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#butcher!neil
rainbowd00dles · 25 days ago
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my Fall @aftgexchange piece for @lemonboyjosten who asked for Butcher!Neil and law enforcement!Andrew and my mind went to Killing Eve AU and I may be a little obsessed with it. I hope you Like it!
please do not use, edit or post my art to other sites
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pipebomb-malewife · 7 days ago
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Someone recommend me butcher!neil ficS pRONTO. I NEED THEM. god. I'm going to be completely normal about this i swear
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andreilinlove · 11 days ago
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Butcher!Nathaniel thoughts
An echo of screams and desperate pleading rings through his ears, cutting through the left of his sane thoughts. If he has any of those, at this point. If he closes his eyes and lets his thoughts roam, he sees the faces of people; eye sockets without any eyes, hands without any fingers, and a head without any ears. Their faces twist in anguish and pain, and they no longer beg for their life to be spared. They know the next place they’ll wake up to is hell.
He rubs his forehead with his sticky palm, skin splattered in red not his own, and opens his eyes. When he looks, his palms are covered in sweat, and there’s no limbless person in front of him, their skin barely hanging onto their body. It’s the ceiling instead. And yet, he can’t seem to find the source of those cries that still continue to repeat like a broken radio, over and over again until the sounds are etched into his skin like a tattoo. They never really stop, it’s Nathaniel’s brain that convinces him it does. Otherwise he wouldn’t be really sane. Not that he thinks he is, at this point, but it’s nice to pretend that lie is true. 
He blinks to get his senses back and focuses on whoever’s screaming in the other room, who disrupted his sleep just because they wanted to live and beg pathetically. They should know the moment they get caught that living was no longer an option. Much like how Nathaniel knew, the moment his father got his hands on him. He isn’t much different from them either; he’s barely gripping onto the definition of living — or surviving — after all the horrors he has seen. He thinks he’s dead, somehow, and he’s in hell, or a never-ending nightmare, but a ghost of a knife against his skin brings him to the reality that he’s alive. 
Unfortunately. 
He blinks again, and everything goes by in a haze as he washes his hands to clean them from any blood, existent or not. His nails burn as he digs out clumps of dry blood from beneath them. There’s no point, really, they’re just going to get dirty again, but he tries anyway. When his skin is as red as blood itself, he turns off the tap and heads out. It smells like the usual melting flesh and metal, scents he has gotten used to, and it burns his nostrils as much as the screams do to his ears. He doesn’t know what time it is, or what the color of the sky looks like. Time is non-existent here. He kills when he’s demanded from, sleeps when he’s told to, and wakes up when his mind thinks it has had enough. His room is barely big enough, only fits a small-sized bed, and the lamp on the floor is his only definition of the sun; dim and weak, flickering and barely hanging on.
He hears laughing. It’s probably Lola, from the way it’s full of enjoyment and satisfaction. Someone reperimends her. His father, definitely. It’s a surprise they haven’t woken him up with a knife close to his throat. He blinks again and there’s no laughing, no screaming, no knife drawing blood. It’s just him, in the emptiness and deafening silence of his dim lit room, standing outside his bathroom. Sometimes he wonders if he’s hallucinating all of this; hearing shouts that don’t exist and imagining his skin being cut up when nothing is happening. 
Barefoot, he heads out to find himself something to eat, a fruit or bread, but is disturbed by the eerie silence. It’s never quiet around here, and usually Nathaniel would have a field day with finally getting some peace, but this rubs him off the wrong way, and he has learned by now to listen to his instincts. No one is around except for the dead body in the basement, its face so deformed that he wonders if it’s human, and a couple of limbs scattered here and there. He doesn’t bother avoiding stepping on them or the blood, and the squelch that echoes as he steps down on an arm barely makes him grimace. No one is here, and it makes his skin crawl.
He grabs a few knives from the knife holder, clean and sharp like they could cut through reality itself. His always makes sure they’re in good shape, makes sure he has a collection of different sizes but with the same promise that they can draw blood with just a gentle press against the skin. In his words, no man is powerful if his knife is not sharp enough to draw his own blood.
Nathaniel thinks it’s bullshit, but Lola swoons over whatever nonsense comes out of his father’s mouth. 
He shoves the knives in his pockets. He always preferred using guns, but his skills are better suited for knives, and they’re more fun. For carving doodles out of people’s skin, that is. 
Nathaniel likes it.
