#deckard and lark

[miniscule-meow]

How would your characters react to Isabelle and lark being swapped? Like Isabelle goes to larks story and lark goes to Isabelles story?

Ooh this is a good one. Sorry it took me all day, I couldn't just answer this, so I wrote out the scenes! It's kind of long so it's under the cut. Enjoy!

~*~

Isabell wakes up to the dim light of early morning filtering in through the window of a dark room. There is a prickling sense of wrongness that jitters down her spine. This is not where she fell asleep. She's in the center of a large pillow, the plush surface beneath her would make rough terrain for any kind of quick movement, if she needed to escape or- no. She doesn't need to worry about that anymore. It's hard, trying to rewire her own brain, to undo every instinct her life has instilled in her. These humans are her friends. She won't need to worry about her movement being slowed down, she won't need to escape.

"Zeke?" She whispers into the vast room, turning her attention beyond the pillow, blinking into the murky darkness of the room. The daylight is not quite illuminating the space just yet. The few rays of hazy morning sun really only succeeding in lighting the room to a muted gray. Her eyes settle on the bed, more specifically, on the giant occupying the bed. The figure is bundled into the blankets, she can't make out any of their features. "Uh, Marcus?" Her voice trembles, but she tries not to panic. There has to be a reasonable explanation for this. Maybe she fell asleep on the couch and one of them moved her into their room. That seems like something Marcus would do. Though, she's been in Marcus' room before. It didn't look like this.

Her mind spins. All at once trying to rationalize what's going on and trying to figure out how to get out of this situation, but before she can think of a plan, the dark figure in the bed shifts. Massive limbs stretch out from the blanket, the shadowy figure looking more monstrous by the second as it's form is obscured by darkness and the spiraling panic that has begun clawing it's way into the back of Isabell's mind.

In one swift motion the blanket is tossed aside and the being swings it's legs over the edge of the bed, stretching up with a groan and rubbing it's face with the palm of their hand. It's eyes glint as it settles it's gaze on her form.

"Oh good, you're awake," the voice is low and entirely unfamiliar. If alarm bells weren't going off in her mind before, they are ringing at full volume now. Any intention of trying to stay calm has flown out of the window. One objective shoves it's way to the forefront of her consciousness.

Run.

She fumbles over the plush ground, her injured leg is stiff and only slows her down further as it feels like her own limbs are betraying her by protesting this movement. She fights her way towards the edge of the pillow. Once she's on solid ground she can figure out a plan.

There's a scraping sound, and suddenly a warm light floods the room as the giant strikes a match, lighting a lantern by his bedside.

"Hey, careful princess, you're getting close to-"

She ignores his voice as she slides off the edge of the pillow, ready to feel solid ground beneath her feet. Her heart lurches as her foot instead touches down right on the edge of the dresser. She was in too much of a hurry to get off the pillow she didn't consider that there might not be any ground to escape to. She scrambles to catch her balance to no avail, her momentum drags her backwards, and just like that, she's falling. She barely registers the flash of movement as the strange giant swears under his breath, lurching forwards to catch her.

She only has time to let out a short shriek before the wind is knocked from her lungs. She lands prone, on her back in the center of this stranger's waiting palm. His fingers are curled over her protectively. Time seems to slow down as both of them struggle to catch their breath and slow their runaway heartbeats.

"Shit. Princess are you-" the fingers unfurl, revealing the handsome face of her captor. Handsome... where did that word come from? It might be the adrenaline from almost dying for maybe the third time this week, but it's hard not to notice someone's features when their face eclipses your entire sky. And whoever this human is, it's hard to ignore the fact that he has very nice features. Her cheeks warm. And of course, here she is flinging herself off of furniture.

She has got to stop meeting humans like this.

Dark curls fall into his eyes, his lip pulling into a pout of confusion "What- who? Uh," his large brown eyes blink down at her. His eyelashes are so long. No. Focus, Isabell. Stranger danger. "Sorry, you're not ... You're not Lark."

"Uh, I'm- no. Um. I," she sits up in his palm struggling to find her voice. Though, she's unsure if it's because of the immense size difference, the fact that she has no idea where she is or where her friends are, the fact that she almost just died, or the fact that she was rescued by this giant who is entirely too handsome. "Isabell. Is- uh is my name. Sorry. Uh. My name is Isabell. I don't- I don't know how I got here." She pulls her uninjured knee into her chest, letting her other leg stretch out in front of her.

His eyes scan over her. He sucks in a sharp breath when he sees the stitches in her leg, "My stars. What happened there?"

"I fell out of a cabinet?" Her face burns, her graceful track record has been getting more and more tarnishrd lately. "Um two humans have been helping me. Zeke and Marcus? Do you know them?"

"You think I would know them because we're all humans? Do you know every fairy in the world?" He asks, a playful glint catching in his eyes as one corner of his mouth pulls into a lopsided grin.

"No, no I just thought. I mean how else did I get here I- wait. Fairy? What's a fairy?" She looks up at him curiously.

"Arent you-" he looks her over again, more quizzically this time. With a tilt of his head his eye flick to her back. "I guess not," he notes her lack of wings. "anyway um. I'm Deckard. I don't know your friends... And ... I also don't know how you got here."

He explains to her what a fairy is, and how he was recently helping one out. It seems as though they've switched places somehow. When he went to bed, he had a fairy on his dresser. Now, he has... Isabell. Curious.

"Okay. Well, Isabell was it? Don't you worry. You can stick with me until we get all of this figured out." That same crooked grin graces his face, and in that instant she knows that this boy might just be more dangerous than any other human she's ever met before.

~*~

Somewhere across the universe, in a time beyond princesses and kingdoms, a fairy awakens in an apartment.

She knows instantly that she is very far from home. Did Deckard sell her off? Again. What a stupid, lying, snake. She can't believe she fell for it a second time.

Deckard.

Resident heartthrob.

All the girls love him, he only loves money.

She should have known better than to trust him again. With a sigh, she sits up, taking in her surroundings and seeing what mess she's stuck in this time.

The first thing she notices in the room is a large rectangle spilling out unnatural light. Pictures and colors dance across the screen as chatter pours out from this strange device. Her wings twitch as she is transfixed by the sight. What type of enchantment was cast to achieve such a feat? She must have been given to a very strong sorcerer. Spell components. He's sold her for parts. A deep shard of dread lodges in her gut.

She tears her eyes away from the magical rectangle, wondering bitterly how many times Deckard plans to sell her off just so he can steal her back.

What a lucrative business model he's created.

That is, if he intends on stealing her back again. She chases the thought away, not daring to even think about that. Of course he'd come back for her. He wouldn't-

She freezes, her wings going rigid at the sound of movement behind her, saving her from her own thoughts. Though "saving" might be too generous of a term. She whirls around to see a human stretched out on the large piece of furniture behind her. Instantly, she's on her feet. Is this the person that is responsible for the enchantment on the rectangle? The sorcerer.

"Oh. I didn't mean to fall asleep out here," the giant mumbles, sitting up. "Did you sleep alri-" the words die on his lips as he looks down at her. His brow twitches together, seemingly as confused as she is. Certainly one doesn't forget purchasing a fairy. Just what is she dealing with here? She takes him in, acutely aware that he is doing the same to her.

