[butchersboobs]

Ah, the final bloopers are upon us...

[newshoes-samedirt]

Fairytale of New York [Billy Butcher & OFC] - Chapter 5

Summary: Butcher gets dragged into a hidden Vought atrocity via a tiny, furious fairy. Warnings (This Part): Language Tags:@butchersboobs, @lillisciwrites, @enchantedflameandflower, @jynx15 [please comment or drop me a message if you'd like to be tagged in later works] Also on AO3

When Butcher unlocked the door to his flat, Terror was waiting, his stump-tail wagging as he trotted a circle around Billy’s feet, then MM’s, and then hurried back to the bedroom.

“Alrigh’ mate…” Butcher muttered, slipping off his coat. “I’m comin’.”

He followed the dog as MM stepped out of his shoes and made his way to the living room.

Butcher quietly poked his head in the door and saw Ellara’s light glowing and fading in a slow rhythm. Terror waddled across the floor and settled down by the bedside table with a sigh and Butcher couldn’t help but smile as he followed and looked into the shoebox.

She was spread out like a starfish and gently snoring, her wings sticking out either side of her. One of them had a long thin ‘v’ of a tear from a cat scratch and he wondered briefly if it would ever heal.

Then he noticed Terror, vigilantly watching the box, and he crouched to scrub at either side of the dog’s head, just behind his ears.

“Tha’sa good boy.” He said softly, quietly. “Y’keepin’er safe, eh? Like I told ya.”

Terror gave him a slow blink and Butcher let him rest again.

“Jus’ a li’le longer, mate, while we figger some fings out.” He said, quieter still, then gave the dog one more pat on the head before leaving the room quietly.

He crossed through the lounge, noticing how MM had tidied and turned the space into a makeshift incident room, the blind pulled down with hand-written notes taped to it, the evidence on the coffee table. He rolled his eyes slightly but said nothing as he went into the kitchen to fill and put on the kettle.

“Let’s hope the guys have found more…” MM said, scrawling a few notes about the construction site on a piece of paper. “This ain’t a water-proof case right now.”

Before Butcher could respond, a quick knock rapped at the door and MM went to open it, allowing Hughie in. He was clearly excited.

“Where’s your laptop?” He asked.

A minute later they had the laptop set up, connected to the tv, and the three of them were watching the video.

“A-and that’s a Vought truck.” Hughie said, pausing it at one of the last frames, the pharmaceuticals logo clear.

“Bloody ‘ell…” Butcher said.

MM shook his head. “An’ they couldn’t let it go…” he thought.

“They ‘ad t’ave taken it…” Butcher said. “’Cause there weren’t no dead fairy when we went down there last nigh’… jus’ a lotta blood.”

“So we got the how, where an’ when…” MM said.

“Just not the why.” Hughie finished, scrolling the video back to where the fairy was floating, firing light at the van.

Another knock at the door indicated Frenchie and Kimiko's arrival, allowing them to finish setting up their case file.

MM was quite surprised that the two had found so much relevant information, but dismissed the passages from fairy stories as nonsense.

“That’s what I thought!” Frenchie said. “But mon coeur, she had a brainwave!”

Kimiko passes the photocopy that gave her an idea to MM, he reads it and hits her with a raised eyebrow.

“A fairy is born when a baby laughs?”

“Fairies are emotional.” Frenchie translated as Kimiko signed. “They are literally made of emotion.”

Butcher looked thoughtful, and nodded.

“’Llara said sumfin’ abou’ fairies only bein’ able to feel one fing at once…”

“We need to ask our Petite Etoile about some of these things…” Frenchie said, Kimiko digging out their most important things first. “Is she awake?”

“Not yet, but we’re lettin’er rest.” Butcher said. “I wanna get sumfin’ like a plan togevver before I wake’er up.”

“This is assumin’ she knows this shit…” MM said, reading some of the copies.

“Why would she not know?”

“This was written by a human man…” He explained. “What if most of this is just bullshit?”

“Well that’s what we’re gonna find out.” Frenchie said, the ‘duh’ evident in his tone.

“Alrigh’ calm down.” Butcher said. “What’s more importan’ righ’ now, is figgerin’ out ‘ow we’re gonna ge’ inta Vough’ to free the fairies.”

Butcher returned to the kitchen to make coffee for everyone, while they sat around the table and MM collaborated all their information into a timeline of events for the night before.

“Uh, what’s the dirt for?” Hughie asked.

“Butcher…?” MM prompted.

“It looked like spray paint like they’d use to circle sumfin’ that needed tearin’ up, but they ‘ad it sprayed inside ‘Llara’s tree, an’ goin’ down into the tunnels in the ground.”

Butcher reached over and tapped play on Hughie’s footage.

“Look a’ tha’…” He pointed out as the fairy swerved and dipped, the way it threw light haphazardly. “I don’t fink it was ordinary pain’. It was a seda’ive.”

“Like when they smoke bees.” MM said, Butcher nodded.

“Makin’em dozy, easier t’capture.”

“But our Petite Etoile got away.” Frenchie finalised.

For a moment they were all quiet, the situation really sinking in.

Yesterday morning fairies were a fairy tale. Now they had evidence of fairy homes and their destruction.

A real fairy and proof of the capture of possibly hundreds more.

For generations.

And Vought were at the bottom of it all. Probably have been for a long time.

Terror wandered into the living room then, nails clicking softly on the floorboards. He gave the photographs on the coffee table a suspicious sniff before deciding they weren't edible and flopping down beside Butcher's chair with a heavy sigh.

He scratched at the dog’s head as he thought.

“I could get Annie to look around the Tower…” Hughie suggested. “Look for the truck, to start with?”

Butcher glanced at him. 

 “Don’t tell’er anyfin’.” He said, by way of agreement. “Jus’ ask’er to find the van an’ nuffin’ else.”

Hughie nodded and took out his phone as Butcher got to his feet.

“Keep it up,” He said encouragingly. “I’ll go get Sleepin’ Beauty.”

Terror followed Butcher as he went back into the bedroom and sat on the bed, panting happily up at him as he looked into the box.

Ellara was completely swallowed by fabric, the only thing he could see was a stifled glow under the grey cotton. He smiled and knocked gently on the side of the box.

“’Llara.”

She grumbled.

“C’mon Tinkerbell.”

“A little longer…” She murmured but he gently pulled the fabric away from her face.

“You’ll wanna ge’up f’this…”

She groaned, but didn’t look at him. “Why….?”

“We’ve got answers.” He said softly.

She sat up quickly then, hair in a disarray and eyes still tired, but her glow was bright as she looked up at him.

“Y’do?”

He nodded and offered his hand. She clambered out of the box and into his palm and he carried her to the living room., Terror waddling along behind him.

“’Ere we go…” He said as he crossed the room and placed her on the coffee table where she turned slowly in place, looking at The Boys, the photographs and the printouts.

Butcher handed out drinks as she looked at the television frozen on a glowing blur she'd recognise anywhere.

Frenchie slowly sat on the floor, leaning against the table carefully as she took in the notes written and stuck up on Butcher’s blind and strewn over the table with various things.

“Y’guys did all this f’me?”

There’s a round of nods, everyone trying to stay calm and not talk all at once as they did before.

“There’s just a few fings we need y’t’clear up, love.” Butcher says, sitting on the sofa.

“Like what?”

He picked up the bag of painted dirt and opened it.

“This is wo’ they were puttin’ in y’homes, ‘Llara.” He said, just holding the bag before her. “We fink it’s a seda’ive…”

“I doubt it.” She scoffs. “Ain’t nuthin’ you Bigs can make that can knock out a fairy.”

Butcher raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Go on then, ‘ave a sniff.”

“Butcher…” MM said disapprovingly.

She walks forward confidently, intending only to humour him, and grabs the edge of the bag. Immediately, her stomach lurched and the room seemed to tilt.

“Woah.” She said, grimacing and pushing the bag away. “Close it!”

Butcher quickly took it away from her and sealed it up again.

“You alrigh’?”

“Yeah…” She said, her face screwed up tight. “What the hell is that stuff?”

“Something they sprayed in your homes to knock y’all out.” MM said, taking the bag and putting it out of harm's way.

“They drugged us?” 

“But you got away.” MM said.

“And this guy put up a fight.” Hughie added, signalling to the paused video.

“Could more of your family have got away, mon Petite Etoile? To somewhere safe?”

Ellara shrugged. “That’s the safest place we had.”

There was a short silence wherein Frenchie shuffled closer and spoke softly.

“Ellara, do you know how fairies came to be?”

“What kinda dumbass question is that?” She snapped with a frown. “Everyone knows fairies are spirits of nature.”

Frenchie and Kimiko looked disappointed, MM huffed a small laugh. “Not from a baby’s first laugh.”

“Oh, there are some dumbasses who believe that.” She said, looking at MM. “They say that’s why fairies keep appearin’ in the city.”

“Appearing?” Hughie said with a frown. “You mean fairies aren’t born?”

She stood up and signalled to her naked but featureless body.

“Do I look like I got the means t’have a baby?”

Hughie blushed and the others laughed a little.

“So… how do you have-” Frenchie started.

“I think we’re gettin’ off-topic here.” MM cut him off quickly. “We know that Vought are taking the fairies, dosin’ them up and takin’ them to their labs.”

“But why?” Ellara said, stepping across the printed sheets of paper. “Has it- Has it been them the whole time?”

“It might have been, mon Petite Etoile.” Frenchie said softly, apologetically.

She trailed quietly over the evidence, taking it all in. The disturbances, the destruction of forests and fairies' homes. Decades before she was alive, with dates so much older than she could fathom.

“We all thought the Bigs were just…” She struggled for the words. “...bein’ Bigs.”

Then she looked up at Butcher.

“But they were actually … huntin’ us?”

Butcher was silent, they all were. No one wanted to say yes, to admit the atrocity that humans had been capable of.

“We can guess at why all day.” MM said in a tone that meant they were not going to be doing that. “Or we can go get the answers from the people who did it.”

The air shifted as Butcher got to his feet, snatching up a marker on the way and stood at the blind, he uncapped the marker with his teeth and drew a thick line down the middle of the makeshift evidence board.

“Vought’ve got sneaky fuckin’ ‘ospi’als all over the ci’y, we star’ at the Tower before we go on a wild goose chase, Starligh’ c’n confirm if it’s there.”

He writes ‘Find the truck.’

“I can get floorplans for most places,” MM said. “But any Vought building might be a pain in the ass to find.”

“Especailly if the lab’s a secret.” Hughie pointed out.

“I can find the fairies.” Ellara said, they all looked at her. “I can feel’em, I’ll lead us t’wherever they’re kept.”

Butcher smiled and wrote ‘Find the lab.’ and ‘Get the fairies.’

“Why y’gotta be so rough with the periods, man, you’ll wreck the nib…”

“Frenchie,” Butcher said, ignoring MM’s complaint. “Tranqs. Gunfire will jus’ bring ev’ryone runnin’.”

Frenchie nodded, an alert rang out from Hughie’s phone.

“It’s Annie…” He said, and they all remained quiet as they waited as he texted her back and quickly received another response.

“Well…?”

“She found the truck in the staff parking lot with the rest of them, saw a couple guys cleaning it out. They didn’t see her.” He added quickly. “And she saw them go into the sub-basement elevator.”

“Ask’er wot else is down there.” Butcher said, thinking.

A moment while Hughie was typing…

“She says...” He looked up. "'Maintenance access only.'"

“Well Boys, I fink we’ve got an in.” Butcher said with a grin.

“Good thing I kept the overalls from last time.” MM said, clicking the lid back on his own pen. Ellara looked between them, feeling the excitement grow in the room.

“I can get us a white truck like that.” Frenchie said, gesturing at a photo on the table.

“An’ I’ll take care of security when we get there.” Butcher said, then looked down at the little Fairy. “We’ve got a plan, love.”

Ellara looked at Butcher, at the plan, and at each of The Boys in turn, then her light turned a peachy-pink as she finally looked back at Butcher.

“Why’re y’doin’ all this f’me?”

Butcher knelt before the coffee table and offered her his hand.

“’Cause that’s what we do.” MM said.

“We fix what Vought breaks.” Frenchie added.

“And we stand up for the little guy.” Hughie said.

“And they don’t get much littler than you.” Kimiko signed.

She climbed into Butcher’s palm and he stood up.

“First thing tomorrah, then…” Butcher said. “There’s gonna be a jailbreak.”

[butchersboobs]

[newshoes-samedirt]

Fairytale of New York [Billy Butcher & OFC] - Chapter 5

Summary: Butcher gets dragged into a hidden Vought atrocity via a tiny, furious fairy. Warnings (This Part): Language Tags:@butchersboobs, @lillisciwrites, @enchantedflameandflower, @jynx15 [please comment or drop me a message if you'd like to be tagged in later works] Also on AO3

When Butcher unlocked the door to his flat, Terror was waiting, his stump-tail wagging as he trotted a circle around Billy’s feet, then MM’s, and then hurried back to the bedroom.

“Alrigh’ mate…” Butcher muttered, slipping off his coat. “I’m comin’.”

He followed the dog as MM stepped out of his shoes and made his way to the living room.

Butcher quietly poked his head in the door and saw Ellara’s light glowing and fading in a slow rhythm. Terror waddled across the floor and settled down by the bedside table with a sigh and Butcher couldn’t help but smile as he followed and looked into the shoebox.

She was spread out like a starfish and gently snoring, her wings sticking out either side of her. One of them had a long thin ‘v’ of a tear from a cat scratch and he wondered briefly if it would ever heal.

Then he noticed Terror, vigilantly watching the box, and he crouched to scrub at either side of the dog’s head, just behind his ears.

“Tha’sa good boy.” He said softly, quietly. “Y’keepin’er safe, eh? Like I told ya.”

Terror gave him a slow blink and Butcher let him rest again.

“Jus’ a li’le longer, mate, while we figger some fings out.” He said, quieter still, then gave the dog one more pat on the head before leaving the room quietly.

He crossed through the lounge, noticing how MM had tidied and turned the space into a makeshift incident room, the blind pulled down with hand-written notes taped to it, the evidence on the coffee table. He rolled his eyes slightly but said nothing as he went into the kitchen to fill and put on the kettle.

“Let’s hope the guys have found more…” MM said, scrawling a few notes about the construction site on a piece of paper. “This ain’t a water-proof case right now.”

Before Butcher could respond, a quick knock rapped at the door and MM went to open it, allowing Hughie in. He was clearly excited.

“Where’s your laptop?” He asked.

A minute later they had the laptop set up, connected to the tv, and the three of them were watching the video.

“A-and that’s a Vought truck.” Hughie said, pausing it at one of the last frames, the pharmaceuticals logo clear.

“Bloody ‘ell…” Butcher said.

MM shook his head. “An’ they couldn’t let it go…” he thought.