He goes back up, his steps reverberating against the cold tiles of the floor, eyes flicking around like lasers in an attempt to detect any movement, but there’s nothing. Something is wrong, he knows. It shouldn’t be so quiet, or somewhat peaceful. There’s no screaming now either, in his mind or out of it. A frown tugs on his lips.
And then the doorbell rings. 
It breaks him out of his sleep-induced hallucination, cuts through the sinister silence and almost gives him a whiplash as he snaps his head to the door. He moves across swiftly, ears out for any other sort of sounds that might give him an indication to who is behind the door. The police, maybe, but they hadn’t come here ever since his father started working with them. No deliveries get sent here either. His father has a key, and even then, he wouldn’t do such a simple task of ringing the doorbell. Being him, he’d break it down and beat Nathaniel up for being so slow. 
He swings the door open then, a hand wrapped around the handle of his knife, and he’s ready to swing until he sees... no one. 
There’s nothing.
Nathaniel swears he heard the doorbell ring, and footsteps shuffling, but his eyes see the opposite. He blinks. Once, twice, but no one magically reappears in front of him. It’s just him, standing on the concrete ground, with the wind slapping against his face with the challenge of knocking him off his feet. The door swings back and forth behind him, cogs creaking, and Nathaniel can only stare at seemingly nothing. He waits. For what, he isn’t sure. Perhaps he’ll finally wake up from this extremely realistic and continuous nightmare and find himself next to his mother again. Or maybe this was the side effect of insomnia. He never liked sleeping anyway, despised the fact he needed it to function because it seems without it this sort of shit happens. It isn’t the first time where Nathaniel’s mind created bullshit without being told to and labelled it as something real. 
Still, Nathaniel wants to make sure. So he pushes the door all the way back to the wall and places the door stopper to keep it from closing shut on him. He heads out after that to search for the source. Had it been one of his father’s many enemies? He isn’t supposed to be out, but Nathaniel is curious and annoyed all at once. 
It has been a while since he felt the moons light on him, and the wind howling in his ears. He never really likes the dark, and now is no different. Still, he walks around like a lost spirit, waiting for something to bring him back to reality.
And something does.
Or rather, someone, because there's a hand on his shoulder and Nathaniel doesn’t see the blur of a face as his fist collides with bones. His senses are up and heightened, and it’s all instincts as his knife is out. When everything comes into view, there’s a short blond man in front of him, against the bark of a tree, grinning wide despite the fact Nathaniel is one move from cutting his throat.
“You have ten seconds to explain before I enjoy slitting your throat. It hurts worse when I slide it across slowly.”
“He’s the one!” The man says instead, looking extremely amused for his own good. “Looks like he got the poor side of genetics, threatens like a four-year-old. Is this the midget you want, Kevin?”
Kevin.
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sweatyvampire · a year ago
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deadly class au
Neil has heard about final exams. At Kings Dominion, the elite academy where damaged teenagers are forged into the world’s deadliest assassins, the final exam is one of the best and worst kept secrets amid the upperclassmen. The game is this: kill all the unaffiliated rats and move to take your place in the savage hierarchy of the school. For the rats? To survive.  Pass or Fail, no one gets through the Freshman Finals without getting blood on their hands. And Neil has heard about Andrew. The infamous sophomore, who killed his mother for raising a hand against his twin, only to turn against him in the end. The only rat to survive finals, at the cost of his brother. They say was barely enough left to identify Aaron Minyard. 
Neil knows the rumors. Buts he also knows Andrew. And he knows that Andrew doesn’t lie. Aaron had wanted out. Out of King’s Dominion, out of this world of petty, vindictive teenage assassins. But no one gets to walk away from this.  So if Aaron really is dead, then who had Kaitlyn been talking to? And who the fuck was in their dorm yesterday, because it sure as shit hadn’t been Andrew. 
And if Aaron isn’t dead.... then Andrew has a weakness. 
part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 
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j3mwrites · a year ago
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Right but what if in married to the enemy non of them recognize Neil and just think of him as Andrews husband which leads to increasingly comedic Dramatic Irony(TM) scenes like Neil would be stopping by to drop something and some perp is like “hey isn’t that nath-“ *cue Andrew ‘accidentally’ shoving him* like idk I know you’re done with that fic but I just read it and I can’t stop thinking about how funny that would be
bruh
stop bringing things back from the dead yall
(FINALLY some WRITING and not just asks - im so sorry ive been starving you all)
*
“Andrew!” Detective Jeremy Knox bounced on the balls of his feet. “I’m so thrilled to have you here. Kevin Day has spoken...” his smile nearly slipped. “Highly! Of you.”