His clothes are odd. The construction of them is unlike any of the styles she's seen before. He has markings all along his arm, and two rings of metal protruding from his lip. A glint of metal cuts through his eyebrow as well. Is this what human sorcerers look like? His dark hair is pushed back away from his face, still appearing well put together though he obviously just rose from sleep.

They stare at each other tersely before the human speaks up.

"Where's Isabell?" His brow twitches together, his lips part as though he has more questions, but whatever words wants to say find no purchase in his voice. His mouth flattens into a line, he looks pensive.

"I don't know who that is," she raises her chin, refusing to be intimidated by this human's piercing gaze. "What did Deckard charge you? If I'm lining his pockets, I want to know what I'm worth." Her hands ball into fist by her sides, her wings twitch with frustration. The human's eyes flick to her wings, tracing over them before he takes the rest of her in again. He takes his time, apparently in no hurry to respond. "What? Are you surprised that it can talk?" A mocking sneer fills her voice. The human's brow twitches once more. Her insulting tone seemingly having no effect against him, he looks at her like he's trying to solve a puzzle.

"I apologize if this is rude but... what are you?" He frowns as if the words are sour on his tongue.

"What kind of sorcerer is unfamiliar with the fae?" She scoffs, "obviously, I'm a fairy." She turns to flutter her wings, looking up at him incredulously.

"I'm not- " he does that thing again. He looks like he wants to speak, before thinking better of it and pressing his mouth flat. "You haven't said a single thing that makes sense," he says finally after a heavy pause.

She stares up at this human, unsure of what to say. If Deckard didn't sell her off, then how did she get here? Besides, who's this Isabell person? And why would a human have such a tiny couch? Glancing down the the coffee table she's on, there are actually quite a few objects that are scaled to a being of her size. What is going on? Every new thing she discovers only arouses more questions in her mind. Keeping the human in the corner of her eye, she takes in the rest of the room. The walls are a sleek off-white. Daylight filters in through the windows, muted through drawn curtains.

"You can fly?" The question comes from nowhere, she turns back to the human.

"Are you seriously asking me that?"

The human hums dispondantly in response, electing to fidget with the piercing in his lip in lieu of giving her a real answer.

"I'm a fairy," she enunciates each word slowly, "the wings aren't just for decoration," her wings twitch irritably. "What kingdom do you belong to? I don't recognize this architecture. Nor do I recognize the cut of your jib. Certainly you are not from the Aesteriun Planes?" She looks him over, everything about him is foreign.

"I really need you to just say one thing that makes sense," the way he blinks down at her as he speaks tells her that she is just as foreign to him.

"How did I get here?" She asks in the simplist terms she can.

"I don't know," he replies with an easy shrug of his shoulders.

"You didn't buy me from Deckard?"

"I am morally opposed to the concept of people as merchandise," his words have a sudden venom. He takes a short breath, "This Deckard person were you ... Did he hurt you?"

She laughs bitterly. " I don't know where the hurting stops and the helping begins with him."

"That's not... Are you okay?" Worry tinges at the corners of his eyes.

"Obviously not! I don't know where I am, or who you are! And you are no help whatsoever."

He looks at her for a long moment. "Uh Marcus?" He turns his attention to the hallway. Hopefully this 'Marcus' character will be more helpful. "Are you up? uh. We have a," he looks back at her once more, trying to finish his thought, "situation."

A situation.

"I will have you know," she flies up to be eye level with him, he reers back, quickly putting distance between them. "I am not a situation. I am a princess. If you would be so kind as to return me to Deckard, I would much appreciate the help."

He's all too predictable. There he goes again, opening and closing his mouth searching for words, but finding none. She scoffs, settling back down on the coffee table and crossing her arms. He speaks up, having finally decided on what to say,"You want to go back to the guy trying to sell you," it's a question, but he says it as though its a statement.

"Yes that's exactly what I want! Why are you making this so complicated!"

"Marcus?" Zeke calls again, a little louder this time.

[daughter-of-melpomene]

oc masterlist — action/adventure media

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚-𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦 (𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎).

name: dorothy “dot” watanabe. fic: angel with a shotgun. pronouns: she/her. ship: h.m. “howling mad” murdock. faceclaim: karen fukuhara.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚-𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦 (𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬).

name: javier “javi” martinez. fic: the only exception. pronouns: he/him. ship: templeton “faceman” peck. faceclaim: oscar isaac.

𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 & 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬.

name: florencia “flo” sánchez. fic: shut up and drive. pronouns: she/her. ship: deckard shaw. faceclaim: monica raymund.

name: adriano “aj” vargas. fic: getaway car. pronouns: he/him. ship: roman pearce. faceclaim: oscar isaac.

𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐣𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬.

name: lucy “lou” scrubb. fic: what the world could be. pronouns: she/her. ship: indiana jones. faceclaim: rachel weisz.

𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐜𝐤.

name: willow madden. fic: nightmare. pronouns: she/her. ship: john wick. faceclaim: jennifer garner.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧.

name: enola holmes. fic: everything i wanted. pronouns: she/her. ship: tom sawyer. faceclaim: hailee steinfeld.

𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞.

name: john laurens “laurens” gates. fic: centuries. pronouns: he/him. ship: riley poole. faceclaim: luke thompson.

𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

name: adachi star. fic: uncharted waters. pronouns: she/her. ship: roronoa zoro. faceclaim: erin kellyman.

name: hayashi lark. fic: bird set free. pronouns: she/her. ship: vinsmoke sanji. faceclaim: rachel zegler.

name: morvant bellatrix. fic: hoist the colors. pronouns: she/her. ship: dracule mihawk. faceclaim: ruibo qian.

name: yami corvo. fic: blood in the water. pronouns: they/them. ship: red haired shanks. faceclaim: vico ortiz.

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧.

name: lydia chen. fic: running down (to the riptide). pronouns: she/her. ship: percy jackson. faceclaim: peyton elizabeth lee.

name: arabella larson. fic: all’s fair. pronouns: she/her. ship: noelle perez (oc). faceclaim: malina weissman.

name: noelle perez. fic: all’s fair. pronouns: she/her. ship: arabella larson (oc). faceclaim: jenna ortega.

𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐠𝐮𝐧: 𝐦𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤.

name: reyna “sweetheart” castillo. fic: still i fly. pronouns: she/her. ship: jake “hangman” seresin. faceclaim: eva noblezada.

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐫.

name: clarke taleb. fic: lightning in a bottle. pronouns: she/her. ship: santiago “pope” garcia + frankie “catfish” morales + benny miller + will “ironhead” miller. faceclaim: may calamawy.

[frederator-studios]

Natasha dedicated the half-hour Bee and PuppyCat special, "Toast Dogs, Wedding Donut," to Small Town Security's Joan Koplan, who voiced this episode's TempBot. Sadly, Joan passed away last March, shortly after recording her part. We're lucky to have had the chance to work with her.

Here's the cast & crew for the third quarter of "Toast Dogs, Wedding Donut."

