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youssefguedira · 2 years

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surprise! iron maiden joe sequel snippet

It's going fine, until it's not.

Joe's too close to the edge, is the thing. Caught off guard by the fact that he's better, now, when it comes to being near the ocean, and there's a low railing. Not paying as much attention as he should be because of the chaos around him. He's only just started going on jobs again, and he's still getting used to guns.

Which is why he doesn't notice how close he is to the railing, or the soldier raising his gun. Nicky shouts a warning, but it comes too late. There's two sharp cracks, and then pain explodes in his chest, the force of it sending him stumbling backwards, until he hits the railing and then there's another shot and Nicky is shouting his name in terror-

-and then he's falling, over the edge, into the water.

The next thing he knows is that he's drowning, and terror seizes him as he lashes out, trying to get to the surface because he's not too deep yet but his oxygen is running out because he's panicking too much to remember he needs to-

…

try to conserve it and he's sunk deeper in the time he'd been dead and the surface is getting further in further and he doesn't want this again, has spent-

…

so long like this but now he remembers what it's like to be out, to not be drowning, and he doesn't want to be trapped again-

…

so he fights harder than he ever has but the water is so heavy, he'd forgotten just how heavy it was, and he still can't calm himself down long enough to do-

…

anything other than lash out blindly but he doesn't stop fighting because he can't because he doesn't want to drown again-

…

and then there's something, someone, reaching for him and he feels them grab his arm before he drowns again-

…

and then he's in blinding daylight, something holding him tightly, and he thrashes against it and screams and screams and screams as the something - no, someone - whispers in his ear, words he can't make out over the sound of the waves and a strange humming that seems to be coming from everywhere at once, and then the someone - Nicky, it must be - is running a gentle hand over his hair, rocking them both back and forth gently, and only then does Joe stop screaming.

"I've got you," Nicky whispers in Joe's first language, the one he always defaults to when Joe panics like this, though it's never happened this badly because he's never actually drowned since getting out. A wounded sob escapes Joe's throat, and Nicky hushes him gently. "You're safe, Yusuf. I've got you."

Finally, Joe looks around - they're on a boat, which explains the humming, and he's seated in the middle of its deck, away from the edge on all sides, between Nicky's legs with his back to Nicky's chest, Nicky's arms tight around him. They're both soaked through, meaning Nicky must have been the one to pull him out of the water. Nile is sitting on a bench nearby, watching him worriedly, though smiles at him when he meets her eyes.

"It's okay," Nicky whispers. "You're out, Yusuf. You're out."

--------------------

Joe can't seem to stop shaking.

Nicky sits beside him in the car on the way back, as close as he can be, holding his hand. But Joe still can't stop shaking, nor can he breathe properly, like iron bands are clamped around his chest and preventing him from taking a full breath. He keeps his eyes closed and listens to his family talking around him, but doesn't say a word.

When they arrive at the safehouse, Nicky leads him straight to their bedroom, still holding his hand. He lets go only to dig through the dresser, passing Joe a change of clothes wordlessly.

Once Joe's changed, he takes Nicky's hoodie from where he'd left it on the bed that morning before leaving and pulls it on, partially for warmth and partially for comfort. When Nicky turns around, having changed too, and sees him sitting on the edge of their bed with the hood pulled up over his head, he smiles, reassuring but sad at the same time.

"Will you be able to eat anything?" he asks softly, sitting down beside him.

Joe shakes his head.

"I'm going to check on the others, then. You'll be okay by yourself for a few minutes?"

Joe nods this time, and Nicky smiles again, slipping his arm across Joe's shoulders and pulling him close, turning his head in to kiss the top of Joe's head. "I'll be back in a moment."

With that, he leaves, and Joe is alone in the room. The house is quiet except for the sound of Nicky's footsteps, deliberately hitting every creaky floorboard between their bedroom and the rest of the house. Joe sits there for a moment longer, then stands, crossing to their window and pulling the curtains open. It's dark, now that the sun has set, but he doesn't turn on the light. Just stands by the window and watches the moon for a while.

It's a clear night. There's only a few clouds in the sky, and they're far enough from the city that the stars are mostly visible above. Joe's hands won't stop shaking. He's so tired.

He's better, for the most part. But he still dreams about the ocean more often than not, still has days where he can't handle being in contact with water, moments where he thinks it's all a dream and he'll wake up in the coffin any moment and can't seem to remember how to breathe. There are still things he just doesn't know about this new world, languages he can't speak the way he used to. It still haunts him, even though he's better, and he can't get away from it, no matter how much he wishes he could.

Nicky doesn't speak at first when he returns, just closes the door carefully behind him. Joe doesn't turn to look, but he can hear him moving around.

