I didn’t. Perfect heist book + found family and overcoming of trauma. I ended up dressing up as Kaz Brekker for Halloween. You’re on Tumblr, I know you already know about this book. I will not say more.

A Conspiracy of Truths by Alexandra Rowland - This book was an ode to the art of storytelling and the effect stories have on people. Very intelligently put together in a fantasy tale of political intrigue, and the protagonist is a lot of fun. I’ve packed the sequel to take home with me over Christmas break, hopefully I can get around to reading it. You might also know the author as the person behind the glorious Meng Yao vs. The HOA fic series, so I can promise you’re in good hands with this book. Can’t wait to dive back into this world.

A Psalm for the Wild-Built by Becky Chambers - I absolutely adore Becky Chambers’ sci-fi books and this novella is no different. An agender monk sets out on search for life purpose and ends up journeying with a robot , one whose kind hasn’t been witnessed by humans in eons. Reading this story felt like having a therapy session in the middle of the forest. I definitely cried. It’s the first book in a series and I eagerly await the next installment.

Life of Galileo by Bertolt Brecht - This was a 1932 play tracing Galileo’s efforts to voice his scientific ideas against the will of the Inquisition. I read it for class, and y’all. Y’all. It put back together my faith in humanity and restored some of my hope for the future. My favorite parts were Galileo’s interactions with his housekeeper’s son, Andrea. You know how the Doctor is with children? It was that kind of dynamic. I’m still not over this one.

Hamlet by William Shakespeare - I also read this play for class after years of wanting to, and it blew me away. Definitely went down the rabbit hole on this trying to acquire adaptations to watch. I also ended up writing my second Shakespeare fanfic as a result. Hamlet/Horatio, predictably.

The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows by John Koenig - Aka the book of emotions I didn’t know I had until this book spelled them out for me. This was a beautiful project of definitions that made me feel seen and I want to get some of these words into the general English lexicon, now.

(Feel free to skip!) Tagging: @jiangwanyin, @evakant, @curiosity-killed, @theleakypen

#books #tag game

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pod-together · 3 years

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Day 5 Reveals!

tonight, the headphones (Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Against Me!) written by Trojie, performed by dapatty Summary: Against Me! need a sound engineer on short notice. Patrick Stump is (when she's awake) a producer. Joe Trohman knows that's basically the same thing. Joe Trohman is pretty wise. Hanahaki disease: The illness of flowers (Eroica Yori Ai o Komete | From Eroica with Love, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS, Blade Runner (Movies), Sherlock (TV), CLAMP - Works, xxxHoLic, Multi-Fandom, No Fandom, Torchwood) created by CassieIngaben and isindismay Summary: It's mysterious. It's romantic. It's deadly. Hanahaki disease: The illness of flowers. A BBC documentary on Hanahaki disease. Find My Home (Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening, Dragon Age - All Media Types) written by Settiai, performed by ItsADrizzit Summary: Not for the first time, Nathaniel wondered if his life would have been simpler if he’d never returned to Ferelden. On Golden Scales and Why Hoards Matter (Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types) written by Elle_dubs, performed by Hangebokhan Summary: After joining Borch on the mountain, the egg is nearing it's hatching date. That means they need supplies. Going down the mountain entails a bit more than Jaskier was expecting. Craig and Giarc's Fandom Adventures (Podfic Fandom) created by Moon, RhetoricalQuestions, tinypinkmouse, GodOfLaundryBaskets, and siriliyi Summary: Live art & storytelling recording made for Pod_Together 2021. Where we discuss and draw along Discord bots Craig and Giarc as they write and record self-insert fanfictions of themselves in various universes. Don't You Shake Alone [text, audio] (The Mandalorian (TV), Star Wars - All Media Types) written by samanthahirr, performed by CoyoteSly Summary: When Imperial stormtroopers interrupt their attempt to contact a Jedi at the Seeing Stone, Din and Grogu escape together on the Razor Crest. But Din is injured worse than he thinks, and his plan to lay low to escape the Empire puts both their lives at risk. A canon-divergence for Chapter 14. Lessons in Sylvainian Ecology (The Adventure Zone (Podcast)) written by pandamug, performed by Aether Summary: Aubrey can remake the world, but she’ll need Dani’s help to do it. all things golden (Shadow and Bone (TV)) written by clachnaben, performed by greedy_dancer Summary: “Apparently my rates are very steep.” Jesper said, raising his eyebrows. “They need to be,” Kaz said, his voice steady. “Your services will be very exclusive.” “Oh?” Jesper asked, not at all perturbed by this apparent sudden change in career. “Who’s my client?” “I am,” Kaz said. “You’re our ticket into the Acoma ball.” Workplace Romance and Other Safety Hazards (Miraculous Ladybug) written by Socchan, performed by AlexSeanchai Summary: Ladybug has a conversation with Carapace about relationships and secret identities.