Created by Natasha Allegri

Written by Natasha Allegri, Madeleine Flores, Frank Gibson, Natalie Nourigat Directed by Larry Leichleiter

Cast Bee: Allyn Rachel Cardamon: Alexander Rodriguez Deckard: Kent Osborne TempBot: Joan Koplan

Storyboard: Madeleine Flores, Natalie Nourigat, Natasha Allegri Art Director: Efrain Farias Character Design: Becky Dreistadt, Hans Tseng Prop/EFX Design: Zachary Sterling, Hans Tseng Background Design: Hans Tseng Assistant Background Design: Nichols Maniquis Background Painter: Hans Tseng, Mira Lark Crowell Assistant Background Painter: Nichols Maniquis Storyboard Revisions: Hans Tseng

Executive Producer: Fred Seibert Producers: Kevin Kolde, Eric Homan Associate Producer: Sylvia Edwards Production Manager: Stephen Worth Production Assistant: Ross Kolde Casting Director: Meredith Layne, CSA Editor: Ray Valenzuela Animatic Editor: Logan McBeath

Voice Director: Meredith Layne Dialog Recording: Salami Studios Dialog Mixer: Thomas J. Maydeck, CAS Assistant Dialog Mixers: Griffin Cooper Dialog Editorial: Mark Mercado Post Production: Salami Studios Re-recording Engineer: Thomas J. Maydeck, CAS Sound Designer: Rick Hinson, MPSE Sound Effects Editor: Rick Hinson MPSE Foley Mixer: Roberto Dominguez Alegria Foley Artist: Cynthia Merrill Score: Will Weisenfeld Animation Checking: Wendy Jacobsmeyer Track Reading: Slightly-Off Track Inc.

Animation Services by OLM, Inc. Lead Animator: Yukiko Watabe Key Animation: Yuji Ikeda, Shuji Tanaka, Hiromi Nakayama, Miyuki Sano, Ken Ishizuka Secondary Animation: Chie Ohtsuki, Nakamura Productions, D-motion, Anitas-Kobe, Studio Elle Animation Checker: Yumi Abe Animation: Hiromi Ito, Fujika Enomoto, Shiori Miyazaki, Saki Ebisawa, Kei Goda, Hiroko Suzuki, Aoi Yamagishi, Aya Takeno, Mai Toriyama, Kiyomi Okuda, Arisa Kuzumoto, Dragon Production, ZAENDO, Nakamura Production, Kino Production, Anime R Finishing: Studio Elle Cinematography: OLM 2D Colorist/Finishing Checker: Koji Ohtsuki Filming Director: Tatsuki Yukiwaki Art Department: Katsumi Takao, OLM 3D

OLM, Inc. Production Staff Production Manager: Ryosuke Sakurai Production Desk: Tomoaki Kurimoto Production Chief Assistant: Isamu Kikuchi Production Assistant: Akihiro Kuji Supervisor: Susumu Nakagawa Executive Assistant (OLM, Inc.): Miho Matori Producer (Sprite Animation Studios): Junichi Yanagihara

[miniscule-meow]

Lark and Deckard Aesthetic Moodboards

Lark- Rainbow Haze

Deckard- Dark Theatre Hopeless Romantic

[miniscule-meow]

The real unexpected something about my work Something Unexpected that I just realized....

I thought this whole time I was telling Lark's story. But I'm looking at what I have, and my W.I.P drafts and ... I think I need to be telling Deckard's story here.

Not me overhauling every work I've ever posted. But y'know, such is the nature of art. It's a breathing story and it's growing as I do.

I haven't the slightest game plan on what to do with this information, if I'm going to change things or just continue forward with this new mindset. But it's a revelation I had, and I thought I'd share.

[miniscule-meow]

Something Unexpected (24)

Masterpost Wordcount: ~2.7k Warnings: Mentions of non-con touch? First Part | Last Part| Next Part (Soon)

---

Tucked inside Deckard’s pocket, Lark is sheltered from the majority of the action happening at the docks. There are more humans here than she’s ever experienced before, and she can tell that just based on the sound alone. Even compared to the lavish ball in the castle, where everybody who was anybody was in attendance. Even compared to the lively hall of the tavern, where anybody who was nobody gathered that very same night. Overwhelming would be an understatement. Just beyond one wall of fabric, the whole world.

That’s the sort of thing that makes a person feel awfully small.

There’s a whole wide world out there, more people than you can fathom, more places than you could dream up, and then there’s you. Huddled in the bottom of some bastard’s pocket, like a handful of spare change.  

The wide world outside her little pity-party is bustling. People are shouting, calling out to one another across the docks, living their lives to the fullest. As Deckard’s confident footfalls carry him forward, she’s able to hear snippets of passing conversations. Two ladies complimenting one another on their fashionable choice of hat. An awkward first date that might not be going so well, they pass by before she can really tell. A patron haggling with a seller over the price of the catch of the day, claiming that, by the smell of it, it might have been the catch of last week.

Despite herself, a smile blooms across her lips. Just judging by these bits and pieces of conversation, one might think that humans and fairies aren’t all that different after all. Ladies gossip about the latest trends. Young love takes its first, albeit shaky steps. Thrifty, or perhaps, frugal shoppers try to get the best deals. Such conversations she’s hearing now could easily be heard while walking through the markets back home.

Home.

The thought brings a sharp twinge of sadness to her. It reduces any mirth she finds here into something more bittersweet. She hasn’t felt a wave of wanting home this strongly in some time now. Or maybe it’s just that the constant want became overly familiar to her. The pain simply bled into the background, varnishing every situation that she’s found herself in since she left with a thin layer of homesickness. Like a fabric that’s off-white, but so close that you can’t truly discern the difference, until a closer match is placed by its side, she’s been feeling off, but couldn’t put her finger on it until this moment. That’s how she’s felt then, tea-stained. Steeped in misery.

Ugh, she’s waxing poetically again.

Flowery metaphor aside, she feels a fresh spike of loss thinking of home once more. It’s such an unfortunate thing, to be homesick for a place you can never return to.

Even if she could return, it would never be the same. She wouldn’t have the child-like innocence, or perhaps the better word would be naivety, that she possessed before. Never again would she be able to fly through the forest and race up to be the first to reach the highest branch. Even something as mundane as sharing laughter with her friends, that’s gone. All she’s left with are the people who’ve sent her to the wolves- no, it’s worse – they’ve sent her to the humans.  Her entire kingdom has turned their backs on her. But ask any one of them, they’ll probably tell you that she turned her back on the entire kingdom. Upon her return, the court would simply send her right back to the humans. She has a duty to fulfil after all. That’s the best-case scenario. The worst-case scenario would be… probably execution, if she had to guess. She has to be wanted for at least two different counts of treason at this point. Abandoning her people, toppling the treaty they’ve worked so hard for generations to establish, making an utter fool of herself, and of her kingdom. Her list of failures is starting to become more impressive than her list of accolades.

No, Ilek, the Fae Kingdom, that’s not her home anymore. It never will be her home again. She's grown to accept that.

And yet, she still aches.