This safehouse is one of their nicer ones, and so there's a CD player in the bedroom, with a small stack of CDs beside it. There's some way to play music in every safehouse they've been to since they left Malta - if there isn't, they get one. There's a few albums or songs Joe likes to have wherever they are, but there are others they pick up at random from thrift stores nearby, so each safehouse's collection is slightly different. He listens as Nicky picks one up and opens its case, then places the disc in the tray. He skips forward a few tracks, and then lets it play - it's one of Joe's favourites, familiar and gentle.

Only then does Nicky approach him, still careful to step on the creaky floorboards so Joe can hear him coming, wrapping his arms around Joe's waist from behind, taking both of Joe's still-trembling hands in his own. He begins to sway them both back and forth in time with the music, not quite dancing, just keeping Joe grounded.

Joe lets his head fall back onto Nicky's shoulder without really thinking about it. For a long while, neither of them speak, and bit by bit the iron bands around Joe's chest begin to loosen, letting him breathe properly.

"I don't want to feel like this anymore," Joe says finally. "I don't - I want to be able to stop thinking about it. I want to be able to feel like it was just a nightmare. I want-" His voice breaks. "I hate this."

Nicky's fingertips brush the backs of Joe's hands. "I know. But you've come so far, Yusuf. This won't change that, and it will pass, I promise. You won't feel like this forever."

"And what if it doesn't, and I can't ever get past it?" If the bad days never go away?

Nicky kisses the curve of his shoulder. "I'll be here," he says simply. "Always. If you want to take another break from jobs and go back to Malta for a while, or if you want to stay. I'll be with you, whatever you decide.”

Joe nods.

He won’t make any decisions tonight. They’ll rejoin the others later, and maybe tonight he’ll dream of drowning again, and maybe he’ll scream himself awake, and maybe he’ll be okay in the morning but maybe he won’t. For now, he closes his eyes and listens to the music.

(If he dreams, Nicky will be there when he wakes. And if he’s okay in the morning, Nicky will help him decide what to do next. And if he’s not, then Nicky will stay with him until he is, no matter how long it takes.)

(Joe will be okay, with time.)

#neon writes #the old guard #kaysanova #iron maiden joe #had. an interesting day. so wrote this enjoy #this belongs in a longer sequel i'll probably write eventually that (mostly) explores joe experiencing More Stuff that didn't make it into #the first fic. but yeah i couldnt stop thinking about this this morning.#the song nicky plays is canzone dell'amore perduto by fabrizio de andre which! fun fact was almost the song in the second to last scene #of libero libero but i changed my mind at the last minute so its actually mona lisas and mad hatters #however i still wanted amore perduto in there somewhere so. this it is #i simply think joe would like it.#anyway! happy tuesday #userlyde #userlinax #lazynbored

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itsmyfriendisaac · 1 year

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#jams #janelle monae #neon valley street #the archandroid #soul

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cosmicrhetoric · 7 months

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i know that janelle monae wrote an explicit dyke anthem this past album yaaaaay ty janelle but to us archandroid girls........we've had mushrooms and roses since 2010

#feel like that utena bit the 'we rabbit girls can only get married when it snows on a sunny day'#we archandroid girls associate half those songs with gay sex anyway #why did i pick mushrooms and roses over come alive and tightrope and neon valley street #janelle monae

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macmanx · 9 months

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Visited the Museum of Neon Art in Glendale today. It’s a small museum, but I highly recommend visiting.

Three M's, by Oliver Nowlin, 2020

The Unconditional Love Bug, by Roxy Rose (aka Neo-Girl), 2022

Arthur Jr., by Larry Albright, 1995

Reddy Kilowatt, by Larry Albright, 2009

Lady Liberty, by Roxy Rose (aka Neo-Girl). There’s no date on this piece, because the artist is constantly updating it with things that matter to her.

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neon-slime · 1 year

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Janelle Monáe deserved at least 4 oscars for her work in The Glass Onion

#The Glass Onion #Janelle Monae #Neon watches The Glass Onion

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kat-z-edition-art · 11 months

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It's the last supper but it's the seven drawfs but it's the mona lisa but the background is the end of evangellion but it's Mario

#kat z edition #original character #cartoon #fan art #garfield #mona lisa #jesus #the last supper #mario #neon genesis evangelion #paper drawing #pen drawing #pencil and paper #pen and ink #masterpiece #I have peaked

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vintagesignsus · 2 years

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Mona Lisa #3, San Francisco, CA

#sign #signgeeks #signs #retro #vintage #signgeek #neon sign #neon #retro sign #signage #signporn #vintagesign #retro vintage classic #retrosign #retrosigns #Mona Lisa #san fransico #california

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hometoursandotherstuff · 1 month

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Here we have a home that demonstrates how stark white walls don't mean that a house can't be colorful. Why, however, they painted all the exterior brick blue, I don't understand. Anyway, the 1991 contemporary home, located in Pauma Valley, California, has 3bd, 3.5ba and is listed for $1.15M.