“They ‘ad t’ave taken it…” Butcher said. “’Cause there weren’t no dead fairy when we went down there last nigh’… jus’ a lotta blood.”

“So we got the how, where an’ when…” MM said.

“Just not the why.” Hughie finished, scrolling the video back to where the fairy was floating, firing light at the van.

Another knock at the door indicated Frenchie and Kimiko's arrival, allowing them to finish setting up their case file.

MM was quite surprised that the two had found so much relevant information, but dismissed the passages from fairy stories as nonsense.

“That’s what I thought!” Frenchie said. “But mon coeur, she had a brainwave!”

Kimiko passes the photocopy that gave her an idea to MM, he reads it and hits her with a raised eyebrow.

“A fairy is born when a baby laughs?”

“Fairies are emotional.” Frenchie translated as Kimiko signed. “They are literally made of emotion.”

Butcher looked thoughtful, and nodded.

“’Llara said sumfin’ abou’ fairies only bein’ able to feel one fing at once…”

“We need to ask our Petite Etoile about some of these things…” Frenchie said, Kimiko digging out their most important things first. “Is she awake?”

“Not yet, but we’re lettin’er rest.” Butcher said. “I wanna get sumfin’ like a plan togevver before I wake’er up.”

“This is assumin’ she knows this shit…” MM said, reading some of the copies.

“Why would she not know?”

“This was written by a human man…” He explained. “What if most of this is just bullshit?”

“Well that’s what we’re gonna find out.” Frenchie said, the ‘duh’ evident in his tone.

“Alrigh’ calm down.” Butcher said. “What’s more importan’ righ’ now, is figgerin’ out ‘ow we’re gonna ge’ inta Vough’ to free the fairies.”

Butcher returned to the kitchen to make coffee for everyone, while they sat around the table and MM collaborated all their information into a timeline of events for the night before.

“Uh, what’s the dirt for?” Hughie asked.

“Butcher…?” MM prompted.

“It looked like spray paint like they’d use to circle sumfin’ that needed tearin’ up, but they ‘ad it sprayed inside ‘Llara’s tree, an’ goin’ down into the tunnels in the ground.”

Butcher reached over and tapped play on Hughie’s footage.

“Look a’ tha’…” He pointed out as the fairy swerved and dipped, the way it threw light haphazardly. “I don’t fink it was ordinary pain’. It was a seda’ive.”

“Like when they smoke bees.” MM said, Butcher nodded.

“Makin’em dozy, easier t’capture.”

“But our Petite Etoile got away.” Frenchie finalised.

For a moment they were all quiet, the situation really sinking in.

Yesterday morning fairies were a fairy tale. Now they had evidence of fairy homes and their destruction.

A real fairy and proof of the capture of possibly hundreds more.

For generations.

And Vought were at the bottom of it all. Probably have been for a long time.

Terror wandered into the living room then, nails clicking softly on the floorboards. He gave the photographs on the coffee table a suspicious sniff before deciding they weren't edible and flopping down beside Butcher's chair with a heavy sigh.

He scratched at the dog’s head as he thought.

“I could get Annie to look around the Tower…” Hughie suggested. “Look for the truck, to start with?”

Butcher glanced at him. 

 “Don’t tell’er anyfin’.” He said, by way of agreement. “Jus’ ask’er to find the van an’ nuffin’ else.”

Hughie nodded and took out his phone as Butcher got to his feet.

“Keep it up,” He said encouragingly. “I’ll go get Sleepin’ Beauty.”

Terror followed Butcher as he went back into the bedroom and sat on the bed, panting happily up at him as he looked into the box.

Ellara was completely swallowed by fabric, the only thing he could see was a stifled glow under the grey cotton. He smiled and knocked gently on the side of the box.

“’Llara.”

She grumbled.

“C’mon Tinkerbell.”

“A little longer…” She murmured but he gently pulled the fabric away from her face.

“You’ll wanna ge’up f’this…”

She groaned, but didn’t look at him. “Why….?”

“We’ve got answers.” He said softly.

She sat up quickly then, hair in a disarray and eyes still tired, but her glow was bright as she looked up at him.

“Y’do?”

He nodded and offered his hand. She clambered out of the box and into his palm and he carried her to the living room., Terror waddling along behind him.

“’Ere we go…” He said as he crossed the room and placed her on the coffee table where she turned slowly in place, looking at The Boys, the photographs and the printouts.

Butcher handed out drinks as she looked at the television frozen on a glowing blur she'd recognise anywhere.

Frenchie slowly sat on the floor, leaning against the table carefully as she took in the notes written and stuck up on Butcher’s blind and strewn over the table with various things.

“Y’guys did all this f’me?”

There’s a round of nods, everyone trying to stay calm and not talk all at once as they did before.

“There’s just a few fings we need y’t’clear up, love.” Butcher says, sitting on the sofa.

“Like what?”

He picked up the bag of painted dirt and opened it.

“This is wo’ they were puttin’ in y’homes, ‘Llara.” He said, just holding the bag before her. “We fink it’s a seda’ive…”

“I doubt it.” She scoffs. “Ain’t nuthin’ you Bigs can make that can knock out a fairy.”

Butcher raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Go on then, ‘ave a sniff.”

“Butcher…” MM said disapprovingly.

She walks forward confidently, intending only to humour him, and grabs the edge of the bag. Immediately, her stomach lurched and the room seemed to tilt.

“Woah.” She said, grimacing and pushing the bag away. “Close it!”

Butcher quickly took it away from her and sealed it up again.

“You alrigh’?”

“Yeah…” She said, her face screwed up tight. “What the hell is that stuff?”

“Something they sprayed in your homes to knock y’all out.” MM said, taking the bag and putting it out of harm's way.

“They drugged us?” 

“But you got away.” MM said.

“And this guy put up a fight.” Hughie added, signalling to the paused video.

“Could more of your family have got away, mon Petite Etoile? To somewhere safe?”

Ellara shrugged. “That’s the safest place we had.”

There was a short silence wherein Frenchie shuffled closer and spoke softly.

“Ellara, do you know how fairies came to be?”

“What kinda dumbass question is that?” She snapped with a frown. “Everyone knows fairies are spirits of nature.”

Frenchie and Kimiko looked disappointed, MM huffed a small laugh. “Not from a baby’s first laugh.”

“Oh, there are some dumbasses who believe that.” She said, looking at MM. “They say that’s why fairies keep appearin’ in the city.”

“Appearing?” Hughie said with a frown. “You mean fairies aren’t born?”

She stood up and signalled to her naked but featureless body.

“Do I look like I got the means t’have a baby?”

Hughie blushed and the others laughed a little.

“So… how do you have-” Frenchie started.

“I think we’re gettin’ off-topic here.” MM cut him off quickly. “We know that Vought are taking the fairies, dosin’ them up and takin’ them to their labs.”

“But why?” Ellara said, stepping across the printed sheets of paper. “Has it- Has it been them the whole time?”

“It might have been, mon Petite Etoile.” Frenchie said softly, apologetically.

She trailed quietly over the evidence, taking it all in. The disturbances, the destruction of forests and fairies' homes. Decades before she was alive, with dates so much older than she could fathom.

“We all thought the Bigs were just…” She struggled for the words. “...bein’ Bigs.”

Then she looked up at Butcher.

“But they were actually … huntin’ us?”

Butcher was silent, they all were. No one wanted to say yes, to admit the atrocity that humans had been capable of.

“We can guess at why all day.” MM said in a tone that meant they were not going to be doing that. “Or we can go get the answers from the people who did it.”

The air shifted as Butcher got to his feet, snatching up a marker on the way and stood at the blind, he uncapped the marker with his teeth and drew a thick line down the middle of the makeshift evidence board.

“Vought’ve got sneaky fuckin’ ‘ospi’als all over the ci’y, we star’ at the Tower before we go on a wild goose chase, Starligh’ c’n confirm if it’s there.”

He writes ‘Find the truck.’

“I can get floorplans for most places,” MM said. “But any Vought building might be a pain in the ass to find.”

“Especailly if the lab’s a secret.” Hughie pointed out.

“I can find the fairies.” Ellara said, they all looked at her. “I can feel’em, I’ll lead us t’wherever they’re kept.”

Butcher smiled and wrote ‘Find the lab.’ and ‘Get the fairies.’

“Why y’gotta be so rough with the periods, man, you’ll wreck the nib…”

“Frenchie,” Butcher said, ignoring MM’s complaint. “Tranqs. Gunfire will jus’ bring ev’ryone runnin’.”

Frenchie nodded, an alert rang out from Hughie’s phone.

“It’s Annie…” He said, and they all remained quiet as they waited as he texted her back and quickly received another response.

“Well…?”

“She found the truck in the staff parking lot with the rest of them, saw a couple guys cleaning it out. They didn’t see her.” He added quickly. “And she saw them go into the sub-basement elevator.”

“Ask’er wot else is down there.” Butcher said, thinking.

A moment while Hughie was typing…

“She says...” He looked up. "'Maintenance access only.'"

“Well Boys, I fink we’ve got an in.” Butcher said with a grin.

“Good thing I kept the overalls from last time.” MM said, clicking the lid back on his own pen. Ellara looked between them, feeling the excitement grow in the room.

“I can get us a white truck like that.” Frenchie said, gesturing at a photo on the table.

“An’ I’ll take care of security when we get there.” Butcher said, then looked down at the little Fairy. “We’ve got a plan, love.”

Ellara looked at Butcher, at the plan, and at each of The Boys in turn, then her light turned a peachy-pink as she finally looked back at Butcher.

“Why’re y’doin’ all this f’me?”

Butcher knelt before the coffee table and offered her his hand.

“’Cause that’s what we do.” MM said.

“We fix what Vought breaks.” Frenchie added.

“And we stand up for the little guy.” Hughie said.

“And they don’t get much littler than you.” Kimiko signed.

She climbed into Butcher’s palm and he stood up.

“First thing tomorrah, then…” Butcher said. “There’s gonna be a jailbreak.”

[butchersboobs]

[lillisciwrites]

The Only Way to my Heart 01 X 01| Billy Butcher x OFC Theresa ‘Tree’ | 18+ MDNI

An original fan screenplay. Always read at your own risk. Please do not steal my work. If you’d like to be tagged on the Buddy List, just ask!

Buddy List: @butchersboobs @newshoes-samedirt @scrmqwn

EXT. BEACH - DAY

White sands stretch as far as the eye can see. Tourist season is winding down. The beach is half-empty, which he prefers.

BILLY BUTCHER, 50s, is lounging beneath an umbrella. Silk shirt open. Dark sunglasses. Beer balanced on his stomach, rising and falling with his breath.

Beside him: a cooler. And an English bulldog puppy, small and wrinkled and asleep in a patch of shade with his face completely stuffed into the sand.

BUTCHER stares at the sky. It is a clear day, no clouds in sight. His phone buzzes on the arm of the lounger. He glances at it.

SCREEN: HUGHIE.

BUTCHER does not answer. He finishes his beer, reaches into the cooler without looking and pops open another. He stares at the sky again. His phone buzzes again.

SCREEN: HUGHIE

BUTCHER answers this time, his tone flat and bored.

BUTCHER

‘M retired.

HUGHIE (V.O)

yeah, I know. That’s-that’s—he knows that.

BUTCHER

Who’s ‘he’?

HUGHIE (V.O)

President Singer wants to speak to you.

BUTCHER

Tell the bloody President I’m busy.

HUGHIE (V.O)

Aren’t you on a beach?

BUTCHER

Retired people go to the beach, ‘ughie. That’s the whole fing.

There is something in Hughie’s silence. Butcher takes a long, loud gulp of beer.

BUTCHER

Put ‘im on.

The phone call is not heard. Butcher says very little, staring out at the sky and sea while President Singer discusses Vought’s restructuring and new assets being sent out into the world. When he hangs up, BUTCHER looks at the puppy beside him. Still asleep.

BUTCHER finishes his beer and begins packing up his cooler, the puppy lifting his head at the movement and rustling, watching. BUTCHER stares at the sky one more time.

BUTCHER

Fuckin’ knew it.

EXT. EMBANKMENT - EAST LONDON - DAY

The sky is grey. The river is moving. It is a normal day on the docks. Keene’s Fishery signage, faded. Nets and equipment. The smell of something frying and the fuel for the boats nearby.

At the end of the dock, almost an afterthought bolted to the side of the structure: a weathered food stand with a hand-painted board above it.

KEENE’S FISH FRY

THERESA KEENE, early 50s, is working on an order. She has her hair pulled back the way one is expected to when working with food. The lunchtime rush is thinning. She’s wiping down the counter when she hears a small yip that’s not quite a bark. She looks up.

BILLY BUTCHER is standing at the end of the dock looking much the same as she remembers, albeit a slight heavier weight on his shoulders. He has a bulldog puppy on a leash, losing a battle against the dog as it pulled him towards the smell of frying fish. BUTCHER and THERESA look at each other.

Finally, she turns her attention to the dog.

THERESA

That yours?

BUTCHER

More or less.

THERESA

What’s ‘is name?

BUTCHER gives a slight huff as if the question annoyed him.

BUTCHER

’aven’t given ‘im one. ‘S a dog, innit.

THERESA stares at him for a few breaths. Her attention breaks and focuses instead on wrinkly dog. Her voice goes several octaves higher.

THERESA

Come ‘ere then.

THERESA clicks her tongue against her teeth. The puppy, who has never in his short life obeyed a single instruction, immediately pulls his leash toward her with every ounce of strength he has. BUTCHER gets jerked forward and follows begrudgingly.

THERESA leans over the counter and gives the puppy a piece of battered fish. The dog takes the fish with surprising gentleness, then sits down in front of the stand and eats noisily.

THERESA

(to the dog)

Poor little sod. Look at ya. Bet ‘e ‘asn’t even been feedin’ ya proper.

BUTCHER

I feed ‘im. ‘E jus’ came from a fuckin’ beach holiday an’ a first class flight.

THERESA

(whispering conspiratorially)

I ‘ad a feelin’ ‘e’d be shite at it. Trust me, I know.

BUTCHER

Oi. ‘M right ‘ere.

THERESA

(Looking up at him)

I know where you are.

THERESA looks back down at the dog, now sleeping with his chin on his paws.

THERESA

Lester. That’ll be ‘is name.

BUTCHER

‘S no name fer a dog.

THERESA

Sure it is. Watch.

(in a sweet voice)

Lester!

The puppy looks up at her, as if that had been his name all along. Then he looks at BUTCHER before putting his head back down and promptly snoring.

THERESA is already back to work. She’s frying more fish and wiping down counters and organizing the cash box. She’s pointedly not looking at BUTCHER or LESTER anymore.

BUTCHER watches her work, his eyes focusing on her hands. He would always watch her hands when they were younger. She had fast hands, was always moving them.