The word home has almost lost meaning to her now. It’s supposed to be a respite. A place of warmth. Somewhere where you are surrounded by people who love you, and who care about you. Home is where the heart is, that’s what they say isn’t it? So, where then is her heart?

She doesn’t know.

She supposes her heart is… well, just right there in her chest. So, for now, home will have to be what she makes of it. That would be the optimistic approach anyway. Though it makes her wonder, is optimism supposed to leave this hollow sting in your chest like that?

She shouldn’t get all introspective like this. It never leads to anything good anyway. But when you’re stuck in a blasted pocket, it will give you plenty of time to think, and to think, and to overthink. And with that, there might come a little bit of introspection.

Lark sighs, and even stifled in the pocket, she can catch a hint of salt on the air. They must be getting close to the ocean. She shifts, desperately wishing she could see it for herself. There will be plenty of time for her to experience the ocean when they’re on a boat in the middle of it. She’s never seen the ocean before, and she’s never been on a boat before, but she imagines she’s about to be well acquainted with both of those things very soon now. When she asked Deckard about it, he talked about the salt in the air, and how the water reaches out to touch the sky, and how being on a boat can be one of the most terrifying and one of the most freeing feelings you could ever experience, all at the same time. Maybe for someone who can’t fly it is, but for her, the thought of being caught out in the middle of that much water just makes her grimace.

A gentle pressure forms around her from the outside of the pocket, pulling her in and making the cramped space even tighter. Her repositioning must have reminded Deckard that she’s there, causing him to place a hand over her.

“Almost there,” he murmurs. Likely due to her position in the inside pocket of his coat, his gentle voice cuts through the noise of the docks and vibrates straight through her. This feels weirdly intimate to her, practically snuggled against his chest. She knows that to him, it's nothing. The difference between placing a hand over her, and searching idly for his pocket watch would be virtually indistinguishable. There is no warmth in this gesture to him. She’s just another article littering his pockets. It’s dizzying to think that something could be so substantial to her, and be nothing more than a passing thought to him.

That’s the sort of thing that makes a person feel awfully small. Wait, she’s thought that before.

Well, maybe it’s just that when you are ‘awfully small’ it doesn’t take a lot for you to feel like it.

Deckard’s hand falls away, returning her containment from claustrophobic territory, back down into merely stifling.

“Oi, there he is then! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” A deep voice calls out.

“More like a sore in the eye, I’d say,” a woman’s voice laughs in return.

Lark’s about to go back to playing her game, imagining the lives of these strangers from the one sentence she hears from them in passing, when the rhythm of Deckard’s steady footfalls comes to a halt.

“Hey! Behave. Don’t you know you’re in the presence of a genuine member of the royal court here?” the first voice responds, barely containing his own amusement.

“Hm, I don’t know if court jester really counts as being a member of the court,” The two of them dissolve fully, and Deckard joins in, his chest rumbling with laughter. Lark finds herself tossed around and squished against the solid wall of Deckard’s chest as the three humans hug greetings to one another.

This simply punctuates the fact that though she is inside his pocket, she exists entirely outside this conversation.  Whoever these two are, they seem awfully happy to see Deckard.

“So, what brings you crawling back to us?” the deep voice asks teasingly. “Did the royals finally get tired of you and throw you out?”

“How much did you bet on that? I'm not answering unless i get a cut,” Deckard retorts with another laugh. “Really though, it’s the sort of story I’d like to tell after settling in, and getting a stiff drink.”

“Understood. Well, come on then,” the feminine voice chimes, and with that the three of them are off. Well, the three of them plus one stow-away fairy.

---

The steady sway of motion doesn’t cease once they leave the dock. At first, she thought it was just Deckard, but come to find out, this is just what being on a boat is like. An endless pushing and pulling, movement beyond your control. It’s interesting. She thought that there was no way a human could experience anything remotely similar to the loss of control that comes with being held in a pair of hands, but it seems as though this could be close. Close. It’s not like the ocean has a mind of its own, or dexterous fingers that could pinch and prod and manipulate and ravish you. Though, when on a boat you are subjected to the whims of the currents nonetheless.

It seems as though humans have a sense of awe for this sort of thing. Perhaps, it’s their hubris. They think there is some possibility of them feasibly taming the beast, the ocean. They think they could harness its power and wield it as their own. To that, she says, humans are thick, foolhardy creatures. She’s never seen it, but she can already tell, a human has as much of a chance at taming the ocean as she does at taming a human. It’s a truly laughable thought. And yet, humans seem to rejoice and to fear it altogether. Maybe they have a respect for its power. Maybe they find a way to work together. Maybe they set out into the middle of an uncaring void of wind and waves, and their little ships are crushed to bits, and dragged to the bottom of the ocean, and they’re never heard from again. Then, other humans see that and think, wow I can’t wait for my turn to try that. It’ll be different for me.

No, she does not think she likes the ocean. Not one bit.

She just wishes she could have reached that conclusion before being smuggled onto a ship.

“Alright so,” Deckard hesitates. “Well, you probably won’t believe me unless I just show you so… We’ll start here I guess.”

Her world shifts as he pulls at his coat, his fingers dip into the pocket, pulling it open enough for her to clamber up and fly out. Except she stays put. As much as she would relish in being out of this sweaty prison and into some fresh air… there are humans on the outside of this pocket. Her trust or mistrust of Deckard aside, being kept close to his heart is a good way to ensure her protection. One thing she can be certain of is that he’ll do what he can to save his own skin. Pulling her out in the open is another story entirely. If things went south, would he really do anything to help her?

At her hesitation, Deckard looks down, peering into the pocket. She looks up at him with wide eyes, seeing only a sliver of his face. A whisp of dark hair, a portion of a green eye, a furrowed brow.

“Come on,” he mumbles to her, before looking back at his friends, “Sorry, hold on.” The silence from across the table is palpable. She imagines what this must look like to someone on the outside. The picture of Deckard muttering into his pocket, he must look rather strange. “You’re fine, come on,” he says quietly, talking to her again. She shakes her head fervently. She can’t see much of him, but she would swear that he just rolled his eyes.

“Deck, did you hit your head on something recently?” The woman’s voice questions skeptically.

“No,” he huffs, “She’s being,” he starts to explain to his friends before turning the statement down to her, “You’re being dramatic.” After a pause, once it becomes apparent that she has no intention of leaving this pocket of her own accord, Deckard heaves a sigh and plunges his hand in after her. She sinks down, pressing herself against the bottom seam of the pocket as quickly as she can. She wishes desperately that she would have thought of ripping a hole in the bottom, something that would have given her a backup plan for escape. Instead, she’s quickly left with nowhere to go. His gargantuan fingertips brush against her, and once they found their quarry, she’s scooped up into their grasp. His fingers fumble around her, situating their grip on her, and she’s pulled from the safety of Deckard’s pocket, and placed out in the center of the table.

The ale in their mugs vibrate, indicating the motion of the ship. Lark keeps her wings tucked tight against her back, turning in a slow circle to observe these humans as much as they are observing her. Three human faces stare down at her. The girl, with a round freckled face and sandy blonde hair tossed up in a messy bun looks slack jawed. A man, with a deep skin tone and broad shoulders sits with his arms crossed against the table, he regards her with a look that’s some kind of mix of curiosity and apprehension. Then there’s Deckard, the smug bastard, showing off his little trinket to his friends. She doesn’t dare make eye contact with him.