#podfic #fanfic #bandom #hanahaki disease #dragon age origins #the witcher #the mandalorian #The Adventure Zone #shadow and bone #miraculous ladybug

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yuribalisms · 4 years

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I don’t have a hoarding problem in the sense that I want to keep literally everything I own. I often get rid of clothes if I haven’t worn them in just a month, art supplies I didn’t immediately use, that kind of thing, but then I have shit like the receipt from McDonald’s that has me and my best friend’s meals on it that we got nearly every day in high school, a zipper that broke off my friend’s jacket, an empty tube of deodorant that I asked my friends to pick up for me and they got me the old spice one witu a dragon on it because “Kaz likes dragons,” the old Thor: Ragnarok ticket stub from the first time my friend went to a superhero movie with me. Like I am so attached to these pieces of literal trash for some reason but I have no qualms with getting rid of actual clothes I probably need and that kinda stuff like what the fuck

#kaz rambles

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slightlyrebelliouswriter23 · 4 years

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Ace of Spades

So happy to finally be posting this Six of Crows multichapter fic for the Grishaverse Big Bang! Thank you so much to @corpsecro for the beautiful cover art! See end for author’s notes.

Summary: Two years since the events of Crooked Kingdom, the Crows are back and better than ever (or barely holding themselves together) in a swashbuckling hunt across oceans that leads them to legendary catacombs, a secret society, creatures of myth and whimsy, and- if everything goes as planned- a long lost treasure.

POV: Kaz Brekker, Inej Ghafa, Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck, The Lilia (OC)

Chapter 1- Whiskey in a Teacup

Seventeen months. It’d been seventeen months since Kaz Brekker watched The Wraith set sail.

He’d watched her go. Stood on the docks as the sun painted the horizon a brilliant smear of papaya, then a blush of lilac and rose, to a bruised star-speckled blue. He’d watched that far-off, distant thing that was once a ship and so much more, as it faded to a small smudge in the crease between sea and sky.

Then he’d taken the long way back to the Slat.

After that, it was business as usual. There was work to be done. In seventeen months he’d built an empire in this wretched, glorious town. Though, it had really been more like eight.

The other nine months he’d spent spending—he was positively swimming in kruge. Half the time he didn’t know what to do with all of it. There was no way to spend that kind of money responsibly.

“So spend it irresponsibly,” Jesper had suggested. “You’re the newly crowned King of the Barrel. These are your days of golden enthronement.”

And it had been fun for a while—being the big gang boss of the Barrel, owner of nearly every successful gambling den in Ketterdam, raking in the kruge every night and never worrying because there would always be more.

Kaz couldn’t help but notice that lately, however, most of his time was consumed by the golden contents of a bottle—and that conceivably, the closest thing he had to a golden throne these days was the aureate tub he now slumped in.

Alas, all newness went stale eventually. As it happened, Kaz Brekker was bored out of his mind.

And his bath was going cold.

With a toe, he spun one of the faucet nozzles. A steady stream of hot water flowed into the tub with a hiss. He sank back, submerging his shoulders under the water’s rosy surface.

He was the kind of bored that made shooting himself in the kneecap seem appealing, if only for the purpose of forcing something interesting out of what had become a very mundane procession of days. The kind of bored that even baths and bubbles and teacups full of whiskey could not fix.

Kaz swirled the finger of amber liquid at the bottom of his cup. It sloshed up onto the porcelain sides and he thought about how much the colour resembled her eyes in a shaft of sunlight.

Then he shook his head. Ludicrous. Categorically asinine.

Here he was, Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, Bastard of the Barrel made Barrel Boss, a veritable King of Ketterdam; and he was sketching metaphors in his head for the colour of a girl’s eyes. A girl who was long gone, and indefinitely so.

Be all this as it may, he was also neck-deep in drink and pastel bubbles, so perhaps that was about right.