FLASH - INT. TATTOO SHOP - LONDON - YEARS AGO

The sound of tattoo guns and blaring punk rock music is overwhelming. A close up on a young woman’s hands, short nails with chipped black paint tapping on the top of a red and black counter. It is THERESA, much younger, hair a tangled mess, makeup smudged. Her look suggests she spent the evening at a very sweaty concert.

Beside her: BILLY BUTCHER, also much younger, though still holding that characteristic disdain in his shoulders and expression. He is also sweaty and disheveled.

TATTOO ARTIST (V.O)

Alright. Who’s next?

THERESA and BUTCHER exchange a glance. Their faces break out in excited, equal smirks.

PRESENT DAY - EMBANKMENT - EAST LONDON

BUTCHER is loitering by the food stand. There is no other word for a man lingering in a place he has no business being. He looks up at the KEENE’S FISH FRY sign. It needs new paint.

BUTCHER

Still usin’ your dad’s sign.

THERESA

(Short, irritated. She hates small talk)

’is business, innit.

THERESA finally sighs, throws the rag she was using to clean down on the counter. She looks at BUTCHER. She has known this man a very, very long time. She knows he’s not there for a friendly visit. That has never been his way.

THERESA

What d’ya want, Billy?

BUTCHER looks away from her, out at the river instead. He is quiet for a long while.

BUTCHER

Dunno yet.

[butchersboobs]

[oopsieissues]

All is Bright

Billy Butcher x You TW: affair dynamics, general Butcher filth 18+ MDNI *read at your own risk*

Tags: @butchersboobs @newshoes-samedirt (Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future Butcher posts)

You don’t know why you did it. Somewhere between ‘fuck it, just do it’ and ‘how embarrassing’, you’d purchased a Christmas lingerie set. Red bow across your tits, strappy thing that barely covered the folds between your legs. Mini matching bows for the pigtails you’d done your hair up in. A belated Christmas gift to your—well, he wasn’t exactly yours, was he?—man.

“When m’I gonna get me present, luv?” He’d asked while he smoked a cigarette on Becca’s sister’s snowy back deck, the rest of the family inside and warm and oblivious to what he was doing. A bastard they’d disown if they knew.

“Santa’s running a bit late.” You said, sad that the holidays kept the two of you apart for so long, already formulating the plan that brought you to the Christmas lingerie rack a few days later.

Billy Butcher was not a man that anyone ever put themselves out there for like this. He’d been loved by plenty of women, but those women were independent and so sure of who they were, which is why it never really worked out. Not even with Becca, still waiting on him to be a better man. A Christmas wish she’d never see come true. You…you were sure of who you were, but that woman was the kind of woman who saw Butcher for what he was and didn’t wish for him to soften it. That didn’t make you better—you knew what you were, buying lingerie for a married man and waiting in the hotel for him. What it made you, for better or for worse, was the one who was chosen.

His giant hands curled around the base of each pigtail and gripped, hard enough to jerk your head back. He looked down at you, chin up like he was appraising something. He gave your ponies a small shake. “These are gonna fuckin’ kill me, these are.”

He didn’t let you take the outfit off. He made you keep it on while he laid beneath you, licking your slit slow and circular with the barely-there strings pulled to the side. You braced your hands against the hotel room wall and couldn’t help the moans that met the wall.

When he finally looked up at you from where he’d been enjoying himself, he smirked against the inside of your trembling thigh, wiping the wetness from his chin off on your skin. “Turn over.”

Merry fuckin’ Christmas to you, luv.

[butchersboobs]

HoHoHo yeah baby

[oopsieissues]

All is Bright

Billy Butcher x You TW: affair dynamics, general Butcher filth 18+ MDNI *read at your own risk*

Tags: @butchersboobs @newshoes-samedirt (Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future Butcher posts)

You don’t know why you did it. Somewhere between ‘fuck it, just do it’ and ‘how embarrassing’, you’d purchased a Christmas lingerie set. Red bow across your tits, strappy thing that barely covered the folds between your legs. Mini matching bows for the pigtails you’d done your hair up in. A belated Christmas gift to your—well, he wasn’t exactly yours, was he?—man.

“When m’I gonna get me present, luv?” He’d asked while he smoked a cigarette on Becca’s sister’s snowy back deck, the rest of the family inside and warm and oblivious to what he was doing. A bastard they’d disown if they knew.

“Santa’s running a bit late.” You said, sad that the holidays kept the two of you apart for so long, already formulating the plan that brought you to the Christmas lingerie rack a few days later.

Billy Butcher was not a man that anyone ever put themselves out there for like this. He’d been loved by plenty of women, but those women were independent and so sure of who they were, which is why it never really worked out. Not even with Becca, still waiting on him to be a better man. A Christmas wish she’d never see come true. You…you were sure of who you were, but that woman was the kind of woman who saw Butcher for what he was and didn’t wish for him to soften it. That didn’t make you better—you knew what you were, buying lingerie for a married man and waiting in the hotel for him. What it made you, for better or for worse, was the one who was chosen.

His giant hands curled around the base of each pigtail and gripped, hard enough to jerk your head back. He looked down at you, chin up like he was appraising something. He gave your ponies a small shake. “These are gonna fuckin’ kill me, these are.”

He didn’t let you take the outfit off. He made you keep it on while he laid beneath you, licking your slit slow and circular with the barely-there strings pulled to the side. You braced your hands against the hotel room wall and couldn’t help the moans that met the wall.

When he finally looked up at you from where he’d been enjoying himself, he smirked against the inside of your trembling thigh, wiping the wetness from his chin off on your skin. “Turn over.”

Merry fuckin’ Christmas to you, luv.

[butchersboobs]

HoHoHo yeah baby

[newshoes-samedirt]

Minor Misdemeanors [Officer Strode x FC] - Part 4 - Breach Of Peace

Summary: Inspired by this post, I just had to put together a series where our female protag keeps running into Officer Hank Strode. Warnings (This Part): Public Confrontation, Language Tags:@butchersboobs, @rainbowgirlrot, @enchantedflameandflower, @jynx15, @sillyfal34567 [please comment or drop me a message if you'd like to be tagged in later works] Also on AO3

She hurried through the street, a meeting ran over half of her lunch hour and she had a client calling her at 1pm sharp, so she’d had to rush out and find a quick lunch and a quick coffee before rushing back to the office to continue working.

She wouldn’t even be able to get a smoke in.

The smell of hotdogs assaulted her as soon as she was in the street, the cart just on the corner and only two people ahead of her.

Perfect.

She rushed up to join the queue, looking at the menu as she waited, checking her phone as the guy at the front took his time deciding whether he wanted relish, while the lady before her took a call and was unnecessarily loud while she was talking.

Some people were so fucking rude.

So she glanced at her phone again, looking at the time and when she looked up, some asshole in a suit had cut in front of her.

“Hey! The line’s back there.” She said, tapping him on the shoulder. “I was here first.”

“Uh, no you weren’t, I was.” He said, barely even looking at her.

“I was behind the lady on the phone, now get to the back of the line.”

He turned to look at the other people behind her. “Look lady, I’m in a hurry so -”

“And so am I, so’re half the people in the line, y’don’t get t’cut in.”

“Why’re you being such a bitch? It’s just hotdogs.”

“A bitch?” She repeated, loudly. “I ain’t bein’ a bitch, I’m makin’ sure assholes like you take their turn like everyone else learned to do back in kindegarden.”

A couple of people further back in the queue snorted, the man looked a little bit embarrassed.

“Jesus Christ, lady, it's a hot dog.”

“Then get to the back of the line and it'll be over.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll call the fuckin’ cops and tell’m some Temu-Keanu Reeves is bein’ an entitled asshole.”

The hot dog vendor looked up from the grill.

“Sir, she was here first.”

“Ma’am, get a move on,” An older woman behind them called out. “Some of us would like lunch before retirement.”

That got a laugh from half the queue.

“Not until this assholegets to the back o’the line.”

The man looked around at the faces staring back at him and seemed to realize he wasn't winning. Unfortunately, instead of moving, he started arguing louder.

“This is ridiculous. You need to get a life.”

“Oh, I’m the problem?” she asked.

“Lady, you're standing here making a scene over a damn hot dog.”

“Y’damn right, I’m makin’ a scene! You're the grown man cuttin’ lines because apparently waitin’ three whole minutes would kill you.”

A hushed silence fell over the queue as a voice started up, calm and composed from behind them.

“Hey now, what’s all this commotion about?”

She immediately closed her eyes with disdain, muttering a curse.

“Did she really call the cops over a hot dog?” Somebody whispered.

Officer Strode walked up the queue, surveying everyone as he passed before stopping beside her, thumbs hooked in his belt.

“Which one of you fine citizens is responsible for this disturbance?”

Half the queue pointed at her, she pointed at the man in front, who also pointed back at her. Strode looked her over, and shook his head, sighing dramatically.

“Ma’am, I’m disappointed.”

“I didn’t do anythin’!”

He stepped closer, a large hand sweeping vaguely towards the rest of the queue.

“That’s not what these poor traumatized people are tellin’ me…”

She rolled her eyes as that same hand swept closer and gently settled on the small of her back.

“Perhaps we need to have a little talk.”

“Me? Talk to him!” She snapped back.

“He’s not the one yelling at a police officer…” He said, the smug tone under his fake calm just managed to wind her up even more.

"Because he's the problem!"

"And yet here you are, still yellin'."

She huffed.

She knew he wasn't going to let this go and, with one last glare toward Temu-Keanu Reeves, she let him steer her away from the line.

“I’m going to be late for work.”

“It’ll only be a minute…”

He walked her a little way from the queue, she could see the insufferable grin on his face, the touch softening on her back, slipping to her waist as she turned to face him.

“You know disorderly conduct carries a fine.”

“So write me up and let me go.”

He released her and took out his pad and pen, flipping open the book and tapping the pen on the paper, pretending to look thoughtful, then put it back in his pocket.

“Nah…”

She rolled her eyes, and he couldn’t stop the smirk from tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh? And why not?”

“First offence…” He said. “Now go on, before I getcha for loitering.”

She made a sound of annoyance, but knew she only had a few minutes to get back to the office and glared at him once more before she ran back to work.

[butchersboobs]

Beautiful writings

[athornaday-deactivated20260704]

Slow #01| Undercover!Butcher x You | 18+

Summary: Billy Butcher is operating undercover as a pimp. He brings you into his stable, same as the others. What he’s not expecting, is the hell that follows loving a girl like you.

A/N: Not proofread. Dark themes ahead. 18+ MDNI. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Tags: @butchersboobs @newshoes-samedirt

The office lights were always kept low, dust particles like flecks of gold floating through the smoky haze. He could still see the bruises on the sides of Simone’s throat. He could see the way she moved with caution, grimacing in discomfort, and the way she stood before him now in shame, as if she were somehow responsible for it all.

“Which one of ‘em done it?” He asked from where he sat behind his desk, legs spread. He flicked ash into a pile on the wood. Wasn’t his furniture.

Standing next to Simone was another of his girls—Yuki. Her pink wig bounced about as she sprung on the balls of her feet, near-bursting at the seams with the information she had. “It was that fucker with the glasses.” 
 “The one what picked you up early?”

Simone nodded in response, wincing again with the movement. From a cold business angle, she couldn’t bring in money like that. From an ethical one…Billy Butcher wasn’t paid to operate from that kind of place.

“Take the day off. Do what ya gotta do to be able to work wivout complaint tomorrow.” He gestured at Yuki with the fingers holding his dwindling cigarette. “Stay wiv ‘er today. Good work bringin’ this to my attention. ‘E won’t be buyin’ yer services no more.”

He watched them fight the urge to exchange a glance, and instead saw them both nod and murmur their gratitude before leaving him alone in his office. Now he had to handle the situation he promised to handle. A quick glance at the clock on his computer screen told him it was 11:23 PM. With an unhappy grunt, he checked the day: Saturday.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell.” He groaned, lighting another cigarette before he picked up his phone (the burner in his coat pocket, never the landline on his desk) and dialed the only number he knew by heart. While he waited, he remembered her words: ‘On weekends, my grandchildren come to visit. You will not call me unless it is a most extreme emergency. Are we clear?’

Grace Mallory answered on the third ring. “William. You better be missing a leg.”

“Still got both, I’m afraid. I need another clean up.”

The sigh she let out lasted a long while, as if she were slowly deflating under the weight of his begrudging presence in her life. “You’re joking—“

“I got a girl comin’ to me wiv handprints the color of fuckin’ prunes on ‘er neck, an’ if I don’t do summink about it, the whole thing I been buildin’ falls apart. So do ya want me to do me fuckin’ job, or ya want me to play nice an’ make yer life easier?”

She took her time answering, though they both knew she wouldn’t deny him. Not when he had Karras’ party the following evening. “Can you make it look like an accident?”

He considered. Briefly. “I’d rather not.”

“And I’d rather not deploy an entire team for some low life who got a little rough with one of your girls. We have bigger fish to fry. Keep it to a two-man job.”

Billy Butcher grinned in the dark of his office, looking every bit the monster he was being paid to pretend to be. Or maybe he was being paid to be his most authentic self. Undercover work was often tricky in that way. “Thanks, Mum.”

“I’ve asked you not to call me that. Send me the location. I’ll have my guys there in two hours.”

Click.

Karras’ party was exactly what Butcher thought it’d be. Expensive appetizers that came from some exotic fish’s arse, expensive alcohol that could knock even Butcher out after more than two, and two women on either side of every skeevy prick in the room. Except for Butcher, who was leaning an unclaimed elbow on the bar, amber liquid in a glass in his hand. He gave it a swirl as he spoke casually through his earpiece.

“Splurged to get me this fuckin’ suit, but couldn’t spare a few extra to allow a man some company?”

Mallory’s voice, clipped and dry, spoke into his ear. “You have your entire stable at your disposal—have them all over after the job for a celebration. I need you focused.”

“On what?” Butcher carelessly kicked back the last of his drink. He smacked his lips, tapping the bar counter to request a refill from the bartender—a wiry young man with hair parted down the middle that looked like his uniform bow tie wasn’t his first time wearing one. “I know ‘ow to handle Karras. I’ll get ya the—“

“I need more than the address, William. I need you to convince Karras to bring you in.”

It took every ounce of effort to not raise his voice in the sea of dangerous individuals who would kill him without hesitation if they suspected him of wearing a wire. He took a deep breath, walked away from the bar without his second drink, and tucked himself into a corner near a tall potted palm plant. He counted the brown spots on the leaves—two, four, six…

Grace seemed to sense the danger of leaving him hanging on her last words too long. She steamrolled over whatever he was working up to say. “Not you. You won’t do more than bring him a girl for one of his projects.”

“One of ‘is—Yer askin’ me to volunteer one of my girls for tha’?”