Her hands grasp the fabric of her skirt, she doesn’t care if Deckard knows this as one of her ‘tells,’ she needs something to keep her grounded right now, or she might just combust. The mugs of ale, the idle chatter around the room, the humans looming above her. It was only yesterday she was somewhere nearly identical to where she stands now, and it was a nightmare. It was worse than a nightmare. Even in her dreams she hadn’t considered the vile depths of a human’s cruelty.

She can still feel the ghosts of their touch. Her body, pinched between calloused fingers, arms pinioned, limbs manipulated. Her skirts torn so they could ‘get a better look,’ If it wasn’t for Deckard stepping in, she could have been entirely disrobed in a matter of minutes. That is, if she didn’t drown in the pint of ale she was plunged into first.

Her heart hammers in her chest. Looking up at these humans, the line between memory and her current reality is blurred just enough for doubt and panic to jump electrically through her.

Deckard wouldn’t let something like that happen to her again, right?

He said he would keep her safe, didn’t he?

“Oh shit,” the blonde finally breathes, “you caught a pixie?”

A pixie?

“Excuse me?” Lark’s attention snaps to the woman, with that one word, her fear is discarded and replaced with a hot flash of anger. Her wings flare before she can think, and in a second, she’s hovering right in front of her face. The woman jerks back, surprise gracing her features. “I am not a pixie. I am obviously a fairy.” Larks feels her face growing warm. “Either you are horribly misinformed, or you are intentionally trying to slight me, and I simply will not stand for that.”

“Sorry. I- I didn’t think there was a difference?” the woman stammers, questioningly. Her eyes dart between Lark’s form and Deckard behind her.  

“You—” she gives the woman an incredulous look, “Of course there’s a difference!”

“Oh. Didn’t know,” she raises her hands in surrender, “I Didn’t know,” she repeats.

“Alright. Let’s rein it in,” Deckard says, “At least let’s get some introductions behind us before we start trying to stab anyone’s eyes out.”

[miniscule-meow]

Since lark is a fairy, does darkard ever hold out his finger and try to get her to perch on it?

Oh absolutely!

I feel like the first time he does this it would go something like...

Lark: "what are you doing...?"

Deckard: "I'm offering you a perch."

Lark: ".... Like I'm a little pet bird?!?"

Deckard: "No! Well- it's just. I thought it would be... I don't know!"

Then later she would perch on his hand anyway 🤣

It's one of those "I'll do it... But I WON'T be happy about it!!!" *Blushing, trying not to smile*

[miniscule-meow]

Nobody asked for this, but here is a list of my OCs in order of how likely they would be to stab someone.

Zeke- absolutely harmless. Looks way scarier than he is. He's just committed to the aesthetic, and we love him for that. He's really just a socially awkward nerd, leave him alone.

Marcus- harmless. He is just chaotic enough that you'd never really know with him. But realistically, probably not gonna happen.

Charlie- actively carries a pocket knife with her all the time. You just never know when you'll need a knife. It isn't for stabbing, but it could be. Probably not though.

Isabell- she is mentally prepared to stab as a last ditch effort of self defence, but I don't know if she'd have the guts to actually do it.

Deckard- he's good with throwing knives. It's more of a circus trick kind of talent. He's never thrown at a living target before, and he really would rather avoid a fight at all costs. But if there were no other options, yes.

Lark- she has some experience with swords, in a, "the royal should have a hobby, try fencing" kind of way. She probably thinks she's better at it than she actually is. She also doesn't typically have a sword available to her, and it most likely wouldn't work all too well against a giant. She would have to be heavily provoked, but I think she's hot headed enough to lash out.

Felix- he is begging anyone to give him a reason to do violence.

[miniscule-meow]

How would your characters react to reading the story's you've written about them?

I think everyone would be a little weirded out that someone has written and posted like various moments of their actual life. Things they did know they were being observed doing? That's like... That concept feels like an episode of the Magnus Archives.

So existential horrors aside:

Marcus and Charlie- they'd be pretty stoked they're both loveable goofballs and I don't think they'd complain about much that's been written

Zeke- he would be very neutral about this until he found out that so many people love him, then he would want to read everything to figure out what it is that he's doing to make that happen.

Isabell - I... I don't want Isabell to know about this. She would be so hurt like "🥺 why me? What did I do? Why do you make me hurt like this?" As I fill her backstory with trauma, kill all of her family members and give her a big injury that forces her into the extended proximity of her greatest fear????

Lark- as it stands, she isn't pleased BUT I have a rewrite of her story that I'm really excited about and ... I think she'll still be mad. A lot of love and betrayal stuff going on still

Deckard would be a little upset but only because I didn't write him to 1. Have more money 2. Be taller

Felix would be so mad. Like. "You had the power to do anything, and you made me like this???"

[miniscule-meow]

I've mentioned this before, but for the sake of putting it in one place, here's how tall everyone is.

Marcus is 6'4"

Zeke is 6'2"

Isabell is 0'4" (but if she was human she would be like 5'3")

Felix is 5'8"

Charlie is 5'8"

Deckard is 5'10"

Lark is 0'5" (but if she was human she would be 5'6")

[miniscule-meow]

What would your characters do If they found an Alice in wonder land "eat me" type cookie?

Marcus- no questions, no thoughts, he's eating it instantly. It looked like food and it said "eat me" on it. That's all he needed.

Zeke- he probably wouldn't touch them. But he also wouldn't stop Marcus from going for it.... He'd give a small word of caution about it, but he would want to see what's going to happen. Zeke does a lot of just letting Marcus do whatever, because he wants to see what will happen... Probably has poison control on speed dial tbh.

Isabell- she would be conflicted. On one hand it looks great. On the other hand it literally says "eat me" which could be a trap. I think she wouldn't risk it.

Lark- she would be conflicted for the same reasons, but she WOULD risk it.

Deckard- oh some mysterious fan surprised him with cookies. Delightful!

Felix- if he doesn't know the origin of the mystery cookies, he's not eating the mystery cookies. That's crazy.

Charlie- she would do the thing where she walks away, then comes back to look at them for a long time, then walks away again, then comes back again. And she would probably do that for a while, but she would eventually end up going for it.

And then of course, if the cookies were magical and changed their size if they ate it, I think I recently answered an ask about what they would do if they were suddenly a different size. So, then that would be applicable here

[miniscule-meow]

How would your characters react to being told that their someone's favorite character?

Zeke- "...... Thank you." *Secretly blushing*

Marcus- "Aw! No way! Well, you're MY favorite too!" Then he would give the person a big hug and afterwards he would talk about the conversation for like, three days.

Isabell- she doesn't take compliments well. *immediately fidgeting, wide eyed* "Oh. Really? That's... That's really nice. I don't know what to say. Um, Thanks." *Shy smile*

Charlie- "I'm your favorite? Cool!! Felix, did you hear that? They like me!"