Not just any girl, he reminded himself, taking another sip of his drink.

She’d assured him she’d come back. And though he knew she would in due course, he had insisted she take all the time she needed to right what had been so very wrong for such a long time.

“Make them fear your name so much they daren’t even whisper it,” he’d told her before she left. “Make them pay, Inej.”

From what he’d heard, she’d lived up to that. Surpassed it, even. Slaughterer of Slavers, they called her. Vengeance of the Sea. What he would have paid to watch her burn their ships to ashes.

Kaz smiled at his teacup.

He looked to the night sky through the wavy glass of the window beside him, raised his makeshift glass to the distorted moon perched on the city skyline, and knocked back the remainder of his drink.

It was funny. He swore he felt the whisper of her presence on the wind with that burning swig. He loosed a chuckle. He was either imagining things or he was much drunker than he thought he was.

For Kaz had not felt the familiar rise of gooseflesh on the back of his neck—usually the first indicator of his Wraith’s presence—in a long while. And as he was most certain he’d be the first to hear of a particular ship making port in the harbour, he doubted it was anything but the ghost of a memory.

Yet, the tingle skittering across his scalp, the keen alertness pricking his senses to life, continued to be the most real thing in that tub.

Definitely drunk, Kaz thought and poured himself another knuckle of whiskey.

The bottle on the service cart next to the bath was old—one he’d been saving for a special occasion. He supposed tonight was just as special as any. In fact, the past four nights had been. He’d made his way through half the bottle, toasting the moon and the stars and whatever else lay around the bathroom as he sat in the tub every evening. They were all the same these days, either way.

“What shall we toast to?” Kaz mumbled to the cloud of pink bubbles eddying near his chest. He swirled the whiskey in his teacup.

Perhaps he should toast the pistol lying next to the half-empty bottle. It was the only promise of excitement in the room.

The breeze felt nice. A cool lick of air over the slowly heating bath—

Kaz looked up. Air from where?

He was sure he’d shut the windows in the adjoining bedroom. Suddenly, his stupor washed away like water down the drain. He glanced at the pistol again, debating whether to get out of the tub and investigate or if he could risk waiting for his assailant in the warm cocoon of water.

“I’d say to the pursuit of kruge,” a silky voice murmured from behind him. “But it looks like you’ve already got that covered.”

His heart stopped. He didn’t know whether he’d pass out or vomit, but either one might be likely considering the haze of whiskey he struggled to clear from his mind.

He turned to face the source of that familiar voice.

There, perched on the edge of the granite sink top like she’d been there all this time, was someone he hadn’t seen in seventeen months. Kaz couldn’t help the slow smile that crept across his face.

“Hello, Inej,” he drawled.

“Hello, Kaz,” she said.

He could have sworn the whole world shimmered when she smiled at him, though he wasn’t entirely certain she was truly here. He could have very well fallen asleep in the bathtub, and he would be none the wiser. Yes, this was all likely a drunken fever dream. His dreams did tend to torment him sometimes.

Nonetheless, he raised a brow and said, “Fancy meeting you here. In my bathroom. While I’m… bathing.”

If she blushed, Kaz could not see it in the golden glow of the bathroom lights. Perhaps the long months of travel and hard battle on the high seas had hardened her to such taunting that would have before made her cheeks stain red like a handful of pomegranate seeds.

In fact, he’d be shocked if she’d come back without a single jagged edge, though he couldn’t tell if that was the reason she held his gaze now, or the fact that he hadn’t delivered the line as smoothly as he would’ve liked. He couldn’t muster up enough wherewithal to care at the moment. Bubbles were really quite fascinating.

The corner of her mouth tilted up. “You were taking too long.”

“I like to soak.”

“I can see that.” Laughter gleamed in her eyes. Those eyes. And suddenly he did not care if this was a cruel figment of his imagination. He’d gladly play along.

Inej eyed the water. “Bubbles?” she asked with a bemused expression.

Kaz shrugged. “One of the more exciting facets of my life these days.”

“Things slow at the Crow Club then?”

“Slow at the Crow Club, slow with the Dregs.” He dipped his index finger in the mass of bubbles and came out with a small dollop which he blew into the air. They floated down like tiny, iridescent snowflakes. “Turns out, when everyone fears crossing you, nothing interesting ever happens.”

“One would think you’d be happy about that,” she said.