“Here’s the file,” Andrew grunted, dropping the thick yellow slip onto the detective’s desk. “You need to get rid of them before they settle in. Once they’ve grown roots you’ll never get rid of them till they decide to move again.”
“I know,” Jeremy said, voice slightly hushed. “We’ll bring justice to your Baltimore victims. This won’t be swept under the rug.”
Andrew just stared at the file. He’d worked on that ring for three years now, but they’d upped and vanished. When they’d reappeared in Captain Rhenmann’ s New York precinct, Kevin had booted him up there to get a resolution.
It also, coincidently, was the exact week Neil was due up in New York to finalise his ‘retirement’. Andrew may or may not have arranged for him to be in New York for Neil’s support whilst he finally wriggled out of the Moriyama’s grasp.
Finally, after a decade and a half together, Neil would be free. Baltimore would no longer require a Butcher to instil terror. Neil had worked hard to free their city from Ichirou Moriyama’s grasp, buying both himself and his jurisdiction out of internment.
And once Neil was free, they could finally bring down the Moriyamas. Together.
Andrew wasn’t in a rush. Slow and steady always won the race: he would bring down the criminal empire that had trapped his husband for so long and marred his skin and mind with memories of terror and injustice. And he would enjoy it.
“Would you like to have lunch with us?” Knox gestured to the two women, standing close enough to eavesdrop but pretending they weren’t. They were married, Andrew guessed. It was pretty obvious. “We were just about to head out. There’s a hidden bodega near the the station with pastrami that’s to die for.”
Andrew checked his phone. No messages from Neil, as of yet. He’d text when he was on his way back to the hotel, and there was no use in Andrew hanging around and anxious awaiting his arrival. He’d convince himself that the Moriyamas had finally put a bullet through Neil’s forehead and go rampaging.
“Fine,” he grunted, shoving the phone back into his pocket.
Detective Sunshine just beamed.
*
“Day mentioned you were married,” Alvarez said, swallowing a mouthful of sub. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
Andrew arched his eyebrow, unimpressed. She rolled her eyes.
“You’ve got him as your home screen. It’s not hard to guess. You out at your precinct?” Andrew nodded. “Yeah, so are we.”
“If we didn’t have Captain Rhenmann, I’m sure it’d be a lot more stressful.” Laila added, rubbing her wife’s shoulder. “He speaks very highly of your captain, you know. I think they worked together with the old NYPD commissioner. Kayleigh Day.”
Yes, Kevin’s mother. The one who was murdered twenty years ago. A riveting case. Still unsolved. Neil was pretty sure it was his father who’d been assigned to her removal. Not that Andrew would ever discuss this aloud.
“I heard she was one hell of a woman,” Knox added. “If her son’s anything to go off, I can see why.”
“Stop gushing about Kevin,” Alvarez chided.
“Don’t worry,” Andrew grunted. “Kevin’s undoubtedly worse.”
The three of them laughed. They ate in companionable silence, Knox and Alvarez occasionally jostling each other or gossiping about names Andrew didn’t know. It was nearing 2 o’clock in the afternoon when the detective’s phone buzzed: he leaned over, checked who it was from and immediately scrambled to pick it up.
Knox squinted at the message and shot the three of them an apologetic look. “My bad. I’ve gotta make a call. I’ll meet y’all back at the station?”
He left without an answer, phone raised to his ear.
“He’s a parole officer for a very specific case,” Alvarez explained. Laila was frowning. “A difficult one, at that.”
“Seems a little more involved than a parole officer usually is,” Andrew noted.
“Yes, well,” Laila huffed. “Jeremy likes to care.”
Andrew got a text of his own. Coming back now.
He bid the women goodbye with a salute and bought a sandwich for Neil: he was unlikely to have already fed himself, too stressed and paranoid to bother thinking about food. He always came back from New York weak and underfed.
When Andrew arrived back to their hotel room, Neil was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. His shirt was untucked and tie loosened, but he hadn’t even bothered to take his shoes off or put away the briefcase of paperwork and knives.
Andrew put the food aside for later and sat by his husband, toeing off his shoes so he could cross his legs on the bed.
When Neil didn’t talk, he leaned over and turned on the television. A random afternoon sitcom filled the room with white noise, bringing Neil out of his glacial stare. Finally, his eyes flit over to Andrew, aware but still hollow.