Felix- *suspicious side eye* (Charlie would probably elbow him and tell him to be nice.) "Okay. Thanks, I guess."

Lark- "ah, that's very sweet! Much appreciated!"

Deckard- *already thinks he's everyone's favorite* "It's always nice to meet a fan. Would you like an autograph?"

[miniscule-meow]

How would your characters react to being suddenly shrunk?

Oh this is a really fun question!

Zeke - His first response would be 1. Oh this is happening, okay. 2. How do I fix this

He is always the person solving problems, and putting out fires, so suddenly being tiny would certainly feel like something he needed to solve. But it would almost be like a forcing him to take a vacation, because  he'll have to rely on others more heavily. So in a way, it would take a lot of pressure off of him. But he really does like having control. That sense of being in charge is what makes all the pressure that comes with it worth while. So, that would be hard for him to get over. 

Oh ESPECIALLY if he shrinks and Marcus is there. Marcus would be just an absolute menace, which of course I mean as lovingly as possible but, dang. He's a lot to handle at his regular size, so if Zeke was tiny around him there would be chaos. The handling, the teasing. It would be wonderful. And with that I mean I don't think he would push Zeke to any kind of real breaking point.  He might get frustrated and shout at Marcus to knock it off, lose his cool in that way? But I don't think he would have a full panic about it. 

All in all, he would handle it decently well. He wouldn't particularly enjoy it but it certainly wouldn't break him.

Marcus- continuing on the theme of Marcus is on this earth to give Zeke a heart attack and no other reason, Marcus would THRIVE as a tiny. He would be climbing Zeke, he would be doing parkcore across the giant furniture, he would try to eat a cookie 3x his size. He's great at surfing the vibes, going with the flow and making the most of every situation. He would love this. 

Felix-  Gosh, he would be so angry and just hate every single second of being small. 

As a giant shifter, he doesn't like that sometimes he has to grow at inopportune times, those moments he wishes he could be just a normal person. But if he was being honest with himself, he loves being big. Being tiny would NOT be it for him. 

Charlie- she would be fine with this! She would want to go on a grand adventure and explore outside! Especially if Felix was there, she wouldn't be worried about getting hurt or anything because she knows he'd look out for her. Now, one thing she wouldn't enjoy would be if she was suddenly gigantic. THAT she would hate. She would tell Felix "being gigantic is so stressful. You make it look so easy."

Deckard - weirdly enough, I think that after the initial shock, he would love it. He would be able to get into so many strange shenanigans. He would absolutely sneak into all of the places that he's not supposed to be in and  cause all sorts of mischief. 

Lark and Isabell are already smol and neither of them have any interest in being smaller. So, I'll answer the opposite for them.

Lark- if she was human sized, well first order of business, she'd probably slap Deckard. After that they'd be fine. She wouldn't hate being human sized at all. It would probably be a huge relief to her. 

If she was suddenly gigantic, that would be jarring to say the least. She would probably be a little awestruck like, "I looked this tiny to you???" She would probably be okay as a giant since she can empathize with what it's like to be so small. 

Isabell- it she was human sized she would be so happy! My head cannon is that she would be quite short as a human, 5'2" or so. Zeke and Marcus are both just weirdly tall guys. Zeke is shorter of the two, but he's still  tall.  She would want to go to all the human places, do all the human things. She'd probably try to convince one of the lads to teach her how to drive.

She wouldn't like being giant either. Even if she was human sized and Zeke and Marcus were tiny she would be so uncomfortable. I actually have a short au buried in my WIPs somewhere where that kind of thing happens, and Zeke was having to like calm her down and talk her through picking him up. I'll have to find it again it was really cute.

[miniscule-meow]

Something Unexpected (21)

Word Count: ~1.6k

Masterpost

First Part | Last Part | Next Part

~*~

Deckard comes back from across his apartment and clinks down a bowl of warm soapy water on the dresser beside her. He sets down a washcloth and a corner of a bar of soap as well. His movements are heavy, imprecise, and sluggish, no doubt a result of the alcohol he reeks of.

The room is illuminated by candles, and the light from the street pouring in through the window. In the dim light he can see that Lark eyes him warily. He keeps his hands as far away from her as he can manage. She’s seen enough giants invading her space today, he was one of them. She’s more than earned a respite from his clumsy self. He doesn’t trust himself with her right now anyway. He glances around the room before grabbing a book and propping it up as a wall between them with a thud. His hands hover over the book for a moment, making sure it’s balanced. Satisfied with that, he steps back.

“Get yourself cleaned up. You smell of alcohol,” he says.

“So do you.” Her quiet grumpy tone reaches his ears. Her voice is still weak from sobbing, as if to punctuate his thought, she gives a small sniffle.

“Ah, there she is.” She can’t see his face, but she can hear the smile in his voice. He’s relieved that she’s firing back with the sarcasm he’s grown to expect from her. He busies himself with something across his studio apartment, leaving her to take her bath in peace.

Lark strips off her ale-soaked, newly tattered gown and assesses the damage done to her today as she steps into the makeshift tub. She still has a golden band clamped to her ankle. A short length of chain dangles from it, too short to be useful to anyone, she hopes. She'll have to figure out a way to break the lock on this, so she can be properly free of her bonds.

Her leg is bruised around the cuff from when Prince Oliver had snagged it. She predicted as much, but a frown still pulls at her lips as her eyes scan over the purples and blues that are forming on her flesh. She knows she can expect more bruises to start appearing up her legs and across her torso from the rough treatment she received at the tavern. She lets out a shaky breath and tries to scrub the memories off of her skin.

She takes down her hair, combing through it and washing it out, until it no longer smells like alcohol. She washes her clothes too, frowning down at her ruined dress as she takes the time to wash it up, and set it out to dry. Lark wraps herself in the washcloth he gave her to use as an oversized towel. With the fabric bundled around her, dragging behind her like a thick train, she steps out from behind the book.

Deckard glances over at the movement and strides across to her. He carries a plate of crackers and cheese, popping a bite in his mouth as he crosses the room. He sets the plate down next to her, along with a shot glass of water.

“I tried to make it small for you… I don’t have a smaller cup.” He offers simply before wandering back to his kitchen.

He broke the crackers into several small pieces, and cut the pieces of cheese to fit. It’s a small gesture, taking those extra steps, but she appreciates the effort he went through to make her something that’s more fitting for her size. She isn’t particularly hungry, her stomach is mostly queasy if anything. But, she forces herself to pick at the food before her.

When he approaches her again, she pulls the washcloth around herself more tightly. He doesn’t look at her as he sets a pillow down on the end of the dresser accompanied by a handkerchief for her to use as a blanket. Then, he steps away, gently closing the window and locking it with a click. Hours earlier, she may have been unsettled by the action, but she has no intention of leaving Deckard’s side any time soon. She might not trust him, but it's been proven that he’s her best worst choice right now. She can’t deny that.

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance you managed to swipe a change of clothes for me?” She asks, hugging the washcloth to herself when his eyes finally trail over to her. He hums, his brow furrowing.