Enter an open "foyer." The front door is painted purple inside. Love that.

Immediately to the right is a big bright living room with a contemporary fireplace. I think that the colorful chimney is wallpaper, there's a blue square painted on the wall with an orange door to the left that matches the Mona Lisa art.

Also in the living room is a recessed wet bar.

The open concept living/dining room features a custom made conversation pit. I'm disappointed that the furnishings don't seem to be included. But, I guess there's enough color for the buyers to put their own stamp on it.

Look at the tile column that appears to be made of Legos. The stairs and seats in the pit are made of concrete, so all that's needed are some cushions.

Brightly striped wall in the dining room has a neon sign that says, "Steak Me Home Tonight." I wonder if it conveys.

The spacious powder room has pink toilet paper roll wallpaper.

The kitchen has white cabinetry and features a blue island, but accessories provide pops of color.

In the family room, a floor-to-ceiling fireplace looks funky with raised geometric shapes painted gray. I suppose that you can repaint it, if you want. Light blue shelving and cabinets provide the color in the room.

Purple carpeting in the primary bedroom. I see what they were trying to do with the bed, but it's just not bright enough.

I prefer this bedroom with the mural and geometric shapes.

Check out the bright yellow wall of cabinets in the home office. That desk would be easy to duplicate.

Colorful wallpaper and doors.

The basement is a blank canvas.

This home is located in a country club.

Nice entrance to the driveway, but I think it would look classier if they hadn't painted the bricks.

Path to the front door looks nice.

The kidney-shaped pool kinda looks heart-shaped, too. A privacy wall surrounds the property.

They didn't show it, but there's a sun room or conservatory in the back.

Unusual elevated yard area has a ladder to get to it.

https://www.realtor.com/realestateandhomes-detail/15759-Pauma-Valley-Dr_Pauma-Valley_CA_92061_M28257-29025

#contemporary homes #colorful homes #houses #house tours #home tour

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nico-vega · 10 months

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#momos random uwu #momos en español #humor #momo en español #memes en español #tumblr en español #momazos #lolmemes #humor en español #best memes #meme en tumblr #memes es español #neon genesis evangelion #tumblr memes #monas chinas

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shakirawastaken · 10 months

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dsmp if... they were spiderman

i love spiderman just like every other bitch out there

dream: - do not be surprised if he comes out one day and claims hes a demigod and superhero and a wizard - cause if its anybody its this guy fr - if he was spiderman he wouldnt have the main and basic color scheme - hed go green like everything - green is the main color like the evermore green and black/white as the accent colors - his string also wouldnt be normal spider string i feel like itd be neon ish like miguels from the movie - he would also avoid telling you that he was spiderman till the very last moment - he would wanna keep you safe the best he can - would nEVER swing by your house - but he keeps an eye out on you when he knows ur out and about walking - but when you eventually figure it out? boy oh boy - cornering you in the street and pushing you into an alleyway - spiderman poses in front of you, hanging from his web - gives you upside down kisses???? sign me tf up - hed also get himself just the right amount involved in the crime he fought - he knows how to balance his life out, and he knows how important it is to be able to balance his life out like that - hot as spiderman sapnap: - a reckless spiderman - leans vigilante - out of all of them he would be the one with the suit closest to the spiderman - but im not feeling the blue - marroon and black or some other brighter color - a rash spiderman - fights crime like no business, but kinda makes a mess along the way - its okay bc the people love him - loves loves LOVES arguing with cops - tells you almost immediately after becoming spiderman bc he has to tell someone - breaks every canon event - trash talks every criminal out there - but is nice to every citizen he sees - likes webshooting your wrist to the counter or something so you cant leave or go out or smth - forces you to spend time with him :) - likes to keep out of interacting with people as spiderman - but will use it as argument bait in day to day life - makes a hammock out of webs and lays there between two buildings - overall 7/10 spiderman

george: - is barely spiderman but when he is hes darn good at it - he leaves a lot of the petty crime to the cops - only goes out for the big stuff - dark navy blue suit with black accents - stays in the shadows/on top of buildings - doesnt interact with anyone if he can help it - the more secretive he can keep the better - he told you a fair amount of time after he went out as everyones crime fighting superhero - but he doesnt like to talk about being spiderman - and youre fine with that, as long as he stays safe - he swings to your window every night after hes done being spiderman - hed rather be with you than someone else after the hard night hes probably had - has a habit opening your window without knowing and jumpscaring you accidentally LMFAO