“Not one of the girls already under your employ. I know you’ve developed a certain rapport with them that would be undermined should you request this of any of them. There’s a new girl I want you to bring on. She’s there at the party with you on the arm of one of Karras’ advisors. Make sure Karras sees you buying her from her handler. He’s not a big player in the game, he’ll take the money over keeping her.”

“Grace,” Butcher smirked at the plant, keeping his back to the crowd. All they’d see was a drunken fool at a party full of drunken fools staring at a plant in the corner. Maybe taking a piss in the soil. “Yer better at this than I am.”

“I’m thankful that’s not true.” Mallory murmured. “According to my sources, you can’t miss her. Obnoxious thing. Loud. She won’t put up a fight about the purchase. I’m told she’s looking for an upgrade in her employer.”

“An’ I’m that upgrade?”

“You’re certainly going to make her believe that.” He could hear Mallory barely holding back her own smirk.

Butcher thought about this. He thought about it for several long beats that could be felt awkwardly in the silence between them. He didn’t get the luxury of having an opinion, did he? The job was what it was, and he didn’t often get to play hero like he did with Simone. He would purchase the bait because that was expected of him. He would bring the bait to Karras and if she got lucky, he’d get her out before she became the next unfortunate victim in one of his projects. “What’s ‘er name?”

Happy taps greeted him the moment he stepped through the door to the loft owned. His dog, Terror, waddled across the polished hardwood, snorting with each breath as if even a single step cost him significant effort.

Butcher bent down with a tired smile, scratching through the dog’s wrinkles and folds, short sharp bits of fur going flying in all directions with each scratch. “‘Ad a better night than I did then, eh?”

He stood and stretched, letting out a string of intelligible curses. He had to be cautious when at full height—some of the low-hanging chandeliers Mallory had installed collided with him on more than one occasion. She’d already bitched about Terror’s drool habit staining the corners of her luxury sectional where he’d plop his chin and whine about not being allowed up on the furniture, he didn’t need her lecturing him about broken light fixtures too.

In the refrigerator, which was worth more than his car, he found not much more than beer. Should have taken advantage of those free fancy fish arse appetizers. He wasn’t willing to spend the evening hunched over the toilet by pouring beer on top of the liquor that was working its way through him, so he laid down on his very large, very warm, very empty bed and ignored the way his stomach rumbled.

He also ignored the images of you that kept popping up at the most inopportune moments.

Mallory had been right—you were difficult to miss. Shrink-wrapped in a mini dress made of golden flaps, standing barefoot on Karras’ marble coffee table and getting in the face of the man who had purchased your company, mocking his accent with a champagne flute in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other.

Butcher approached the scene with the kind of swagger that preceded a man of his reputation. He made a show of tilting his head back to look up at you where you remained standing on the table, hand on your hip. He made an even bigger show of requesting to speak with Vince about your price in front of Karras, which you noticed, of course, and tucked away for later use. 
 He was attempting to ignore what the dress had done to him. You were attempting to ignore the way your chest had gone tight when he looked at you—edge of his mouth curled up in a show of confidence and temptation. He didn’t smell of the kind of men you usually encountered, either. He smelled like a high. Dangerous.

Half a city away, you ignored the feelings that followed those thoughts.

[butchersboobs]

SMOOOOVE

[newshoes-samedirt]

Minor Misdemeanors [Officer Strode x FC] - Part 3 - Loitering

Summary: Inspired by this post, I just had to put together a series where our female protag keeps running into Officer Hank Strode. Warnings (This Part): None. Tags:@butchersboobs, @rainbowgirlrot, @enchantedflameandflower, @jynx15 [please comment or drop me a message if you'd like to be tagged in later works]

She hurried down the sidewalk, checking her watch as she went, only to find the salon dark when she reached it. A piece of paper taped to the glass read:

GONE TO LUNCH

“Oh, come on…” She complained.

She pulled out her phone and perched herself on the windowsill beneath the storefront, and did the mental mathematics to figure out if she’d be late back to work. Her appointment was in five minutes and shouldn’t take more than forty-five so if -

A quick blare of a siren startled her out of her thoughts. A squad car rolled up along the curb and Officer Strode stepped out, pulling on his hat as he approached. His thumbs hooked lazily in his belt, a smirk already curling his lips.

“Y’wanna tell me why you’re lurking suspiciously around this property?” “I have an appointment.” “Yeah yeah, that’s what they all say.” He leaned one arm against the windowframe beside her and glanced up at the salon. “Looks closed to me.” She hitched a thumb toward the sign on the window. “So y’thought you’d take the time to case the joint, huh?” She rolled her eyes and shifted her weight, her bag bumping lightly at his hip as she did. “Mind if I check that…?” He asked, other hand touching at the corner of the small handbag, fingers touching her waist. “Never know what kinda tools y’got in there.” “Don’t you have anythin’ better to do?” She asked, slipping the bag off her shoulder and handing it over. “Just trying to keep the streets safe, ma’am.” He said, opening the bag and peering in with exaggerated seriousness.

“Is there a problem, officer?” The owner of the salon asked as he approached, brows knit to see one of his regulars being searched outside his business.

Strode looked up, shut the bag, and handed it back.

“No problems here.” His eyes flicked back to her, amused. “Have a nice day, ma’am. Sir.”

She shook her head, trying not to smile as he tipped two fingers against the brim of his hat and headed back toward the squad car.

[newshoes-samedirt]

Fairytale of New York [Billy Butcher & OFC] - Chapter 3

Summary: Butcher gets dragged into a hidden Vought atrocity via a tiny, furious fairy. Warnings (This Part): Swearing. Cruelty to Fairies. Graphic descriptions of Violence. Tags:@butchersboobs, @rainbowgirlrot, @enchantedflameandflower, @jynx15 [please comment or drop me a message if you'd like to be tagged in later works] Also on AO3

When Ellara woke in the morning light. She didn’t feel rested and she was alone. She heard a grumble from somewhere below and stood up to look over the edge of the shoebox.

She was alone except for the dog.

The bed beside her hadn’t been disturbed. Butcher hadn’t slept at all. She could still hear him though, talking to another voice – no, two more voices - and her heart began to race again.

More Bigs.

She didn’t need more Bigs, she needed to save her friends and her family.

“Fuck that… I’ll do it on my own...” she muttered to herself and climbed out of the shoebox, then walked across the bedside table until she had no choice but to fly across the gap to the window.

She fluttered her wings, a bolt of pain shot through her, and she whimpered. Terror jolted awake at the sound. She sucked it up and made the initial jump.

Terror gave a bark as if he was telling her to stop.

She heard footsteps approaching the door, and stifled a pained yelp as her wings caught her, fluttering furiously for all of five seconds before she cried out and fell to the floor, landing on her shoulder and rolling with a gasp.

Terror whimpered and hurried toward her, and then away, circling worriedly as Butcher crossed the room.

“’Llara, wo’r’ya doin’?” he asked, concerned as he approached, sinking to one knee and gently shoving the dog aside.

She scrambled back, hanging onto the skirting board and glaring up at him, her glow flickering with her panicked heartbeat.

“Y’gonna show me off t’y’Big friends, huh?!” She asked, accusingly.

“Everythin’ alright, Butcher?” Another voice came from the door.

Butcher turned and Ellara took that moment to hide under the bedside table.

“She’s jus’ a lit’le spooked, is all…” Butcher said, and turned back to find her gone, but her light flickered from under the furniture and he sighed.

Terror whined softly and laid down beside the bedside table instead, nose pressed near the gap like he was trying to reassure her.

Ellara could see more feet cautiously crossing the floor.

“Butcher… yesterday wasn’t a great day, I know… Maybe y’hit the whiskey a little too hard.”

 Another two pairs of feet join the first.

“I didn’t ‘allucinate a fuckin’ fairy, M.” Butcher said firmly, then tried to crouch further and see her. “C’mon, love, y’makin’ me look stupid.”

A moment of silence where Frenchie and MM shared a look of concern. 

Then, from under the table:

“Y’looked stupid before I had anythin’ t’do with it.”

The silence that followed was loaded for a moment, but then MM gave a disbelieving laugh.

“Holy shit.”

~

“This is the biggest haul we’ve had in months.”

The scientists loaded the fairies into the tanks lining the wall one by one, sealing each thick glass lid tight. They both wore full hazmat gear because even now, after years of research, nobody was entirely sure what fairies were capable of. Which was why every captured specimen was sedated before removal from the transport jars.

Most of them barely moved.

“And they’re more spirited than usual.” The second scientist chuckled.

He watched as a purple fairy was still fighting, its tiny teeth sinking into the other scientist's thick leather glove as it twisted violently in his grip, wings buzzing uselessly while it tried to claw its way free.

“Y’tellin’ me…” The first said sourly, he finally got a proper hold on it and shoved the fairy into one of the tanks harder than necessary before slamming the lid shut.

“Should’ve worn the reinforced gloves.” The second said with a snort.

Once the tanks were sealed, they stripped off their outer gloves and hazmat layers before stepping into the observation room overlooking the containment chamber.

Machines hummed quietly around them, and monitors flickered.

The first scientist lit a cigarette while the other inspected the bite mark on his hand.

“Am I gonna get infected?”

“Nah,” The other replied casually, adjusting something on the control panel. “They’re basically just energy or some shit.”

Then, he grinned.

“You wanna see something cool?”

The first scientist raised an eyebrow. “What?”

The second scientist pressed a few buttons on the console and the tank with the purple fairy lit up while all the others went dark. Only the dim orbs of light from the fairies themselves could be seen. He pointed a microphone towards his coworker.

“Say you don’t believe in fairies.”

“The fuck does that do?”

“Just do it.”

He shrugged then leaned in.

“I don’t believe in fairies.”

The reaction was immediate.

The fairy convulsed violently, there was a flash of white light and then purple, glittery, blood splattered across the inside of the tank walls.

“Huh, cool.”

~ Ellara had stepped out cautiously from under the bedside table and met four staring faces.

Butcher looked smug, as if to say ‘I told you so’. MM, bewildered, eyes wide but brow drawn. Kimiko, pure shock, mouth open without a sound but Frenchie was smiling. 

He was in awe and slowly leaned on Butcher’s bed to lower himself to the floor.

She slunk back under the table.

“These are me mates ‘Llara.” he says reassuringly. “I told ‘em ev’ryfin’, they’re gonna ‘elp getcha family back.”

“This is insane.” MM muttered, only to receive an admonishing shove from Kimiko.

“C’mon…” Butcher said softly, laying out his palm. “Y’can trust me and the Boys.”

 Ellara hesitated.

Then she slowly stepped back out.

She stayed firmly behind Butcher’s hand though, both tiny hands gripping his thumb like she could use it as a shield between herself and the others.

“I don’t like the way that one’s lookin’ at me.” She said, glancing at Frenchie.

“No one likes it.” MM agrees, clipping Frenchie round the ear. “Y’freakin’er out.”

“You’re not amazed to see a real life Fairy?!” Frenchie asked, then looked at her with said amazement. “… C’est magnifique...”

She climbed into Butcher’s palm and the atmosphere relaxed, just a little. She held on, wings shifting for balance, making her wince, as he got to his feet and ushered everyone out of his bedroom.

They regrouped in the kitchen where Frenchie immediately tried to make breakfast, Butcher told him to fuck off and took over instead, putting Ellara on the kitchen island where she sat down and watched them carefully as Butcher set about making breakfast, telling the others about their earlier walk.

Soon the kitchen smelled of bacon grease and burning toast as the kettle boiled loudly in the background.

“An’ y’sure it was Vought?” MM asked.

“’Llara says her tree was tore up, we look at all the public construction permits in the last week and I bet we find Vought.”

Frenchie sat on the other stool, chin rested on his arms crossed on the counter, watching the fairy with fascination.

“What do you eat, mon petite etoile?” He asked quietly.

She tried to ignore him.

“How did they even know that there were Fairies in New York?” MM asked.

“’Specially as the colonies are getting’ smaller.” Ellara added.

That got everyone’s attention, until Butcher glanced at his phone.

“Hughie’s ‘ere,” Butcher said over his shoulder. “Kimiko, le’im in.”

Kimiko nodded and went to open the door, letting Hughie in before he even knocked.

“Hey guys, what’s so urge—”

He stopped dead and stared at Ellara.

Ellara stared back.

“…What the fuck is that?”

“That?!” Ellara gave a flicker of red. “That’s a fuckin’ fairy, y’wanna make somethin’ of it?!”

“Oh Shit! No! Uh, I’m sorry -” He threw his hands up in defence. “I didn’t mean- I just -”

Butcher barked a laugh and shoved a plate in front of her. “Hughie, Ellara. ‘Llara, this is Hughie.”

Her anger faded as she looked surprised at Butcher. “This for me?”

He just nods as MM starts to think and Hughie takes a plate and a seat. “So how many colonies are there?”

“Now?” She shrugged. “I’unno. Fifty… maybe less…”

“Jesus…”

Frenchie was still amazed. “And you have never been discovered?”

“Well, not never.” She admitted. “Mostly kids find us.” 

“And Butcher.” MM said with a smirk. 

“Don’t remind me.” She said. “Worst  fuckin’ night o’my life.”

Butcher snorted into his coffee.

“Do all of you glow?”

“Frenchie,” MM warned.

“What? Is it bioluminescence or magie? I am just curious!”

The questions kept coming.

Ellara barely got two bites into her breakfast before another one landed.

Terror whined and whuffed for bacon, Butcher swore at him.

Hughie kept glancing at her every few seconds like he couldn’t help himself.

“You said the colonies are gettin’ smaller…” MM pressed. “How long has that been goin’ on?”

Ellara swallowed hard.

“Since before I was around…”

“How old are you?” Frenchie asked, receiving a shove from Kimiko and an angry signing of ‘that’s not important’. “It could be.”

“And you thought it was just human progression?” Hughie asked. “Destroying your homes?”

“Well what else would it be?!” she snapped suddenly.

Everyone paused.

Her glow pulsed brighter.

“You Bigs were jus’ makin’ everythin’ worse, same as always!” she continued, words tumbling faster now. “Cuttin’ down trees, poisonin’ the water, buildin’ over everythin’ ‘til there’s nowhere left t’go!”

“But now they’re taking you,” MM said.

Silence fell for half a second.

Ellara’s shoulders tightened.

“If it wasn’t them to begin with…” Frenchie countered softly.

The words hit her like a slap.

“But why?” Hughie asked. “What the hell would Vought want with Fairies?”

The room went quiet again.

“… Fuck me…”

“What?” MM asked.

“It’s the V.” Butcher said, looking between them and receiving mixed reactions.

“What? Y’sayin’ Compound V, the thing Vought’s been usin’ t’make Supes since the 50s is Fairy Dust?” MM asked incredulously.