“No.” He pauses, “but I have an idea.” Without further explanation he leans down and pulls open a drawer sending tremors through the dresser, and subsequently, through her. She holds her breath as he draws nearer to her, though he isn’t paying her much attention. He’s focused on the contents of the drawer. His dark curls hang in front of his eyes as he searches for what he’s looking for. He pulls out another kerchief. It’s a simple cream color with a small floral embroidery in one corner.

His eyes flick up to her, with him leaning down, and her on the surface of the dresser, she is eye-level with him. Her shoulders stiffen involuntarily as his green eyes trace over her. The candlelight dances across his face illuminating his strong jaw and the traces of stubble that form across it. Frustratingly, he’s roguishly handsome. If he wasn’t several times her size, she would have less of a problem admitting it. She wonders how she must look to him. Pathetic, most likely.

She remembers crushing on him in the woods after just a few days of knowing him. Embarrassing. He had actually made her believe that living in the land of giants wouldn’t be as bad as she imagined. They were both wrong, it’s worse. She didn’t even really know him then, and she still can’t say that she knows him now. Everything he was to her in the woods was all just pretend. He’s not as proper, not as careful, not as even-tempered as he made her believe. The only thing that hasn’t changed is his dangerous charm. He’s easy on the eyes, and aggravatingly, he knows it.

“You’re staring, Princess.” He whispers in a low voice, a sly smile tugging at his lips. She blushes and turns away swiftly, obviously flustered. Smug bastard. Deckard laughs, shoving the drawer shut and gifting her with another unintentional earthquake. She isn’t sure he noticed, as he darts off to the kitchen without missing a beat. He's there a long while, hunched over the fabric with a pair of scissors. Eventually, he returns.

“Is this anything?” He asks, handing down his creation. He had used his pair of scissors to mutilate the handkerchief into something resembling a tunic for her. She holds the garment in one hand, holding the washcloth around her with the other. He watches her intently, observing her reaction, and trying to gauge if he made the tunic even close to the correct size.

“I’m not going to try it on with you staring at me like that,” she quips. “Turn around or something!" He straightens up, quickly turning away from her, mumbling a soft apology. Released from his prying eyes, she tries on the ‘dress.’

There’s a crudely cut hole for her head, it’s a bit small, and she has to rip it a little bit to actually get her head through. Once she gets it on, the kerchief drapes over her, one edge is jagged and fraying from being cut, the other is the finished edge of the kerchief. It’s completely open on both sides. He cut a slit in the middle of what’s supposed to be the back, so that her wings could stick through. There’s a long, thin strip for her to use as a belt. Once she ties it around her waist, she’s able to tuck the fabric in so that she’s actually pretty covered up. She’s fairly certain that the garment isn’t going anywhere. The delicate floral embroidery decorates her front in an off-centered kind of way.

“Alright. How do I look?” She asks. He turns and his mouth presses into a flat line upon seeing her. “That bad, huh?”

“Sorry. You look great. That dress is a nightmare,” they share a laugh.

“Don’t become a tailor,” she grins. Deckard is a man of many surprising skills, obviously making clothes isn’t one of them. It’ll be fine to sleep in as her other dress dries. “Thank you,” she looks up at him. He’s braced a hand against the edge of the dresser, his shadow casts over her as he leans in. “Thank you for … well not everything but… thank you for helping me." She fidgets with the crude belt around her waist, pretending to adjust the knot so she doesn’t have to look up at him.

“Don’t worry about it,” he pauses, “I’m sorry for getting you in this mess." They stare at each other breathlessly for a moment. He swallows thickly, “They didn’t hurt you, did they? In the tavern?” His voice is dark. His hand inches closer to her, like he wants to pick her up and inspect her himself. He just hovers nearby; he doesn’t touch her.

“Just some bruises, I think.” She shakes her head, frowning. “It was mostly… mostly just humiliating. My dress took more damage than I did. The bastards damn near ripped my skirt off.” She scowls down at the ground. Deckard sucks in a breath, his hand balls into a fist beside her. She looks up at him, seeing a fierce anger storming in his eyes.

“I should have stepped in sooner,” He whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“I don't think that's your fault, big guy.” She shrugs. “What time do we have to get on that boat tomorrow?” She asks, changing the subject.

“Oh. You want to do the plan now.” His sly grin snakes its way back onto his face, his eyes sparking with mischief.

“Yeah. I want to do your stupid plan.”

[miniscule-meow]

Something Unexpected (20)

Word Count: ~1.6k

Warnings: Alcohol Mention, Angst, language

Masterpost

First Part | Last Part | Next Part

~*~

It was a bad idea, but it felt good when she did it. Leaving him there stewing in his dilapidated apartment. Flying freely for the first time since she hurt her wing. No oppressive giant hands crowding in on her, no watchful eyes boring into her, no leash keeping her pinned down. She’s free and it felt good. It felt like a victory.

Of course, that was then, and this is now.

Decidedly, it wasn’t worth it. For one, she had no plan. At least Deckard had one of those, even if it was based on rumors. She would try to tell herself that she didn’t know where she was going to end up if she trusted him, but she’s a little preoccupied with just trying to stay alive right now.

Lark had gotten all of two blocks away when she ran into another spell of bad luck. She was flying up above the rooftops, to avoid being caught by another human, when she had a run in with a bird. Either the birds in this realm are unaffected by her communication magic, or this bird in particular is just very stubborn. She doesn’t have time to ponder that, as she’s flying for her life. She dips down and next thing she knows, she’s palmed out of the air.

She had flown too close to a rooftop, where a human was out, smoking a cigarette. She didn't see him, standing in the shadows until he swatted her out of the air.

~*~

Deckard decides that he isn’t going to sit in his room feeling sorry for himself. He picks himself up, and takes himself out to the tavern down the road. That’s one good thing about his shitty apartment, it’s right in the middle of everything.

“Evening, Bethany.” He grins at the bartender, she's an older woman with greying hair and a wiry frame. At the sight of him she comes around the bar, immediately shooing him off with a dish towel. She’s surprisingly strong as she grabs his shoulder and shoves him back towards the door.  

“Deck, I swear to God if you don’t get your good-for nothing ass out of my bar—”

“I’m here to pay my tab! I’m here to pay it, I swear!” He raises his hands, disarmingly. She stops in her tracks, looking at him with narrowed eyes.

“You. Pay a tab? What, did Hell freeze over?” She eyes him suspiciously.

“It must have.” He says with a slick grin, slowly pulling out a pouch of coin and handing it out to her. She snatches it from him and goes back behind the bar to count it out.

“I’ll be damned. It’s all here.” She says after counting it, twice. “Alright, kid. We’re square. What can I get ya?” She grins as he settles down at the bar.

~*~

He stares into what remains of his third drink of the evening when one of the tables in the back starts getting rowdy. Glancing over he sees someone bustle over to the table, his face full of mischief, his hands cupped close to his chest like he’s bringing in some kind of bird or something. It’s none of his business, but his curiosity is piqued. Glancing over again, he sees her. The fairy princess. Shit. He looks away quickly. This is bad.

Well.

Is it? She made it very clear that she doesn’t want his help. This isn’t really any of his business anymore. He orders another drink, watching the table out of the corner of his eye.