Andrew reached out to undo Neil’s cuffs but waited for him to deposit his wrist in Andrew’s palm. He got to work, unbuttoning the sleeves, pulling off the tie and throwing the shoes over to the door. The dress shirt was wriggled off, leaving him in just a white undershirt, and draped across the chair to be steam-ironed in the morning. Neil wormed out of his slacks, too, letting Andrew fold them and put them away.
Andrew made him a cup of decaf instant coffee and brought out the sandwich. Neil looked at both of them balefully but sat up anyway, getting through the whole coffee and only half the sandwich.
Andrew waited, sitting behind him. When he was finished he laid back down, putting his head in Andrew’s lap.
“Thank you,” he mumbled.
Andrew just hummed, combing his fingers through Neil’s hair.
*
The end of the week came quickly. Andrew worked the case with Knox and eventually decided that the case would be in good hands. Every evening he’d come back to find Neil just as exhausted and spaced out and hold him together with soft hands and silent reassurance. Neil soldiered on.
Andrew didn’t know what he was negotiating, why it was taking so long or whether or not this would actually work. All he could hope for was that Neil would be a free man by the end of the week and that they could go home without worrying he’d be called back or killed.
Andrew got his answer on Friday evening. He bid the affectionately named ‘Dyke Detectives’ and their captain goodbye, knowing Knox had briefly left the building for an errand and assuming that they’d pass on his thanks.
He exited the front doors of the precinct and nearly stumbled into his husband, standing in jeans and a hoodie with a blinding grin. Andrew never forgot how gorgeous Neil was, but the ease of his posture and the genuine smile had something go soft inside his chest.
He ignored all the beat cops standing around the doors and pressed a kiss to Neil’s smile, which only had him smile more.
“It’s done,” Neil murmured, holding Andrew’s wrist. “I’m free. We’re free.’’
“Took you long enough.”
Neil shrugged. “Had to barter for Allison, too. I know Renee wants to make it official.”
“Only a decade later,” Andrew agreed. Of course Neil hadn’t been fighting tooth and nail for himself: he’d do anything for those he loved.
“Holy shit,” came an unfamiliar voice. They both turned around, spotting a willowing man standing next to Detective Knox. His pale complexion had turned translucent, all the blood draining out of his cheeks. Neil’s eyes flashed with recognition. “Nathaniel—?”
“It’s Neil,” Neil said, still smiling. “Hello, Jean. Good to see you were cleared. Did they find Riko’s actual killer?”
The man did not look any less uncomfortable. “They ruled it a suicide.”
“Ah, shame. Maybe some more evidence will come to light, later.” He offered his hand to Andrew. “Shall we?”
It would be a long drive to Baltimore but at the other end was home, two cats and freedom.
Andrew, older, wiser, calmer, happier, took Neil’s hand.
“We shall.”
*
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sunriseabram-death · 8 months ago
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I need an AU or something where Nathan died before Neil met the foxes just so Riko can say “aren’t you scared of the Butcher?” and Neil can respond with “If we’re going by your twisted little hierarchy, I’m the Butcher”
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aftgficlibrary · 9 months ago
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any fics like “lonely with you”?
here are a couple masquerade aus you might like-maz
A song of truths and flowers by ScriptaManent (G | 15,640 | 6/6)
From the moment when Neil had decided he would go to the yearly masquerade ball hosted by the Moriyamas, he had known it would be a bad idea. However, against all odds, someone caught his interest, a lone Fox with a unique view on the world. As time passed, the two men came up with a new game: each night, they would meet at the ball and exchange one truth - their identities weren’t part of the deal.
no body, no crime by loveandwarandmagick (T | Incomplete | 1/1)
Neil needs a way out, and Andrew promised Kevin a long time ago that he’d make things right.
Or, the mafia au where Andrew’s ‘too small to call it a gang’ gang breaks into the Moriyama’s masquerade event and Andrew encounters Neil Josten.
It is not as simple as what he thought it might be.
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xeyoaa · a year ago
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a butcher neil doodle
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thebashfulpoet · a year ago
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Shinigami
 Prologue Pt.1 - First They Burned Him
It starts with red. The red of his father’s hair as it sticks with sweat to his forehead and turns a rusted shade matching the blood dripping from his knuckles. The red of Lola’s lipstick twists into a smile as she slides the knife home between the ribs over and over again. The red of his mother’s blood pouring from her body as they tear her apart piece by piece and laugh while Romero holds him down, forcing him to watch.
It’s all so red that he feels like he will drown in it — that he already is drowning and choking on his mother’s screams. Because in the end this is his fault.