“We don’t have dust…” Ellara said tense and quiet, almost unheard.

“O’course! Vought finds the fairies an’ harvests the dust,” He doesn’t see how she flinches at the word ‘harvest’. “Shoots up a buncha humans wivvit an’ it gives’m powers, slap a logo and a million dollar price tag on it and boom!”

The room suddenly felt too small.

Ellara’s breathing quickened.

The kitchen grew too loud. Too warm.

The kettle and the clink of cups.

The frying pan.

The scrape of forks and the clatter of plates.

Burnt toast.

Terror whining.

Questions.

Voices.

Bigs.

Too many Bigs.

“And if they’ve been harvesting colonies for years,” MM started carefully. “There might not be many fairies left.”

Something in Ellara went very still.

Hughie noticed her first.

“Uh…”

Her glow had stopped flickering.

Now it was building, brighter and brighter until she wasn’t visible within it.

“Ellara?” Hughie asked carefully.

“They’re not gone…” she said quietly.

The overhead light buzzed loudly and Butcher looked over immediately, closing in carefully.

“‘Llara…?”

“They’re not gone!”

The bulb above the counter burst, Frenchie, Butcher and MM scrambled back to avoid the shower of sparks.

Ellara stood abruptly, breathing hard now as light spilled from her body in violent flashes, arcing to everything around her, scorching the counter top, a mug exploded, a plate cracked in two, cutlery burned red hot and skittered to the floor.

Terror yelped and made a run for it.

“Y’sittin’ there talkin’ like they’re already dead!” she shouted.

Every light in the apartment flickered violently.

The air suddenly felt wrong, heavy and sharp with panic, but not theirs. Hers.

They could feel her fear, her grief, her desperation.

“They’re alive!” Ellara cried, tears running now. “I c’n still feel’em, they’re scared an’ they’re hurt an’ y’talkin’ about it like it’s NOTHIN’!”

The toaster exploded behind Butcher with a loud bang.

Hughie yelled in fright and Terror howled from where he’d hidden.

“Oi!” Butcher snapped sharply.

Ellara flinched, gasped and her glow dimmed instantly.

A stunned silence fell upon them.

Ellara stared at all of them breathing hard and looked around at the damage she had done. Horrified.

Then she turned to face Butcher, expecting him to be angry. Expecting him to squish her.

“I – I’m sorry… I-”

He gave a short breath and offered his hand.

“It’s alright, love.” He said as she climbed silently into his palm, sitting, staying small. “Y’dealin’ wiv some big fings righ’ now… an’ y’r only lit’le.”

Ellara slept for the rest of that day. Butcher returned her quietly to her shoebox and helped her settle, reassuring her that none of them were angry with her and that by the time she woke up that evening, they’d have a plan.

When he returned from the bedroom he was surprised to see the windows open, and most of the mess cleared already, Frenchie was even inspecting the damage on the toaster, though he had it in bits on the coffee table.

“So, what’s the plan?” MM asked as Butcher joined them, accepting a fresh coffee from Kimiko. “We rock up to Vought and ask if they’ve seen Tinkerbell lately?”

Butcher glared at him.

“Y’might have something, with that V idea.” Hughie said. “That power… wasn’t that kinda like Starlight’s... with the electricity?”

The others nodded, except for Kimiko, who signed a clear ‘no’.

“You don’t think so?” Frenchie asked her, and he translated as she signed. “Starlight’s power draws from the power around her. Ellara’s is more natural, more emotional.”

Terror waddled over and flumped between Butcher’s feet and he absently pet the dog as they took that information in.

“We gotta prove Vought took’em.” Butcher said, thinking aloud.

“Like you said before, we can check public construction permits,” MM said. “Might not be obvious, but with enough diggin’ we can probably find Vought.”

“If there was CCTV in that alley, we could see what happened…” Hughie suggested. “You said it was behind a buncha stores, right?”

Butcher nodded.

“Perhaps it would help if we learned a little more about fairies?” Frenchie said, screwing the toaster back together. “It might offer some insight into why Vought wants them?”

“And we c’n find the site where ‘Llara’s tree was, see if there’s anyfin’ there.” Butcher scrubbed at his chin.

MM nodded, this was sounding like a plan and a small glimmer of hope spread through them.

“Alright.” Butcher said with finality. “Frenchie, Kimiko ‘ead down t’the library. Hughie, the CCTV.”

“They’re probably privately owned, I’ll go to the stores first.”

“M, you an’ me, will check out the site and’ see ‘oo’s doin’ the diggin’.”

MM nodded and got to his feet, Frenchie replaced the toaster in the kitchen, Hughie got out his phone.

Butcher craned over to Terror, scratching behind his ears. “Gonna need y’t’stay ‘ere, son, keep an eye on lit’le ‘Llara, yeah? Keep ‘er safe.”

He let the dog waddle off towards the bedroom, watching him briefly before standing and getting ready to leave.

“We all know wot we’re doin’?” He asked, opening the door without waiting for an answer. “Then off we go.”

[butchersboobs]

♥️

[butchersboobs]

I have clawed myself free from the pit of eternal despair to finaly pay tribute to my dearly departed #billybutcher, by sharing some of my favourite wholesome Butcher quotes with you...

[athornaday-deactivated20260704]

The Power o’ Three #2 | Captain Francisco Connors x OFCs | 18+ MDNI READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

A gift for my loves. Our power knows no bounds. 🖤 thank you for the art and everything else @butchersboobs @newshoes-samedirt

A/N: Three witches fall in love with the infamous Captain Connors, and have to figure out what to do when they discover his lover left him for dead in Cayman Brach. Not proofread. 18+ MDNI READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

SIX MONTHS LATER

“God rest ye merry gentlemen

Let nothing you dismay

Remember Christ our Savior

Was born on Christmas Day

To save us all from Satan's pow'r

When we were gone astray

Oh tidings of comfort and joy

Comfort and joy

Oh tidings of comfort and joy”

They were all singing, off-key and off-time, and something about it grate on the sisters’ nerves more than usual. Their parents, feigning pleasantries to maintain what little favor they’d won through lies and manipulation, were hosting the holiday as they did every year. Christmas Eve was a time for family, celebrating, togetherness, and yet amidst all the warm cider and hollow gift exchanges, Becks, Becky and Moxie huddled together in their room above the merriment, locked in melancholy.

Becks stood in a lavish velvet gown the color of her lips: a deep smooth crimson. Lace trim traced around her wrists, her collar, her feet. It was the gown she would wear to present herself to Bennet’s family, as if she were a Christmas gift herself. They would approve of her presentation, approve of her smothering herself to be digestible, and on Christmas morning she would be married. Trapped. Her fingers picked worriedly at the skin of her lips.

”’E said Christmas. ‘E said ‘e’d be ‘ere.”

Becky looked up from where she was sitting on the edge of her bed, surrounded by satchels and her journal. She was doing inventory, making sure she had everything they’d need to disappear with Connors when he arrived. Elixirs to help with water travel sickness, protective potions that would temporarily alter their appearance should someone recognize them, and the like. She’d been preparing for days, and now all that was left to do was wait.

She tried for comfort and kindness. “At least you’ll look beautiful when he gets here.”

Becks let out a dejected sigh, unable to even attempt gratitude. Her worried, teary eyes found Moxie, who’d been most unusually quiet. The littlest sister sat on the cushioned bench in their giant bedroom window, her own plaid Christmas gown she was to wear for the wedding falling off her shoulders with places already shredded from where she tried to make it less itchy. Her chin rested on her knees, sad tired eyes watching.

Snow had been falling since the previous night, leaving a bright thick layer of shimmering white over everything. Her skin erupted in goose-pimples from the frozen air seeping through the smallest cracks between wood and glass. She looked more sallow than normal, occasionally muttering something to herself in that rough way she had. She hadn’t been eating or sleeping right since…

Since the town constable had paid a visit a few days earlier. He’d been summoned by Becks’ own fiancé. They exchanged quiet words, though all three witches made sure to hear them. “Concerns” about Moxie, the strangest and most unruly of the sisters. How maybe, it wouldn’t be best if Moxie was “seen to” by professionals after the wedding. Becks heard the word “asylum” and nearly brought the whole house down around them. She would have, if it hadn’t been for Moxie pulling her back, small hands gripping to her sister, whispering frantically.

”They won’t get me. The Captain’s comin’.”

Except he didn’t. He wasn’t fucking here. He promised and he wasn’t here.

Moxie reached out and pushed hard on the near-frozen window, letting in the cold air that hit like a slap across their faces. Frustrated, she shed the tattered gown—it would only weigh her down now. She climbed out onto the pointed roof in just her shift dress now, bare feet ankle-deep in fresh snow.

“Moxie, for fuck’s sake—“ Becks made a move to fetch her sister, lip quivering, but she didn’t make it in time.

Moxie was already climbing down the siding of the house, scratching sounds from her nails digging into the paint mostly covered up by the family’s laughter and chatter below. She was murmur-singing in that ugly guttural voice that meant there was her kind of magic afoot. The death kind.

Becks and Becky huddled around the open window, arms around one another to keep warm, or to comfort, either way it wasn’t working. Both were filled with too much worry, too much despair. They stood helplessly, watching their baby sister moving like a wraith through the snow.

She stood like that for what felt like hours: still at the edge of their garden, eyes blank and staring far away like she was watching something play across her vision. Her wild hair was matted with damp snow, fingers curling and uncurling at her sides painfully as the cold settled into her bones. Still she did not move.

Until something else did.

Something bright against the endless expanse of white moved through the frozen, dead plants. Slow, like it cost everything to move. A lizard, a tropical one at that: bright green with orange and red markings, big bulging eyes that looked panicked, frantically swiveling to find what it had traveled all this way to find:

Moxie. She knelt down, knees and dress immediately soaking up the sloshy cold of the ground. Her hands reached out, tentative and shaking, until the lizard labored its way to her palms. Her breath hitched when it collapsed on its side in her hold, sides heaving, small lizard breaths coming in desperate gasps. It wasn’t supposed to be alive, it wasn’t, not really. Not anymore. The lizard gave one more great, heaving little shudder and was gone.

She knew what this meant. The poor thing had forced itself to carry the message across miles of frozen wasteland—or had she forced it, with the power she had no true control over? It had sacrificed itself so she could know the truth—or had she sacrificed it for her own selfishness? It felt like she might vomit up the rot of what her magic caused. What it was.

Finally, when her lips and nailbeds were paled from the cold, Moxie stood. Her shoulders were tense, her sisters could see that even from way up in their window, still clinging to one another. Something was wrong. Moxie’s face was streaked with icy tears, eyes red and rageful.

She opened her mouth to speak, but it stretched too wide, opened like a pit meant to swallow all the light that was left in the world to make up for her pain. The pain of her sisters. His pain. The voice that came from the void inside her was less human, more animal. It didn’t scream, it didn’t shout, it didn’t hold any emotion at all. It projected with fullness, a sonic event that brought on all the rest of what would turn this holiday celebration into something horrific.

“He’s dead.”

Every window in the house shattered. The party downstairs erupted into screams of terror as glass exploded inward, shards slicing through skin and velvet and lace all the same. The music halted, the candles all extinguished at once, cloaking the home in dangerous, sharp emptiness.

LATER THAT NIGHT

They were running. Their lungs were screaming, their feet ached, their minds raced with exactly how they were going to get out of this. How they could fix this. But they weren’t three powerful witch sisters for nothing—Becky was already running through the inventory of her internal collection of potions. Becks was already thinking up lies, ways of spinning tales that kept them out of trouble. And Moxie…

Well, Moxie was a bit preoccupied, wasn’t she?

Their parents had been furious and humiliated, apologizing to Bennet’s family as if the family dog had taken a piss on Bennet’s mother’s dress. Bennet, who saw this as an opportunity to separate his future bride from her sisters, had already summoned the constable. Clearly Moxie was too dangerous to be left free even to attend her sister’s wedding. They had an hour to disappear without a trace before the proper authorities arrived to fetch Moxie. To take her away. Forever.

So they made way for the docks, through the snow and wind, cloaks wrapped around them best they could to disguise themselves. It would work in a quick pinch, but if either of their parents were assisting the constable in seeking them out, they’d be recognized instantly. Leaving town and crossing an ocean was the only way.

Besides, there was someone waiting for them that needed tending to.

“I’ll pay triple what yer askin’—“

”In this weather? I’d not take ya anywhere in this. You’re mad.”

Becks shoved the coins back into their satchel, movements jerky and frustrated. Becky wasn’t having much luck, either.

“Love potions, strength elixirs. I even got somethin’ that’ll make your cock hard for hours, anythin—“

”Three women, no chaperone? Absolutely not. Ya want the constable to take my head?”

It was Moxie who managed to secure their passage. The vessel was small, hardly room for three more bodies, but the captain was an older woman, skin weathered like driftwood on the sea. Her long silver hair was braided down her back, wrapped in stolen furs and heavy leathers as she barked orders at the two-man crew.

Captain Aherne took one look at the lizard still held in Moxie’s hands and sighed. Her voice was rough from smoke and yelling over the sea for years. “There’s nothin’ good that comes from sailin’ to that bluff.”

Moxie didn’t ask how she knew, didn’t ask what she meant. She knew what waited for them when they landed in Cayman Brach: Captain Francisco Connors’ corpse, stabbed through the middle and bloated with rot.

“Still need to get there.”

The old woman’s eyes found the other sisters, who had gravitated closer and were hovering a few paces behind Moxie, waiting with tired eyes for news. She looked again at the lizard lying limp in this wild thing’s hands. She possessed no incredible abilities, except for the one that could assess a situation or a person without missing a detail. It wasn’t magic, but it was the power Captain Aherne was gifted by the gods, and she wouldn’t waste it. These women needed help, she could smell the fear like shit on her shoe.

“Double my rate. I won’t promise you a smooth or speedy trip, but I can get ya there.”

All three witches perked up at the sudden turn of the tides. They…they were getting away. The constable wouldn’t take Moxie, Becks wouldn’t be forced to marry Bennet, Becky wouldn’t be left all alone without her sisters, at the mercy of parents who had no interest in being good to their daughter. Away.

Becks shoved more gold than she bothered to count at the woman, Becky was spilling gratitude as she climbed aboard, and Moxie stood with her lizard, showing his empty eyes the oars of the boat, the ocean, the horizon far off that was beginning to glow with the dull hues of winter morning. Christmas morning.

Captain Aherne shuffled them towards the door in the floor, resuming her barking and handing out instructions. “Get ‘em below deck before someone sees. And get the little mad one some shoes.”

THE JOURNEY

Winter waters were not a simple matter. Snow near the mainland turned to sleet, angry waves crashing over the sides of the weak boat. Creaks and groans and the sound of water leaking slowly through unplugged holes like dreary Christmas tunes accompanied them. Becky was handing out her ginger elixir like candy to keep them from falling ill at the boat’s rough movements.

