A few messy and not so messy sketches of @ravenvsfoxââs incredibly written Band Au where the monsters are a cool band instead of 2000s goth/emo kids and Neil is still a runaway who canât say no
i recently read @ravenvsfoxââs band au fic that basically owns my entire ass now and drummer andrew has been stuck in my head ever since so i decided to dust off the old tablet and draw the boy
So, I saw in the tags and replies on the post where Neil finds the âwe love neilâ groupchat that quite a few people were wondering what the picture was.
That post was actually a sequel to this one about Andrew being added to the groupchat where the pictureâs first mentioned. I cut the groupchat one off just before Allison sends Neil the actual picture because itâs a specific picture that I would never be able to find one for. Iâd draw it if I had any artistic ability whatsoever, but sadly I cannot draw even a little successfully.
Basically, Renee adds Andrew to the groupchat but he never acknowledges the it. But when they have a competition to see who can get the cutest picture of Neil, Andrew sends his entry at the last minute with âI win, fuckers.â
He makes 50 bucks for it without argument because the pictureâs of Neil asleep in one of the bean bag chairs and heâs all curled up with his hair sticking out in every direction and heâs got the slightest smile on his lips while heâs still holding Andrewâs hand in his sleep and his headâs still angled towards their intertwined hands because he fell asleep watching Andrew.
Hello, do you still take prompts? Expanding on the idea that sometimes Andrew unintentionally fuck up because he's not used to having something precious to be careful around (aka Neil), the first time they have an argument and Andrew raised his voice. Neil flinches, recalling Nathan, and Andrew, ever so observant, immediately notices and his annoyance immediately crumbles and concern takes its place.
For the sentence starter prompts: âdonât yell at meâ + andreil + angst
hmmmm this isnâtâŠ. exactly what the first person wanted⊠but⊠hmm
Itâs been so long since Andrew has seen Neil mad that heâs forgotten what it looks like. Itâs beautiful. An angry Neil is consumed by flushed skin and hard eyes. His mouth becomes an iron rod that twists and twists the more worked up he gets. Andrew can appreciate the spark on the oil spill across the room from him even if heâs seething, with all of his rage brimming to the surface and bubbling like so much acid.Â
He can feel the need to yell raging against his ribs, but he lets it rip his throat to shreds instead of allowing the anger to get that far. At least, that was his initial plan. But Neil has been throwing accusations at him with the same skill and deadly accuracy that he has with knives, and Andrew is breaking because theyâre all true. He knows, he knows that heâs been treating Neil like shit. He knows and he didnât know how to ask Neil for help and so he just kept doing it.
âLook at me,â Neil demands, and Andrew canât stand it.
âWhat do you want from me?â Itâs not a shout, but only just barely. His voice raised, cracked, shattering the otherwise decently civil (though one-sided) conversation they were having.
The worst part isnât that all sound drops off with the last tendril of Andrewâs lost control. Silence will never be the worst part of anything, not for him. Even the tension, so palpable between them, isnât the worst part.
No, the worst part is how quiet Neil is when he says, âDonât yell at me.â
Andrew swallows and stares. He doesnât know what to say, might fracture things more if he speaks, so he waits. The flicker of his anger didnât set Neilâs kerosine on fire - this time. Heâs not willing to risk it again. Silence is better.Â
Neil drags in a slow breath. It shakes. Andrew curls a fist and feels like killing all of the people who have ever made Neil afraid.Â
He realizes that he might be on that list. Should be on that list.
âAndrew,â Neil says, and his voice is steady but fuck, itâs still so quiet. It makes Andrewâs outburst seem even louder. âAndrew, look at me.â
He does. Neilâs flush his gone, his eyes turned soft and limpid. His mouth is a broken bird. And Andrew did this. Andrew reduced Neil from something fierce to something hollow. Itâs so easy to forget that Neil is haunted by his past just as much as - probably more than - Andrew, so easy to let that abrasive personality and that razor sharp tongue become the only thing Andrew focuses on. Thatâs why theyâre in this situation.Â
Andrew forgot that Neil knows all too well how to break.
With Andrewâs attention, Neil tries again. âLetâs go for a drive.â
Some deeply-buried memory of his drug-infused self wants to refuse out of sheer pettiness, wants to tell Neil no just to see what happens.Â
He walks to the dresser and grabs the keys without looking at Neil.
They drive for hours. Or, rather, Andrew drives. Neil is a silent passenger, taking up space and saying nothing. They share the cigarette pack until itâs gone, and then, off the edge of the interstate, they stop for more.
Andrew drives them to the middle of nowhere, the end of the world. He slams on the brakes and parks the car, feeling like if he drives any further heâll stop existing. Theyâre in the middle of South Carolina, doesnât matter where. One more mile, one more rotation of tires, and the world might give out and send Andrew into free fall.
Neil gets out before Andrew, before the engine is even shut off, and meets him at the hood of the car. Andrew sits down next to him, staring out over the expanse of grass and trees and nothing and thinking that perhaps this is where he should stay. Nothing belongs nowhere.
But then, if Neil is nothing, he would have to stay too.
âI canât get rid of you,â Andrew growls, and itâs an accusation and a plea all rolled up into one tight uncomfortable feeling in his chest.
Neil looks halfway to amused before he seems to remember that this is meant to be a serious conversation. He pulls his cigarette up to his face, stares at it in contemplation before taking a drag. He screws up his face when the smoke hits his lungs, but apparently that was what he needed, because he starts talking. âI donât expect you to tell me everything, but I need you to stop treating me like Iâm not⊠like weâre notâŠ.â
Talking has always been one of Neilâs strengths. That itâs failing him now snags and holdâs Andrewâs attention.
âI donât like fighting with you. And I can take a lot, Andrew, but⊠not this.â Neil tapers out. The hours of driving spooked the anger and resentment out of both of them.
âThatâs not a promise I can make,â Andrew says, staring at the horizon and flicking ash from his cigarette, âbut Iâll try.â Itâs not much to offer. Itâs a roll of tape trying to mend a shattered bone. Itâs nothing, useless.
But Neil takes it in both hands and cups it like itâs something special. He smiles at Andrew. The turn of his mouth is tentative and holds the graveyard of hurt that Andrewâs shouting dredged up from his past. Neil looks like Baltimore, looks ready to bury himself among the piles of skeletons and rotting corpses.
So Andrew touches his cheek, takes his hand, counts Neilâs scars and stares off at the darkness encroaching on the horizon.
so an actual real life deity turned 22 today. most of us know her as Meghan, but sheâs really the goddess of misfits and found families, and the patron deity of broken kids healing in broken ways