Kaz merely hummed noncommittally. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “One would think.”

“You’re not, though.”

He gave her a long look. “Would you be?”

“I’d be happy if I never had to worry,” she said, then knitted her brows. “Is the water pink?”

He smiled lazily. “Courtesy of Jesper. He took up a hobby.”

“Making bath products?”

Kaz nodded. “Soaps, bath fizzers, liquid bubbles, that sort of thing. The Dregs of the Bath, he called it. A business venture. It… did not end well.”

The corners of Inej’s mouth curled, eyes glittering mirthful delight—as if every possible consequence of Jesper and a hoard of perfumes and dyes reeled before her eyes in a resplendent carousel of disastrous hilarity.

This made Kaz very dizzy. Which was ridiculous, of course. It was her carousel. He sat up straighter and decided to stare very hard at a spot on the mirror beside her head.

“What happened?” Inej asked, and Kaz realised he had not offered her an explanation to his ominous statement.

The Dregs of the Bath had actually been a fairly successful business venture for a time. Jesper was good at dreaming up fantastical innovations and scent combinations so wondrous, it surprised Kaz for how much he didn’t mind them. For all of about three weeks, his friend had certainly given even the more established toiletry retailers of Ketterdam a run for their money.

The side effects of production, however…

Kaz remembered the way Jesper had shown up to the Crow Club for nearly a month sporting dark splotches of dye up to his elbows. He’d thought it amusing at first.

Half of the Dregs were covered head to toe in ink anyway, and Kaz didn’t enforce a dress code. Frankly, he didn’t care what any of the Dregs looked like as long as they did their jobs. That is, until the patrons had started whispering something about a plague.

Then, of course, Kaz had immediately grabbed Jesper by the back of his suspenders and hauled him to the nearest sink in the kitchens.

“It won’t come off,” Jesper had groused, scrubbing furiously at his forearms.

“Then I would recommend gloves,” he’d said dryly to his friend. “They make for quite the statement piece. I can loan you a pair.”

Once the dye had all but faded, there was still the matter of the smell, which wasn’t exactly bad so much as it was a little overwhelming. The problem with making your own scented bath products, it seemed, was that the aromas clung to every perceivable surface, and spread like an autumn breeze through a dale.

This was fine when Jesper had only been making one inoffensive citrus-scented bar soap. He’d smelled like a fruit basket for days, and made the entire club give off the impression that it was immaculately clean when Kaz knew it was surely not.

But one innocent fragrance had quickly become a cloud of five, and then an assault of ten.

Soon, every dweller from the Financial District to the Barrel had learned that if you could smell the aromas of the Van Eck manor (which had more than once been mistaken for a perfumery by tourists in those sundry weeks), it was already too late. You, too, would be wrapped in the cloying fragrance cocoon of a fruit basket inside a florist inside a bakery inside a tannery in the heart of a very dense forest.

Kaz had not mentioned it to Jesper, however; and one day, the smell had simply vanished. Jesper, in turn, had not mentioned anything to Kaz. They’d been seeing less and less of each other lately.

He supposed that was just how things went. Jesper had Wylan, and Wylan made his friend very happy. He couldn’t complain about that.

Besides, Kaz had… well, he had lots and lots of baths. And whiskey. And more kruge than he could ever possibly need. And…

A breeze floated in through the open window in the bedroom.

Kaz looked at Inej. There was a small part of him that still doubted her really being here. But then, the draft blew a lock of her crow dark hair loose from its braid—and when it fluttered a caress against her cheek, Kaz knew.

He might be skilled at plotting impossible schemes, but his imagination was not so creative and vivid as this. Especially not half-seas over.

Inej still sat on the countertop, reclined against the mirror, feet dangling over the edge. She eyed him in amusement. Probably mild concern, too, though he couldn’t focus through the steam and his whiskey muddled mind enough to tell.

“He got bored,” Kaz finally said with a shrug. “Moved on to something else. Made his own ale for a while. Regardless, there’s a closet full of bath fizzers of every smell and colour at the Van Eck manor, should you desire spicing up your bath experience.”

Inej laughed. That laugh. And Kaz’s eyes went wide and sober for five whole seconds before the glaze of alcohol and warm water slipped back over his senses.

He leaned back in the tub again. A wave of water sloshed over the side, hitting the tile floor with a splash.

“I think I’ll stick to regular baths for the time being,” she said.