Becks’ engagement dress was soaked through now, more a trap of potential sickness at this point, velvet ruined, lace stained. She found she hardly noticed the discomfort—her arms were locked around Moxie, holding the shivering witch and keeping her from causing more trouble on the tiny boat.

Captain Aherne eventually made her way below deck, staring at the puddles on the floor, the discarded herbs that were keeping the women from being further miserable, the way they clung to one another in relief and fret both. She let out a sigh, leaning against the nearest plank wall like she hadn’t taken a load off in years. They knew that posture well—their beloved Francisco Connors held himself the same way. It was, they supposed, the cost of a life at sea.

“Wanna tell me what that little fella’s doin’ here?”

Moxie looked down at the lizard in her hands. He’d grown cold and stiff by then, but she wouldn’t let him down until he was back home. She shook her head, jaw clenching to try to stop the quivering of her lip. It was Becky who took the responsibility of sharing their story with the woman.

“There’s…a man.”

“A pirate?” They all froze, looking up at Aherne in wonder. She knew an awful lot, this Captain. She gave a knowing smirk and waved her hand for Becky to continue. “S’always a pirate involved when women take to the sea.”

”Well, yes. He’s-he’s a pirate. A Captain.”

Aherne raised her eyebrows and whistled in mockery. ”A Captain, eh? Well why ain’t ya on his ship, then?”

“We were s’posed to be,” Moxie spat, face twisted in offense and anger at the woman’s callous approach to the conversation. “He—“

”We’re worried ‘e’s been ‘urt or…” Becks trailed off, lowering her voice when Moxie made a sound like she’d been skewered.

Captain Aherne chewed on her dry, peeling lower lip as she took in the information. They weren’t giving her much, but she could deduce well enough. Weren’t too many Captains causing women to fall over themselves stupid like these three—running away from home, with hardly any belongings, desperate enough to throw away a life’s savings on this one trip to Cayman Brach…

Cayman Brach. She’d heard that name recently. She picked through her memories—of which there were so many, and leaned forward when it came to her.

”You’re some of Captain Connors’ girls.” She didn’t wait for the confirmation she didn’t need. That man had women in every fuckin’ port from coast to coast. They were all the same: stupid women enamored with a man who wouldn’t give them more than a venereal disease. She gave a great sigh. “Won’t get no pleasure out of tellin’ you this…but I heard word around the ports that the Captain’s been killed.”

The sisters all exchanged glances. Teary, devastated glances. They’d known, of course, Moxie’s magic was never wrong. But they’d held hope, hadn’t they? Even as her little hands kept the dead lizard close, even as the bubbling guilt in her stomach reminded her of what had been sacrificed to give her the truth, Moxie had held out hope it was farce.

Becky lifted her chin, jaw set. “Are there rumors of who’s responsible?”

“Ah.” The Captain gave another sigh. Should’ve stayed up on deck and enjoyed the silence with her crew. Men who had been trained and paid well enough to know not to disturb her. “I’ll not lie—your Captain had plenty of lovers on his travels. You three seem like smart ones, I’m sure you know that. There’s talk of Bloody Mary, one of the Captain’s many conquests, bein’ the one to do it.”

Moxie gave a giggle. An actual giggle. At a time like this. She leaned over the lizard corpse in her lap and whispered excitedly to it, so low and fast no one but the creature would have heard. Whispers of exchange, magic and death.

The air below deck grew thick, like moisture that hadn’t been there before was congregating in a suffocating cloud around them. Aherne felt it, knew it meant nothing good for her or her crew, should she get too close to it. She made the wise decision and moved to return to her crew. She looked over her shoulder at the soaked, disheveled, mourning sisters.

“Whatever you’re plannin’ to do up on that bluff? Keep it off my ship. I don’t want no part of your dark business, you understand?”

Oh tidings of comfort and joy…

[athornaday-deactivated20260704]

The Power o’ Three | Captain Francisco Connors x OFCs | 18+ MDNI READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

A gift for my loves. Our power knows no bounds. 🖤 thank you for the art and everything else @butchersboobs @newshoes-samedirt

A/N: Three witches fall in love with the infamous Captain Connors, and have to figure out what to do when they discover his lover left him for dead in Cayman Brach. Not proofread. 18+ MDNI READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

“Should we be worried about the shop?”

“I heard he slaughters babes in their mothers’ arms just for laughs.”

“Heard he’s got a girl in every port, too.”

The air buzzed with rumors: Captain Francisco Connors and his crew would be arriving at port that night. The ship’s impossible masts and gigantic sails had been spotted silhouetted against the dwindling sun. Many families retired to their homes early, locking the doors and pulling closed their lacy curtains. The tavern knew the night would yield a massive profit, so Anita, the barmaid, made sure to have all the best ales ready to pour. Local law enforcement knew they were outnumbered, knew they could not stop Connors and his men, so they held their children tight and remained quiet in hopes of being overlooked.

Three women had an entirely different view of the approaching ship. They lounged in the bedroom of their childhood home, discussing Captain Connors and all the stories they’d heard over the years.

Becky, the middle sister, hovered over a small chipped wooden table she used for apothecary workings, eyes narrowed in concentration as she carefully dropped ten drops of a clear liquid into three separate glass vials. She’d been working tirelessly for days, leaving the rose petals out beneath the moon, soaking cotton in spring water, and now—

”Everyone ready t’ get pricked?” Becky snickered, holding up the vials in her hands and presenting one to each of her other sisters to take for themselves.

The girls whooped and hollered, clambering over the furniture, layered ruffled skirts hiked high as they did so. Moxie, the youngest, swiped her vial and with her other hand brandished a thin, shiny pin, the tip just sharp enough to draw a single bead of blood from a finger. There was no hesitation—she pressed it hard and quick to her finger, grinned through the sting, and squeezed a drop of her own blood into the vial in her hand. To be loved for who I am.

Becks, the oldest, went next. She lingered with the pin, letting it sink deeper into the pad of her finger, eyes dark and intense as she watched the crimson bead at the wound. She, too, let a drop fall into her own vial, the liquids dancing in mesmerizing swirls before they settled into an almost milky red. To be loved with intensity.

Last was Becky, watching her sisters carefully, being sure they made no mistakes. The instructions were specific and quite clear: any deviation and the perfume would not work. They couldn’t have that, could they? When it was her turn to drop her own blood into her vial, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, thinking of what it would mean to succeed at this. To be loved without waver.

”On the pulse points.” Becky directed, demonstrating. She shook the vial, one finger covering the top to prevent spillage. Then she dabbed the perfume on her neck, her wrists, behind her ears. The scent wasn’t one they could sense—it was a recipe to amplify their pheromones. If attraction were to be had between the sisters and this Captain Connors, this would merely give it a bit of a boost. True attraction could not be manufactured.

“Better get our best on, girls.” Becks announced, grunting as she tightened the ribbons of her corset to enhance her bosom further. She gave her shoulders a little shimmy to smile down at her own figure.

Moxie was already shedding the extra layers of the flouncy dress her family forced her into for appearances. All the way until she was left only in her shift and the tights she ripped climbing the fence in the garden earlier that day. “Think he’s as good as they say?”

”Better, even.” Becks replied. She sighed dreamily, already comparing the way the anticipation of Connors was better than anything she’d felt for her fiancé Bennet, whom she was expected to marry before the year’s end. Not if she and her sisters had anything to do with it, that was for sure.

The final candle in their parents’ house had been blown out, and the final settling sounds of everyone going to bed had ceased. The night was well in hand now, and their adventure just beginning. One by one, they slipped out the side door in the washroom and began the short trek through the thick summer blanketed air to the tavern by the docks.

A sound of utter awe escaped Moxie as they began the journey. She pointed out over the hill at the docks: towering at an intimidating height even from a distance, was Captain Connors’ ship. He’d arrived, and by the looks and sounds of it, he and his crew had found their way to The Salty Wench.

THE SALTY WENCH

The girls were no strangers to Anita and her tavern. It seems the woman behind the counter hadn’t aged a day in all the years they’d been coming in. When they were younger they’d sneak in to nick honey cakes from the kitchen before Anita had even opened to the public. As they grew older they’d sneak in to get drunk and pretend for a night that they were as free and wild as they desired to be. Anita didn’t care either way, so long as they didn’t cause trouble.

Well, a relative meaning of the word, anyway. They were certainly bringing trouble through those doors that night, weren’t they? All that magic seeping off of them if you really knew where to look for it. Like a fingerprint, or a signature.

Captain Connors was a beacon at the tavern that night. His boots were kicked up on one of Anita’s largest tables, a bottle of whiskey in one hand that likely cost more gold than most made in a fortnight. He was surrounded by his crew and an assortment of women.

When the sisters’ eyes found him, they drew in a collective breath. For the tales of the Captain’s many women and dangerous conquests were plentiful, but none spoke of his beauty. His skin held age the way an oyster held a pearl: breathtaking and perfect. He was tanned from the journeys at sea, long days commanding his crew beneath the blazing sun. His dark hair was streaked with grey and curling at his collar. His stormy hazel eyes, intense even from a great distance, met theirs through the haze from his pipe.

Becky smiled. Gotcha.

No great moves were made right away. Both parties were far too cunning for that. The sisters took a table in the center—close enough to be noticed, far enough to make him work for it. He would in all but ten minutes. Becky’s perfume’s effectiveness proof of her magnificent abilities. While they waited, they drank. Well, Becks and Becky sipped on wine. Moxie just stared at the Captain through the curtain of messy curls in her face.

“He’s comin’.”

The Captain pushed back from his table, tossing back the rest of his whiskey with a loud SMACK of his lips before sauntering over to their table. He plopped down in the fourth chair with an air of someone who had lived his whole life taking whatever he wanted.

“Y’know, I once met a genie off the coast o’ Morocco. Asked ‘im fer more women than I could handle. Didn’t think he’d deliver ‘em all at once, like. An’ sisters, no less.”

Becks raised an eyebrow, smirking as she took her final sip of wine, licking her lips clean of the dark rich liquid. “Presumptuous, aren’t ya, Captain?”

“Ah, ye know who I am, then. An’ who, might I ask, are ye?”

”Everyone knows who you are.” Moxie said, matter of fact and sudden, as if she couldn’t contain herself. She shrunk a little, shoulders hunching when he turned his gaze to her, slow and assessing. Her voice was much smaller when she spoke again. “I’m Moxie.”

He got all their names before buying them another round. While they drank more, he learned more about them. He learned of Becks’ dreaded engagement and her longing for freedom. He learned of Becky’s desire to learn and grow wild, her goal to develop an elixir of life that she would share with her sisters (he didn’t admit it then, but the thought certainly crossed his mind to nick a vial for himself, should she ever succeed). And he would learn of the horrific misunderstanding that was Moxie, and how their parents thought it best if she spent the rest of her days in an asylum, getting the help she so clearly needed for her unruly behavior. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before—betrayal, longing, hunger. Yet he was captivated by them all the same.

“So,” Becky set her third glass down, eyes heavy and lips loose. “Which one of us d’you think you’re takin’ home tonight, then? Since you’re so confident.”

Connors leaned forward, elbows on the table, giving each of them a pointed look, grin plastered on. “Who says I have t’ choose?”

Becks let out a soft laugh, tilting her head at him. She leaned forward herself, making sure he had a delicious view down her front. “Think ya can handle all three of us, Captain?”

“Reckon I’ll manage.”

Suddenly his hand was being grabbed by Moxie’s much smaller ones, and she was tugging him up from the chair, surprisingly strong for such a small thing. For just a second, the pirate looked genuinely surprised. Like maybe he hadn’t expected this all to go quite so smoothly. He’d never tempted fate with three women at the same port, before. But then he stood to his full height, and gestured for them all to follow him back to his ship.

ABOARD THE SHIP

Moxie was on him the second the door to the Captain’s quarters closed. She was propped on her knees on the edge of his bed, still barely his height, fingers making quick messy work of undoing the laces on his shirt. Meanwhile, Becks and Becky got themselves settled, flipping through the charts on his desk with mild interest, opening up chests in corners they shouldn’t and pulling out strange items.

The Captain glanced back at them while helping Moxie with the laces on his trousers, as she was growing impatient and huffing like she might cry from embarrassment. “Ye plannin’ on providin’ commentary, or…?”

“Jus’ pretend we’re not here.” Becky said, almost bored. She held up an hourglass with blood red crystals inside, turning it this way and that to watch them tumble in the lantern light.

There was a snarl and a startled grunt that turned into satisfied relinquishment as Moxie took him into her mouth, sloppy and loud. Connors shook his head, trying to concentrate on one thing at a time. There were other women in the room, judging him in this very moment.

“No’ as easy as ye’d think, deary.”

Becks smirked as she stabbed a blade she found into a random spot on a map. “You’ll manage, Captain. Ya said so yourself.”

He kept Moxie under him, her arms and legs wrapped around him like she was holding tight to a tree while he sunk into her, her sounds more animalistic than human when she keened. She gripped the back of his head so hard at one point he felt her sharp nails break the skin of his scalp. He grunted again at the quick sharp pain, shoving himself all the way into her with one brutal thrust in retaliation. She trembled and came around him just like that.

“Again.” Moxie muttered against his neck, still hanging onto him. She was shaking and fluttering around him still.

By all that was holy, he was trying not to finish already. He had two more beautiful women to tend to. He gave a chuckle that held an edge, peeling her from him with a strong, firm grip. She whined like a kicked animal when he moved away from her. “Ye’ve had yer turn, little witch.”

“My turn, then?” Becky asked, already setting down the broken compass the Captain still kept on his desk.

Connors gave a bit of a dramatic bow, holding out his hand and gesturing to his still hard cock with the other. “If ye’ll have me, deary.”

Becky’s hands were already shoving her dress down, unraveling the ties and letting layer by layer fall to the floor as she approached where he stood at the bed. Moxie had bonelessly floated to the hammock that hung in the corner, curled up and eying them over the edge of the fabric like a watchful feline.

She guided him back to the bed where he lay beneath her, eyes praising and adoring as he watched her climb atop him and wrap him in her warm, wet heat. She let her hands trail all over him, tracing scars and constellations of freckles and kissing at his neck, his cheek, the corner of his mouth, before kissing him fully, tongue exploring his mouth the way she explored all things: thoroughly. When she came rocking her hips back and forth, she nearly brought him over the edge once more. He managed, with one final heroic feat, to pull back and toss her off before it was too late. She landed with a bounce and a breathless giggle before scrambling off to slump against the pole that held Moxie’s hammock.

“Yer turn, Lady Becks?” The Captain asked, one hand to his chest like he was having to focus on keeping his heart at a steady pace. His voice was strained, throat dry and raw from exertion. Still, he beckoned her over to where he waited on the mattress.