{Read on AO3}
Oh what’s this? I’m not dead? That’s right! I’m back with a brand new tale for the @aftgbigbang! This year I’ve had the amazing opportunity to work with the amazing artist @fornavn and the best beta I could ask for @clockworkdragxn who have both helped me make this story amazing for you all! And the art. Oh man, I can’t wait for you all to see it!
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andrielforever · a year ago
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Control by Halsey should be the official song for all the Nathaniel Wesninski/butcher Neil Aus out there. Like daaaaamn the sheer v i b e s.
“I turned all the mirrors around”
“I’m meaner than my demons”
The whole “god damn right you should be scared of me” and throughout the whole song I just get a sense of impending doom and it’s building up to the end and it’s great.
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sweatyvampire · a year ago
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Deadly Class au 
They both knew what was coming at the end of the year. But despite the lies, and the knives, and their reputations, despite everything, Neil trusted Andrew. 
But not with his name. Not yet. 
Andrew was a rat who, against all odds, had managed to survive and claw his way to the top. And he still thought that Neil was one too. 
Now would have been the moment. The perfect time to tell him. 
My name is Nathaniel Wesninski. The Butcher of Baltimore is my father. I am a legacy. And when finals come, everyone will know.   
I was supposed to kill you. 
part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5
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j3mwrites · a year ago
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do we arrest him?
another excerpt from the ‘married to the enemy’ au because its silly and fun and i like writing it lol 
*
“With all due respect, Wilds,” Kevin said, “I’m going to say: no. Absolutely not.” 
The sargeant cocked her head, spinning the whisky around her shallow glass. “Because your opinion matters so greatly to me, Kevin.”
Andrew blocked out whatever response Kevin managed and the resulting argument between him, Sergeant Danielle Wilds and her husband Matthew Boyd: Renee looked on serenely, with a slightly amused curl to her lips, whilst Wymack ordered another gin and tonic. 
Andrew’s foot bounced. He was not anxious. He was never anxious. He was simply introducing his husband to his colleagues. It’d been years since they’d come together as a team. It was about time they’d met the mysterious Neil. 
It’s not like his face was recognisable or anything. It’s not like he’d been running the largest crime syndicate in Baltimore after his father’s death. Neil had inherited it after they’d gotten together, anyway. 
“Is Allison coming along?” Renee inquired, lightly, still ever-so-serene. His partner was a jumble of nonsensical loose ends, with a large scar on her jaw contradicting the collar done up to her throat and the silver cross hanging around her neck. It was why they’d gotten along so well in the first place, and why he’d invited her to witness his wedding. 
Which was where, consequently, she had met Allison Reynolds, Neil’s right-hand woman. 
Andrew shot her a glare before looking back to the doorway. Where was he? Punctuality wasn’t his forte, but fifteen minutes late to something Andrew had insisted he shouldn’t be late to was stretching it. Had something happened? Had the Bearcats finally grown their little claws and lashed out at Neil? Was he dead in a ditch somewhere? 
“Hi,” came a familiar voice, breathless. Andrew glanced over his other shoulder to see Neil, grinning and red-cheeked. He must have run. Understanding Andrew’s apprehension, he chanced a kiss on Andrew’s cheek. “Came in through the back.”
Of course he had this particular divebar in his pocket. It was one of Andrew’s regular hangouts: he would have this place fortified to the very last screw. 
Allison gave Renee a little wink, waving her manicured nails like a manic pixie. Andrew took Neil’s wrist under the table and gave it a light squeeze before turning back to his colleagues. 
Kevin was going purple, mouth hanging open like a gaping fish. 
“So,” Dan said, voice strained slightly. “This is Neil.”
“My husband,” Andrew confirmed. “Yes.” 
“Did you know about this?” Matt hissed into Renee’s ear, not at all subtle. She simply smiled her glittering smile in response. 
“Jesus Christ,” Wymack mumbled into his glass, downing the whole thing. 
“Nice to finally meet you all,” Neil said, placidly. “This is my friend, Allison. I hope it was alright to bring her along.” Allison’s grin was mischievous.
Kevin allowed a strangled noise to escape his mouth. 
“We’ve only got one seat,” Matt said, bewildered. 
“That’s alright,” Neil shrugged, offering it to Allison and leaning against Andrew’s thigh instead. Andrew let his arm loop around Neil’s waist, steadying him. 
Kevin slowly looked Neil up and down, left to right, trying to comprehend how the fuck did I end up having drinks with the mob boss I’ve been chasing down for years -
“I can get the table another round?” Neil offered. 