At that, Kaz could think of no response. So he said nothing, but hummed and sank down further into the water.

“Why are you here, Wraith?” he asked when a moment had passed.

Inej’s eyes glinted something mischievous. “I have a proposal.”

♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎

AN: Thanks so much for reading, everyone! And a massive thank you to The Serrated Spades, the team of creators, editors, and beta readers who’ve been working with me these past few months to create something really special for @grishaversebigbang !!

Check out @6crowgang ‘s GORGEOUS comic strip for this chapter!

Thanks so much again to @corpsecro for this absolute masterpiece of cover art! (GUYS. It moves!!!)

Get a sneak peek of heist planning (ft. an OC of mine) in this beautiful piece by @fishmaid !

This swashbuckling mood board by @ravenclawsandbeak sets the vibe just right!

More chapters to come soon- if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters, just shoot me a message/ask 🖤💫

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#six of crows #crooked kingdom #grishaverse big bang #soc #ck #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #wylan van eck #jesper fahey #wesper #kanej #jesper x wylan #kaz x inej #leigh bardugo #the grisha trilogy #grishaverse #ace of spades #aos

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normalhqs · 5 years

Photo

Welcome to The Murder Club, KAZ!

( Congratulations, Amanda! Please send in your tumblr blog and your discord to the main in the next 24 hours or THE JOCK will be reopened )

STATS

Full Name: Kazran “Kaz” Caldwell

Faceclaim: Tyler Posey

Age: 17

DOB: March 16th

Year in School: Junior

Gender: Cismale

Pronouns: He/Him

Residence: South Normal (cemetery)

Worst Fear: Death and zombies

Milkshake Order: 75% Cookies N Cream, 25% Chocolate, 100% an annoying order, but they make it for him anyway ‘cause who could deny that smile?

BIO

TW death imagery

There is something like an ancient dignity with which the Caldwell family tends to the local cemetery. It has been an inherited duty for generations; the sons of fathers learned the art of caring for Normal’s final resting place. The townsfolk put their trust in this family to escort them to the grave. It was an important role and the Caldwells never took that for granted.

For Kaz, it was mortifying.

His name was meant to echo the ferryman of myth - Charon, or Kharon, who boated souls across the river Styx. Kazran was a bastardization of it and Kaz himself quite undeserving of the title. He was perhaps the first Caldwell in a long line of them that wanted nothing to do with that damn graveyard.

He blamed it on the nightmares he’d had as a kid. Bloated, decaying corpses beckoning him down below. Hands clawing out of the dirt to catch him by the ankles. The dead that weren’t quite who wanted him to take their place.

The humble groundskeeper’s cottage that was the Caldwell home rarely saw Kaz’s presence. He distanced himself from his fears, intent on living a life that had more to do with… well, being alive.

Sports were a natural inclination. He liked the feeling of his blood rushing through his body, heart beating so hard against his chest, he couldn’t forget it was there. He wasn’t born the best, but he practiced harder than anyone else on the field and it showed. He quickly shed his image as the creepy graveyard kid and became Normal’s golden boy. He was the one who’d get scouted and earn a free ride out of that town.

He liked the way it felt, popularity. He soaked in the attention and praise, something he found rarely in his distant parents. They weren’t cruel, but simply… lacking, sometimes. Kaz was warm where they were cool. He lived in the light while they dwelled… somewhere else.

So he did most anything he could to keep it. He hoarded his popularity, went out of his way to be liked by anyone and everyone he came across. He didn’t have to try too hard, honestly. Kaz was carefree and charming. Still, he tended to say 'yes’ to more things than he should’ve and it got him into trouble a fair few times, but most people played it off with that old “boys will be boys” credo. Being a small town jock had its benefits.

Kaz’s younger brother came about eight years after him and was much more in line with the Caldwell legacy. He was the creepy kid in town who spent most of his time skulking in the cemetery or silently showing up places he didn’t belong, like a ghost.

Despite their differences, the two brothers were as close as an eight year age difference would allow them to be. Kaz was protective of Alfie, who was a prime target for the town bullies. He was easy pickings, and Kaz would have none of it. He never saw himself as much of a fighter, but if he had to scuffle with the older brother of some little shithead on Alfie’s playground, then so be it.

When Alfie disappeared, how was Kaz supposed to blame anyone but himself?

#normal:accepted

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