‘Don’t call me tha’,” Becks moved slowly and deliberately, using her powers to undress herself without hands. “M’nobody’s lady.”

He watched with a hunger he didn’t have at first—having been denied release twice, he was ready for his own. “Reckon there’s a gentleman at home who’d argue different. Why d’ye think I saved ye fer last?”

Becks looked up at him curiously over her shoulder as he rolled her to her belly, rubbing his painfully hard cock coated in the slick of the others through her folds, gathering up some of her own.

“What kind o’ pirate would I be, if I didn’t take somethin’ that didn’t belong t’ me?” He pressed into her hole slowly and controlled, purposefully tormenting her with the pace. He pushed in and out, staying shallow to catch the rim of his tip on her entrance each time.

“What’s tha’, then?” She asked through groans and mocking laughs that fell flat against the mattress. “I ain’t a saint. You’re not takin’ anythin’ from me—“

At first she thought he wasn’t going to answer, he took so long to just keep slamming himself into her, tightening balls slapping her clit obscenely, juices mingling and mixing and creating strings like tethers between them. But then she heard the way his breathing shifted, the heavy weight of his sweaty form leaning over her back to murmur in her ear.

“Yer womb.” Finally, finally he let himself come, having fully satisfied the needs of each of these beautiful, insane women. He pumped wave after wave of thick hot ropes into Becks’ cunt, feeling the way her walls vacuumed it up and held him inside so as not to waste a single drop. A single drop of a pirate’s spend that should have been her fiancé’s. Her orgasm caused the ship to rattle with the force of her briefly out-of-control powers. He chuckled, hips still jerking into her, unable to come down from his delayed relief just yet. “Easy, darlin’. Ye’ll sink me ship.”

[butchersboobs]

OH HOLY FUUUUCKIN'ELL

[newshoes-samedirt]

Fairytale of New York [Billy Butcher & OFC] - Chapter 2

Summary: Butcher gets dragged into a hidden Vought atrocity via a tiny, furious fairy. Warnings (This Part): Swearing. (Fairy) Blood Mention. Tags:@butchersboobs, @rainbowgirlrot, @enchantedflameandflower, @jynx15 [please comment or drop me a message if you'd like to be tagged in later works] Also on AO3

She climbed into his hand, her light brightening with something like hope. He lifted her to his chest and tipped her gently into his shirt pocket, letting her settle.

Terror started circling excitedly the moment Butcher moved for the crate, claws clicking against it’s base.

“Alrigh’ son…” He muttered, popping it open and waving the dog out with a low noise.

Terror burst free, stump wagging, charging around the living room.

Butcher left him to it as he put his boots on and shrugged into his coat, making sure not to squash Ellara in his pocket.

“Terror.”

He crouched, Ellara held on tight, and he clipped the lead onto the dog’s collar.

He straightened up and grabbed his keys, then they were out. Door locked and headed down the hall, out of the building, and into the cold, empty street.

Ellara’s head slowly peeked out over the edge of his pocket, her glow faint against the dark.

“What’re ya doin’?”

“Checkin’ out this feelin’ of yours.”

She frowned, leaning further out and looking down at Terror. “An’ the dog?”

“I dunno ‘ow it is in your lit’le fairy world,” he said, starting down the pavement, not looking at her. “bu’ up ‘ere in Big Country, a man needs a reason t’be ou’ an’ abou’ at three o’clock in the fuckin’ mornin’.”

“We’re nocturnal, numbnuts.” She shot back. “See how it’s –”

She froze and her light flickered fast, the streetlights buzzing around them.

“Stop! Go that way!”

He turned on his heel and tugged the lead wordlessly, Terror followed obediently, and then wandered ahead a little, something in the air setting him off.

“Yeah…” She said, quieter now. “This is it.”

The streets were unusually dead.

No early-morning runners, no rough sleepers in the shadows.

It wasn’t quiet, New York never managed quiet, but it was empty enough that every sound carried. Distant traffic, a siren somewhere far off, the soft jingle of Terror’s lead as he waddled along at Butcher’s side.

Ellara looked carefully over the top of Butcher’s pocket.

“Wait.”

Butcher stopped. Terror whimpered, nose dropping to the ground as he moved towards the road.

There were tyre marks on the road. Something had swerved, hit a parked car, and stopped. Terror huffed and panted his way along, stopping stock still and whining low in his throat.

Ellara made a small, broken sound.

“Wo’ is it?”

“There…” She said, scrambling out of his pocket. He caught her in his palm, and followed where she looked, her light flickering and bringing up smears of golden-green that he hadn’t seen before. “Blood.”

“Blood?”

“Fairy blood.”

She clambered up Butcher’s arm to his shoulder, scanning the road behind them, her glow catching more of it, lighting up the trail amongst the skid marks.

“Someone got away…” She said, voice shaking. “They were hurt, but…”

Butcher followed the progression as she climbed down to his hand again. The blood stopped on the pavement near the end of the tyre marks etched onto the tarmac.

“They got’m….” she said, her light illuminating a bigger stain. “An’ took’m away…”

“fuck…” Butcher muttered, looking up the road.

So many questions filled his head then and he didn’t want an answer to any of them right now. All that mattered was that Vought had ruined someone else’s life and he was the only person who could do anything about it.

“C’mon.” He didn’t give her a chance to argue before dropping her back into his pocket, tugging Terror’s lead and heading quickly back to his flat.

“What’re ya doin’?!” She shouted up at him, scrambling, trying to climb back out “We gotta go save’m!”

“Don’t you worry, love.” he said lowly. “I just gotta think up a plan.”

“A plan?!” She repeated, hauling herself up the inside of his pocket, wings buzzing hard, despite the pain it caused her. “This ain’t time f’r a brainstormin’ session!”

It wasn’t very effective.

She barely got clear of his pocket before he caught her.

“Oi.” He closed his fingers around her, careful not to squash her. “Pack it in.”

“They’re hurt!” She snapped, struggling in his grip, light flashing between his fingers, getting brighter. “They won’t make it if we -”

“An' y’think goin’ in blind is a good idea, eh?”

Terror trotted ahead, stopping and looking back as the argument sharpened behind him. Butcher seemed unfazed as Ellara pulled at his fingers, trying to force them open.

“Let me go!”

“No.”

“I can still feel them! I can find them!”

“Good.” He said sharply. “Then y’c’n ‘elp when I know where the fuck we’re goin’.”

She didn’t stop struggling, her light grew redder.

“If they got one, they’ll get the rest!” She snapped, shoving at his grip. “That’s how all’o’ya are!”

“All of who?”

“You!” She spat, the word cracking out of her. “You Bigs! Yer all the same! Y’take an’ y’break an’ y’don’t care who dies on the way!”

She was encased in red light now, Terror stopped to glance back, unsettled by the spike in noise but Butcher walked on.

“Y'think just 'cause y’Big y’can stomp around like ev’rythin’ is yours an’ now y’r huntin’ us like animals!”

He stopped.

She didn’t notice at first. Still pushing, still shaking, until the resistance under her hands didn’t move anymore.

Her light flickered, dipped, and she broke.

The red bled out of her glow as it dimmed, collapsing into something small and uneven as her struggles gave way to deep, painful, sobs.

He loosened his grip and lifted her up to eye level. As much as he hated being lumped in with Vought, he wasn’t angry, wasn’t offended, because he knew a breakdown when he saw it.

“Y’can’t ‘elp’m dead.” He said calm and even. “So we’re goin’ ‘ome an’ findin’ out ‘ow t’ge’ in there wivvout endin’ up dead.”

She sobbed up at him, light flickering weakly. Terror whined beside him.

He let out a heavy breath and tipped his hand toward his pocket again. “Get in.”

She climbed in, quiet sobs still leaving her as she curled into the fabric and Butcher continued on.

He didn’t need to say anything on the way back and they settled into a comfortable pace, Terror trotting happily beside him, glancing up every now and then but Butcher had already begun to think.

He’d have to call the Boys.

He unclipped Terror once they were in the building, letting the dog go up the stairs unhurried as he took careful steps not to jostle the fairy.

The fairy that hadn’t made a sound for a while.

He reached his door and stilled, carefully prodding at the soft weight through the fabric. No response.

He opened the door and waved Terror in and the dog waddled in slow and calm, finding his bed unbidden and laying down as Butcher closed and locked up behind them.

He carefully slid off his coat and then gently eased the sleeping fairy out into his palm.

Ellara lay curled in on herself, wings tucked in tight, her glow barely more than a faint, steady pulse. Her breathing was uneven but deep, exhaustion had taken her clean out.

“Right…” he muttered.

He went to his bedroom, Terror following once the door was open, and he walked to the other side of his bed, where he’d put Ellara’s shoebox.

He laid her carefully in the pile of t-shirts he filled it with before and she stirred, her light flickered brightly for just a second, but she didn’t wake. She just sighed and curled in tighter.

Butcher watched her a moment and reached forward to gently tug a t-shirt over her.

He noticed Terror looking at him and he stood. “Shuddup.”

The dog shuffled closer, nose up to the edge of the box.

“Leave it.”

Of course the dog obeyed, but he only settled on the floor in front of the bedside table, eyes up on the faint glow. Butcher shook his head and grabbed his phone.

He dialed a number as he went back to the living room.

"I know… bu' you ain’t gonna believe the nigh' I just 'ad."

[newshoes-samedirt]

Fairytale of New York [Billy Butcher & OFC] - Chapter 1

Summary: Butcher gets dragged into a hidden Vought atrocity via a tiny, furious fairy. Warnings (This Part): Swearing. Tags: @butchersboobs, @rainbowgirlrot, @enchantedflameandflower, @jynx15 [please comment or drop me a message if you'd like to be tagged in later works] “Terror, f’fuck’s sake wot’re ya doin’?”  

The dog had been acting weird since they got home, it started with him chasing reflections from outside on the wall and now the daft bugger was sitting under the ceiling fan, whining, with bouts of stressed circling and some concerned wuffs and huffs. 

The sound was driving Butcher mad and he’d been doing it all evening.

“I swear if it’s a fuckin’ spider… ” He grumbled as he got out of bed, pulled on a shirt and stood by the dog. 

Terror, usually very loyal, would be overjoyed if Butcher so much as looked at him, but was now only just glancing at Butcher before glancing back at the ceiling fan as if to say ‘well go on then’.

Butcher rubbed his face and looked up.

It was 2am and there was only the streetlamp shining into the living area from outside, but there was a light between the fan blade and the ceiling, a faint glow with seemingly no source. 

He reached up and gently prodded the fan, moving the blades around a little. The light moved with it.

“The fuck is that…?”

Terror began circling, jumping a little, softly wuffing. 

“Alrigh’ son.”

The dog sat down, his stump of a tail wagging. 

Butcher pulled up the coffee table under the fitting and hoped to God that it’d take his weight as he stepped up to investigate the source of the light. 

“Now… wot ‘ave we got -”

He was shocked into silence by a tiny face, a tiny person, then a flash of bright light dazzled him and then this thing zipped past him like a hornet!

He nearly fell from the table, Terror going wild around his feet as he tried to blink the residual light from his eyes.

“Wot the fuck was that?!” He looked about the apartment. Terror had bolted off to the kitchen, whatever it is, it must be there, the dog was jumping up at the cupboards and barking.

“Give over!” He yelled. “Siddown or I'll ‘ave ya knackers off!”

The dog whimpered, and then sat.

Billy saw the little glow on top of the kitchen cabinets, dim, diffused almost.

He dragged a chair before the counter and climbed up, one foot on the chair, one knee on the kitchen counter as he reached up, blindly trying to reach the light.

“C’mere ya li’l - Ow! Fuck!”

Cornering it was a bad idea as he felt a bite, like two rows of pins dug deep into the flesh of his hand and the glow had zipped away again, sending Terror into another frenzy.

“F’fucks sake, Terror!” 

He grabbed the dog by the collar and dragged him into the bedroom, crating him for the time being. He inspected the bite on his hand as he returned to the living room, no blood, but it stung like a bitch.

He looked about, he couldn't see the light, but now Terror was out of the way and the room was silent, he could hear the flutter of wings, stuttered and inconsistent.

And then he saw the light flickering, puffs of dust erupting from the fan blades.

And then a tiny sneeze.

And then, as he approached and slowly stood up on the coffee table again, he saw her.

A tiny little woman, covered in dust, bedraggled, scared, and exhausted, with delicate wings, one broken, that she tried to clear of dust, but to no avail.

She looked at him with soulful eyes and her mouth turned down in sadness, she sobbed a little before she spoke.

“What’re you lookin' at? Ya dumb fuck.”

 -

 It was hard enough for fairies to live, unseen amongst the Bigs.

The fairy villages were getting smaller and smaller, further and further apart. 

Hers could have been found in some scrubland behind a couple of apartment buildings. There was a half-dead tree whose roots went down low enough for about a hundred-some fairies to live.

They didn't thrive, but they lived.

That was until the land was torn up for development.

A rumble unlike any other shook the place and then all of a sudden their home was torn up by some mindless machine, a great screeching monster ate it up, ate her friends, her family.

It was chaos.

She escaped and didn't look back, but she had never flown during the day before. The air was almost painful to be in, it was so full of noise, and the sun was blinding. 

She lingered too long and a bird swooped to get her, she flew down in a panic, she had to find shade, but more birds gathered, chasing, cawing, cooing and swooping.

One of them got her in a snap, catching her wing but only managing to slow her down.

So she dipped, finding a metal box on a rooftop with a hole small enough for her to hide in. 

It was cool, and her terrified breaths echoed.  

But before she could relax the box began to whirr, and the cool air grew strong around her, to flutter her wings against it caused her pain and there was nothing to hold onto. 

She was sucked down, whirling and tumbling through pipes and spat out in a Big’s home.

She didn't have time to rest or look around, she noticed the cat. The worst of all the Big Animals.

And the cat had noticed her too.

“Shit…” 

She was tiring out, her wing was injured, she couldn't fly to the open window without the cat getting her… 

She dashed as quickly as she could manage back towards the vent, it was still blowing and maybe the air could help her -

She could barely finish the thought before another cat swiped her, knocking her against the wall.

The vent stopped blowing, she fell through the grate.

The cats’ paws thrust through, claws extended in an attempt to get her, but she crawled away and once out of reach, got to her feet and knew she would have to keep moving before the air came back and she was forced into the cats’ home again.

The next vent was high on the wall, from there she could see an open window on the opposite wall, the room was wider than she could fly in this state, but there was a fan in the middle of the ceiling and no Bigs around.

She heard the whirring and panicked, bearing the pain to jump out of the vent, letting herself drop, only intermittently moving her wings to break her fall.

- 

“Then you assholes came in an’ I hadda get t’safety.” She complained, tears in her eyes. “An’ ya just let that thing chase me around all fuckin' night.”