“That’d be very kind of you, Neil.” Renee said, calmly. 
“Renee -” Dan managed. 
“Beer?” Neil inquired, nodding to Matt. He arched an eyebrow at Kevin. “A bottle of vodka?”
“Are you serious?” Kevin exploded. “Are you serious? The one person who has evaded me for the entirety of my detective career is sitting on my colleague’s lap and offering me a drink when he probably has knives in his pockets and a dead man’s skull in his backpack -” he paused to take a trembling inhale, hands clutching the edge of the table. 
“Well, I’m not really sitting on Andrew’s lap,” Neil snorted. “I only have one knife on me, and it’s most certainly not in my pocket: how impractical.” He jostled Allison’s shoulder. “Do you have a skull in your backpack? Because I didn’t bring a backpack.” 
“I wouldn’t be caught dead with a backpack,” Allison responded snootily, putting her little handbag on the table. “How tasteless.” Neil laughed. 
Andrew pulled him closer. 
“I’ll have a clean bitters, Neil,” Renee said, breaking the silence. “If that’s alright.”
“Copying me?” 
Renee smiled. “Perhaps. Though I’ve yet to find somewhere that does virgin margaritas as well as you do.”
“You’ll just have to come over for dinner again.”
“Do we arrest him?” Matt whispered into his wife’s ear. 
“I have no clue,” Dan responded. 
“I’ve been meaning to give you a recipe I found for a healthy pastabake,” Renee suggested, ignoring Andrew’s glare. “I’ve given Andrew leftovers for lunch and he didn’t even notice the difference.”
“That’s a relief,” Neil grinned. “It’s like bathing a cat.” He jostled Andrew’s shoulder. “Retiring means I get to cook more: you’d better watch out.”
“What the fuck,” Kevin whispered.
“Don’t burn the kitchen down,” Andrew said sullenly. 
“Retiring?” Matt echoed, weakly. “I didn’t think you could retire from -”
“I, too, have recently decided to follow my passions,” Allison said, airily. “I’m thinking of starting a fashion line. Perhaps a boutique.”
“That’s amazing,” Renee said, a hint of relief in her tone. Andrew knew she’d been holding out on Allison for her to move on from her morally grey loyalties onto something more palpable. “I’m sure you will be successful.”
“What the fuck,” Kevin repeated, a little louder. 
“Matt, Dan,” Neil grinned. “Andrew told me you’re adopting. That’s brilliant.” 
“Yes,” Matt said, bewildered. “We’ve been fostering a little girl for a few years now: the papers have finally come through.”
“Maybe I could be a stay-at-home dad,” Neil wondered aloud, leaning his head on Andrew’s shoulder. “We could foster, Drew. We’ve got a spare room.”
“You can barely keep the cats alive,” Andrew muttered, shoving his hand into the backpocket of Neil’s jeans as a warning. Neil grinned into his shoulder. 
“You have cats?” Dan responded, airily. 
“Yes,” Neil nodded gravely. “Andrew’s cousin named them. Sir Fat Cat McCatterson and King Fluffkins.” 
Andrew watched as Dan and Matt’s resolve began to falter, the smiles at his husband’s ridiculousness beginning to crack open. Even Wymack had kept his attention on the table, intrigued. 
As Neil took down drink orders and Allison shuffled her chair closer to Renee, Andrew knew that everything would turn out alright. Neil was just as Andrew had reluctantly described him: a human disaster with a quick-witted tongue and a brilliant grin. Not just a mobster. Not just Nathan Wesninski’s son.
“What the fuck!” Kevin spluttered, but everyone ignored him. 
*
send me more prompts for this au lmao its so silly
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maybe-i-dreamt-u · a year ago
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Does anyone have any good butcher!neil aus where he turns into his father or something?
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aminiyard · a year ago
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winter exchange present for @tempest-in-the-storm, who asked for canon divergence, as part of the @aftgexchange
anyway, canon-divergent butcher neil?
(sorry for the blood)
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thebashfulpoet · a year ago
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Shinigami
Prologue Pt.2 - Then He Forged Himself Anew in the Flames
Neil waits and watches everything that will give him the edge he needs. He takes note of every guard shift, what keys go into whose hands, who watches him with blatant interest, who doesn’t bother to look at him at all, when the chimes of pins change every couple of months, everything. Neil waits and watches for the moment they slip, and he will seize the mistake and escape or die trying.
{Read on A03}
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