They pass her around, each taking a turn holding her, poking and prodding at her however they please, until she’s passed on to the next guy. They aren’t even trying to be discreet about it. Notably, they're also not trying to be gentle with her either. Every time he looks over, they're dangling her upside down or pinching her roughly between two fingers. He finds himself growing increasingly concerned about her wings. If they break her wings, she’s screwed. They would be right back to where they were when he found her in the woods.

They. There is no them. He reminds himself, taking another swig of his drink. Though, he can’t help but feel a little responsible for this, since he did take her from the relative safety of the castle-No, it's none of his business. Then the table erupts into cheers, one of them had dumped her into his glass and begins drinking it with her inside it. Deckard sighs, downs his drink, and saunters over to the table, before he can talk himself out of one of the worst ideas he’s ever had.

This fairy will be the death of him.

~*~

The liquid is freezing cold, frost is coating the outside of the mug. There is a chorus of drunken laughter as she scrambles to grasp the edge of the glass. She clings to the edge, the frost uncomfortably gripping her skin. As soon as she finds purchase, the giant hoists his mug into the air. She’s pulled under the sloshing liquid and slammed up against the side of the glass. She surfaces, sputtering, but not before swallowing a good mouthful of the bitter liquid. It burns down her throat, and gets in her eyes.

She doesn’t have any time to get her bearings before her whole world tilts. He’s raised the mug to his lips and begins gulping down the liquid. Everyone at the table roars with laughter and cheers. She’s pulled under the current of amber liquid, swallowing more ale in the process. She tries to swim away, or to brace herself on the sides of the glass, but despite her efforts she’s pulled towards his monstrous, gaping maw. She catches glimpses of the grinning faces of giants all around her, warped through the glass. Over their laughter she hears the sickening noise of the giant swallowing mouthfuls of ale at a time. Just as she’s about to reach his lips, everything pauses. The glass is pulled away, and she hears a familiar voice.

“Now, you look like the type of gentleman who would fancy a bit of magic.” She looks up to see Deckard, unfortunately.

The group responds with unsure mumbles.

“It’s honestly a dream of mine. I’ve been working on a bit of a routine, and look, I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll buy your next round if you’ll just be my first audience.” Deckard offers. The lilt of his voice is different than it typically is. He doesn't sound like his typical cocky self, he instead sounds timid and unsure.

“I’m not gonna turn down a free drink, mate. I say go ahead.” One giant laughs and the others chime in, agreeing.

She looks up through the glass to see a Deckard shuffling a deck of cards above her. He can’t be serious. For a split second they lock eyes before he looks away, leaving her to tread helplessly in the glass. The giant didn't drink nearly enough of the ale to allow her to touch the bottom, so she has to keep swimming if she wants to breathe. Deckard launches into an array of magic tricks dealing with cards and “mind reading.” If she wasn’t so focused on not drowning, she would be impressed.

In a flash his fingers dip into the mug, pulling her out before he stuffs her awkwardly up his sleeve. Apparently, whatever distraction he caused was good enough that none of the giants at the table caught his sleight of hand. He continues his routine with her pressed against his wrist. Eventually, he deposits her from his sleeve to the inside pocket in his jacket. He moves around the table, finishing his little show and even winning a round of applause from his audience.

Their next round of drinks arrives, and Deckard slips away. He leaves them in their drunken merriment, not yet aware that they have been left one fairy shorter than when the magic show began.

He pays for the drinks quickly, then he’s out the door. He walks casually, confidently. But from his pocket, being pressed against him so closely, Lark can feel his heart is racing. He maintains a steady pace until he’s out of sight, but once he rounds the corner, he takes off running. It’s terrible for her as she’s jostled roughly in the pocket. He pounds up a flight of stairs, then slams his shoulder into his door to open it, then again to close it. The movement was bad when she was in his satchel, this feels like a shipwreck.

Muffled swears come up from below as his downstairs neighbor slams their ceiling with a broomstick.

“Shut up!!” Deckard stomps on the floor, yelling to his neighbor below. “Tell management to fix the damn door if it bothers you so much, because they won’t listen to me!” His neighbor shouts back something unintelligible. Deckard continues grumbling to himself under his breath. He staggers over to his dresser, his breathing shallow and uneven. His fingers plunge roughly into his pocket, quickly fishing his alcohol-soaked princess from inside. He pulls her out and plops her soggy form back down onto the dresser, right where she was just a couple hours ago.

His steadies himself by bracing his hands down against the dresser on either side of her. He heaves a heavy sigh, and much like the giants at the tavern, his breath smells strongly of liquor.

“Well.” He says gruffly, his eyes search over her intently. “You made it down the street. Congratulations.” He raises an eyebrow, studying her. “Do you want to try again, see if you can make it across town this time?” He waves a hand over toward the still open window, and waits for her to start yelling insults up at him again.

Before she can stop herself, she’s crumpling. She draws her legs in close and buries her face in her knees. The giants in the tavern had ripped her beautiful blue gown, nearly tearing the skirt away completely. She's left with a small scrap of fabric, exposing her legs all the way up to her thighs. Her body is wracked with sobs that she’s been trying to hold back for days now. She doesn’t need to look up to know that Deckard is watching her fall apart. It’s embarrassing to cry in front of him. She’s left feeling so helpless, so violated, so… small. She hates it.

“Shit,” he says under his breath, after simply looking at her for a quiet moment. “I am…” He hesitates. She supposes he’s trying to find the words for a proper apology, but it never comes. Instead, he finishes with a sigh, “I am not sober enough for this.” He groans, pushing himself away from the dresser and walking off into his apartment.

[miniscule-meow]

What's your characters favorite way to fall asleep?

Marcus- He can fall asleep anywhere. He gets comfy on the couch, he puts his head down on his desk, he’s the passenger in a long car ride, it doesn’t matter he can be out pretty quickly. BUT, he thinks the best way to fall asleep is after a full day of some kind of hard work, typically gym related. He likes to shower before bed, and if in a bed, he sleeps on his back kind of all sprawled out.

Zeke- He doesn’t need it, but he enjoys sleep music like rain sounds or ocean noises. He also typically sleeps on his back, or on his side. Zeke is a pretty light sleeper; it needs to be dark and still and quiet for him to fall asleep.

Isabell- Depending on when in her story you’re looking at, her favorite way to fall asleep is snuggled with one of her lads. In her own bed, she tells herself stories in her head until she falls asleep. She likes to curl up on her side.

Felix- He isn’t picky, but I bet he likes to fall asleep to movies or shows or something. He also would rather sleep in a big room just in case he grows in his sleep.

Charlie-Her favorite way to fall asleep is in a tent, camping under a very gentle rain.

Deckard- With a newly emptied bottle of rum and someone he doesn’t really know sleeping next to him. I don’t know if that’s a preference, but it’s certainly most common.  Once again, this is depending on where in his story you are looking. Eventually his nighttime routine will become more wholesome... probably.

Lark- As a princess, she has a whole routine. Perfumed bath, hair braided back for her, skincare, fluffy bed. Transitioning out of that has been really unfortunate for her, but it kind of got overshadowed by… y’know, the other things that were going on.