Butcher huffed a disbelieving laugh. Fairies are real.

Fairies were in New York and this one was pissed at him.

He felt bad though, as he watched her try to clean off, and he held his hand flat by the side of the fan blade. 

“Sorry ‘bout Terror, love. ‘E don't know any bet’er… c’mere.” 

She wiped the tears off her cheeks, turning the dust on her face to wet dust and simply smearing it down her face even more, then crawled across into Butcher's palm.

He could just barely feel her weight as he took her away from the fan, and carefully stepped down from the coffee table, taking a moment to inspect her, noticing her broken wing and a nasty looking scratch on her leg. 

He wandered over to the kitchen and he let her step off onto the counter before crossing his arms and just watching her for a moment.

“Take a fuckin’ picture, it lasts longer.” She snapped.

She dropped herself onto a bunched up teatowel that was on the side, letting out a soft noise of pain, her tears falling still, she pulled up the corner of the towel and dabbed her eyes, then tried to clean the dirt from her skin with the same towel. 

“C’mere Tinkerbell.” He laid his palm out flat beside her again as he flipped on the hot tap to fill the sink a little. “Getchaself cleaned up in’ere, eh?”

“My name ain’t Tinkerbell… it’s Ellara.” She said, mouth still turned down in a pout as she pushed his hand away. “Don’t know why y’doin’ this when y’just gonna squish me!” 

Butcher frowned. “Now why would I do a fing like that?” 

“Cause that’s what Bigs do.” She said, convinced. “Y’catch us ‘n’ y’squish us.”

He leaned back on his elbow on the counter, looking at her, scratching his beard. “Until tonigh', I fought fairies were a buncha bullshit.”  

“Shows what you know…” She said as she got to her feet and looked up at him suspiciously. “So ya ain’t gonna squish me…?”  

“Tell y’wot.” He offered his palm again. “I won’t squish ya, so long as y’don’t bite me agen,’ey?” 

She thought about it.

If he was really like the Bigs from the stories, he’d have squished her on sight, he wouldn’t have talked to her, he certainly wouldn’t have poured her a nice hot bath to clean up in.

Still reserved, she climbed into his palm and let him lower her into the water.

 “But don’t think this means I trust ya, Big.” 

“It’s Billy.” He said, withdrawing his hand once she was sat. The water was up to her waist and he turned off the tap.

She looked up at him, as if it was a surprise he had a name, and she gently scooped the water over her arms and her body, washing off the dust and dirt, and looking at the rough scratches on her leg. 

“Bastards upstairs, eh?” Butcher asked, watching her. 

“Yeah.” 

“They’ve tried to ‘ave a go at Terror more times’n I c’n count.” He said and started to rummage around in a nearby drawer. 

“Prob’ly ‘cause y’can’t count too high.” She said snidely, continuing to pour water over her legs. 

He paused and looked at her, she looked back, unfazed. 

“What? Bigs’re dumb.” She explained. “Like real fuckin’ stupid.” 

He leaned an elbow on the counter again. “Present company included?”

“Well obviously,” she said. “Lookatcha. Y’gotta animal inside. Y’got hair all over ya, but y’covered in - what is that? - bedsheets? And all y’Bigs ever wanna do is take what ain’t yours and make stupid Big babies.”

“Bedsheets?” he repeated looking down at his shirt and continuing to rummage in the drawer.

“Bedsheets or drapes, whatever, y’cover y’self with fabric when y’already got hair.” 

“They’re clothes.” He corrected and returned to the sink with a tube of antiseptic cream, tape and cotton wool. “And not all of us make babies.” 

“Can’t get it up, huh?” She asked as she stood up, cleaner now, and shining a little brighter.

He huffed a laugh of disbelief as he lowered his hand down for her to climb onto. 

“Ever ‘eard o’tact, love?” 

“That ain’t a answer.” She said as she sat in his palm again and he placed her down on the teatowel where she dried herself. “Don’t the Big women like ya or sumthin’?” 

“One did.” 

“Just one?” She frowned. “That ain’t what the stories say - hey!” 

He nudged her over with a finger. “Calm down, lemme look at those scratches.” 

She huffed, leaning over and turning her wings so he can see the cat scratches on her leg, just the one swipe, and they weren’t too deep. 

“Wot d’the stories say then?” He asked as he squeezed out a small blob of antiseptic onto his little finger. “This migh’ sting a bi’…” 

“That all the Bigs do, is steal and - FUCK!” 

Another flash of light sparked in his eyes and he reeled back. 

 “The fuck was that!?” 

“YOU HURT ME!” She yelled, surprisingly loud for such a little thing. “I TRUSTED YOU!” 

Bewildered, he rubbed his eyes and then held onto the counter, trying to blink back the blinding light in his eyes.

“It was antiseptic!” He groaned. “It ‘elps!”

“DON’T LIE T’ME, BIG!” She wailed. “Y’TORTURIN’ ME!” 

“Torturin’-?”

He made some sound of exasperation and scooped her up again, she tried to fight, but he held her carefully around her middle, eyes still sore as he held her up to his face.

She grasped a hold of his thumb and glared at him. 

“Y’gonna eat me?!”

“No! F’fuck’s sake!” He blinked again, finally able to see properly. “Don’t do tha’ again. D’y’ear me?”

“I’ll do it everytime y’try to attack me, Big!” 

“I weren’t attacking ya, y’stupid cow!” He said angrily. “I’m tryin’a fuckin’elp ya and y’flashbanged me!” 

“You HURT me!” 

“I toldja it was gonna sting a bit.” 

“YOU’VE POISONED ME!” 

“Oh for -” He put her on her feet on the counter and glared down at her. “Does it ‘urt now?!”

She stood perfectly still and looked down at her legs, the cream smeared down one of them over her wounds, and she could barely feel any pain at all… she glowed a little pink.

“...sorry…” She said bashfully. 

 Butcher rubbed his face to clear the last of the glimmers still in his eyes, then he sighed and looked at her. 

He put his hand flat on the counter and she climbed onto his palm quietly, still pink with embarrassment, tears in her eyes.

“It’s late…. An’ if y’can’t go’ome, I suppose I bet’er pu’ ya up f’the nigh’.”

Her wings fluttered and she tried to hover away, only to wince when she rose and he had to catch her again. 

“What’s the mat’er now?” 

“You’ll squish me in my sleep!” She said in a panic. “You’ll -”

“Oh give over.” He said, annoyed as he carried her into the bedroom. Terror jumped up excitedly in his crate, which sent the fairy into hysterics.

“YOU’RE GONNA FEED ME TO THAT!” 

“Jesus!”

At her sudden outburst he hurried to put her on the dresser closest to him, where she threw herself down dramatically and sobbed.

“I’m not gonna - TERROR SHUT UP - Christ, would y’stop cryin’!”

She looked up at him over her shoulder, eyes huge and glistening, lips pouting.

“Just. Calm down.” He said, unsure whether he was telling himself or the Fairy more. “Do y’wanna stay ‘ere or not?”

She sniffed and nodded.

“Alrigh’...” He let out a heavy breath and rubbed his beard as he thought. “Where’d’ya wanna sleep, hm?”

He offered his palm once more and she climbed on quietly. He pulled open one of his topmost drawers, full of socks.

“I ain’t sleepin’ in ya undies.” She said flatly.

“It’s just socks.” He retaliates, pushing the drawer shut.

As he turns to inspect the room, Terror wuffed excitedly, making the little fairy flicker in Butcher’s palm. He ignored it, and approached a shelf, it was high, but he thought she’d feel safe.

“Do you see the spiderwebs around here? I’ll get eaten!”

He sighed and turned back, passing the dog crate and making Terror whine. “S’alright, mate, y’can come out in a tick.” 

“The fuck he can.” She said. “Not while I’m in here!”

He brought her up to eye level.

“‘E was ‘ere first, an’ if y’don’t pick somewhere t’sleep in the next five seconds I’ll-” 

“You’ll what?” she said, standing, her light glowing brighter, redder.

Butcher moved her away from his face, and smirked horribly.

“I’ll putcha on the balcony, let the fuckin ‘crows ‘ave ya.”

She gasped slightly, blinked, and quietly sunk back onto her knees, turning her face from him. He continued towards his bed and it wasn’t until she sobbed, which set Terror off pacing stressfully, that he felt a little bit bad. 

“Alrigh’... tha’s enuff.” He said, as he sat at the edge of his bed. “I ent gonna feed ya t’the birds, stop cryin’.” 

He watched her wipe her face and try to calm her sobs, and lowered her to the bed.

“Are y’always this emotional?” 

“Fairies c’n only feel one thing at once.” She said, wiping her nose on her arm. “An’ we feel it big, like, bigger than you.”

“So you’re all like it? ‘Ow the fuck d’ya get anyfin’ done?”

“Well we ain’t scareda gettin’ squished, or trapped, or eaten back home.” She said sadly, tears still in her eyes, breaths still heavy. “I’ve never bin so scared! I wanna go hooooooome!!” 

She broke down into wailing sobs, Terror howled in sympathy and Butcher frowned as the lights in the room flickered and blinked.

First he stood and went to Terror’s cage.

“Give over.” He said sharply, and the dog obeyed, but looked concerned towards the flickering glow on the bed.

He drew a blanket over the crate. “Sorry mate, bu’ all of us need a fuckin’ rest.” 

He thought for a second before kneeling beside the bed and sticking an arm underneath it to rifle around. It only took a moment to find what he was looking for; a shoebox.

He turned it upside down, letting the contents (fake ID’s, passports, etc.) fall into the lid and he flipped the box the right way up as he stood. 

“Got jus’ the fing,” He said, placing the box beside her. “‘Ere.”

It took a moment, but she calmed and got to her feet, wiping her face to look in the box and then up at him.

“D’you expect me to nest in that?”

He grumbled and she watched him go back to the chest of drawers and return with a bundle of t-shirts. He dropped them into the box. 

She ‘hmph’ed slightly and then climbed into the pile of clothes and as she shuffled around, her light blinked out from under hems and through sleeves, until she finally popped out through a head hole and curled the fabric around herself with a huge yawn.

“Alright.” Butcher said with a relieved sigh, and gently picked up the box. She leaned up. 

“What’re y’doin’?”

“Puttin’ ya somewhere you won’t get knocked over.” He said, low and tired as he walked around the bed and put her on the other bedside table. 

“Oh…” She stayed still until he’d stopped moving, then got up and leaned over the edge of the shoebox. “And, uh, thanks…” 

He waved a hand dismissively and she sunk back into her makeshift nest. 

Butcher took a moment longer before he undressed to go back to sleep himself.

He checked on Terror, settled at least, but still awake and decided he’d leave the dog crated until he was sure the dogs’ reaction to the fairy wasn’t because he wanted to eat it. He’d always encouraged Terror to chase spiders, mayflies, centipedes, anything that wasn’t welcome in the flat, and he wasn’t sure Terror didn’t see Ellara as another insect. 

He didn’t want the dog Flashbanged. 

And wasn’t that an interesting little talent she had? 

He figured she was finally asleep and got out of his shirt but kept his shorts on, for decency’s sake, and slipped into bed. 

He turned off the lamp and settled down, almost immediately aware of the Fairy’s light emanating out of the shoebox. 

“‘Lara…?” 

“... what?” 

“Can y’switch that off?” 

“Oh… yeah… sorry…” A little flicker, and then off. 

He grunts a thanks and rolls onto his front, bunching the pillow up under his head and closing his eyes. 

Then; shuffling, muttering, Terror whining.

He screwed his eyes up, telling himself they’ll both go to sleep soon, but there was a change in the black behind his eyelids and he opened them. Ellara was climbing out of the box, light dim and flickering weakly as she tried to fly towards the window. 

He sighed and leaned up. “Wo’re y’doin’ now?”

“They’re - They're still alive…” She said, fluttering up to the windowsill with a wince. “I can feel it.”

“You can feel it.” He repeated, putting his face into his pillow. “Tinkerbell gets indigestion an’ I go’ta suffer for it.”

He didn’t hear some sharp comeback and raised his head. She knelt at the glass, a tiny hand on the windowpane her glow faint but uneven, like a dodgy bulb.

“It ain’t like that…” she said softly. “I c’n feel fairy magic…pullin’... callin’ f’me.” 

Terror let out a low, uneasy whine from the crate and Butcher glanced over, could the dog feel it too? “I just… I know they’re there. Some of ‘em. Not many… but…” her voice hitched. “They’re scared.”

Her light flickered harder, the lamp beside the bed buzzed in response, Terror whimpered again.

Butcher clocked that but said nothing as he got to his feet and went closer to the window.

“…Alright,” he muttered and glanced down at her. “Why ain’t they headin' f'the hills, eh? Why’re they sittin’round callin’ ya?”

Her face fell. “…Because they can’t.”

A tension grew in his chest at her words as a thought started to grow in his mind

“‘Ere…” He laid his palm out for her. “Where’s it pullin’ ya?” 

He sat on the sill himself and held her out towards the city lights.

“There…” Her hand shook but her direction was pure, no hesitation, no delay for thought. Her tiny finger pointed over the city and towards the distant, shining beacon of Vought Tower.

Butcher brought her back inside and shut the window, crossing the room to drop her into the shoebox, rougher than he meant to. She complained and got up, leaning on the edge of the box to glare at him as he sat on the bed.

“Fucksake…” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

“What?” Ellara asked.

He looked at her.

“You realise tha’ was Vought Tower?”

“I dunno what that is.” She shot back. “But that’s where they are!”

Terror started whining again and scratching at the floor of the crate restlessly.

“Terror. Give over.” Butcher snapped, not even looking at him this time, his eyes stayed on her.

“Y’tellin’ me,” he said slowly. “The lot makin’ Supes, the biggest fuckin’ corporation in America, are nickin’ fairies now? Bot’lin’em up for their dodgy li’le experiments?”

“I dunno what they’re doin’!” she snapped. “I just know that’s where my family is!”

That hit harder than he expected.

He huffed, shaking his head like he could knock the thought loose.

“Just get some sleep,” he said, dropping back onto the bed. “We’ll deal with it in the mornin’.”

A beat.

“If they’re still alive.” She said flatly, sinking back into her ‘nest’.

It stopped him dead.

Terror whimpered again, softer this time.

Butcher stared at the ceiling for a long second, jaw tight, then swore under his breath and shoved the pillow aside.

“F’fuck’s sake…”

He sat up and pulled his shirt back on, offering his hand to her once more.

“Get in me pocket.”

[butchersboobs]

Gorgeously written - can't wait for more 💕

[butchersboobs]

Waited a whole fucking year for this bad boy to come out.

And if I ever manage to recover from the existential crisis at having to choose which character to play with first, 1'Il do a ivestream review or summink.

[butchersboobs]

I am not gonna live to see Johnny Cage at this rate...