karl: - oh he LOVES BEING SPIDERMAN - hes the spiderman to be on every cereal box and phone cover and talk show - loves taking pictures especially with little children in their own spiderman costumes - after he captures and ties up every criminal he leaves a little goofy aah note for the cops to laugh at - unlike sapnap he has a great rep w the cops - he told you after he “test” ran it - actually he just showed up with the mask on and you were like “SPIDERMAN OMG LET ME CAL MY BF” - and then spidermans phone was ringing and you were like - “what” - “im spiderman!” - “WHAT” - his suits like - i feel like it changes color in the sun - its one of those suits - and hes the only one out of all to have an assistant ai thing in his suit to lead him through crime - he might be a more light hearted spiderman but he still deals with the same dangerous crime

quackity: - this guy loves to swing - he will put his headphones on and jump off the nearest building - mona lisa by dominic fike - soars to the ground and then swings up at the last moment - swings to the beat of the music to relax - he has the normal suit i think - but he has his hair comin out of the suit like pavitr - loves to take you swinging - even if you may find it terrifying - he likes the feeling of sharing with you his favorite activity - fights crime like no ones business - he told you like a few months after being spiderman - he just jumped down from the ceiling - “? what” - “spiderman!” - “...what” - yeah - idk all i can think of is that quackity likes to swing around the city just for the heck of it - “WOAH ITS SPIDERMAN” “YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA”

wilbur: - has a black suit like miles - tommy is his guy in the chair LMFAO - in his ear like “SWING LEFT I MEAN RIGHT I MEAN LEFT” - mutes tommy half the time - leaves you little messages in web on the walls of the house - “love you!” but its in spider web - actively holds a conversation with the people hes fighting - “so hows your day?” *PUNCH* “hows ur kid doing?” *OBLITERATES* - uses physics and shit to his advantage cause hes not that built - another one whos hot as spiderman - never EVER brings you out as spiderman - EVER - will bring tommy tho - cause tommy annoys him into doing - “BIG UPS WILBUR!!” “SHH TOMMY” - is spidermans biggest fan even though hes spiderman - “they will never suspect spidermans biggest fan as spiderman!” - smart ngl

guys all i can think about is spiderman its a dilemma an issue a problem sorry for the short headcanons i had to get my thoughts out of the way!

#dream x reader #dreamwastaken x reader #wilbur soot x reader #georgenotfound x reader #sapnap x reader #karl jacobs x reader #quackity x reader #dsmp x reader #wilbur x reader #mcyt x reader #shakira shakira writes #dsmp if... series

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tmnt-tychou · 4 months

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You guys know I had to design a Fortnite Mona Lisa. I had to. She is a Neon Day Gecko which is why her face is green and her body is blue. The TMNT Fortnite skins are so cute. I need to draw them sometime. (I don't know anything about the game, but I love seeing the animations people make of the turtle boys.)

#tmnt #my art #ninja turtles #tmnt mona lisa #fortnite

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kit-and-wolfe · 1 month

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Battle of the Bands

Hobie, Miguel, Gabriel, Gwen and 1st person pov OC / MC

New Adult magical realism AU (obvi) brain worm that has grown from a 2-shot screenplay for some fun comics into a monster. This fic is like Tremors in my brain.

The summer before college MC, Gabriel O'Hara, and Miguel O'Hara go on an international road trip with their metal band, Neon Requiem. Destination? BandFest, the Battle of the Bands in London guaranteed to secure the winning band a record deal. They meet other ATSV characters along the way.

No mention of Y/N / Reader, written from 1st person POV. Self-insertion is made easier by fewer details about the MC.

Notes on language: Tried my best here, if you are a native speaker of French, let me know if the MC's French is unnatural and I will love you forever.

Romance, angst, and poorly understood music concepts are often written as having a distinct visual component because I am an artist first. <

@pinksugarscrub @the-kr8tor I DID THE THING!

*******************************************************************

Chapter 1 - “Vous êtes maître de votre vie et de vos émotions, ne l’oubliez jamais. Pour le meilleur et pour le pire”

The Rusty Nail's neon whir and raucous rhythms had been muted to a melancholy hum that evening, it was a ghost town, the emptiness of the dimly lit bar echoing with decades of unfulfilled longings. I nursed my drink, letting the smoky burn of liquor etch contours of quiet contemplation onto my throat as I surveyed the handful of kindred souls keeping solemn vigil. Life had been feeling heavy, and I needed to write, to make art, and to get lost in music.

At the far end of the bar hunched a beautiful wraith, his slim, angular frame sheathed in torn denim and studded leather. Something indefinable shimmered around him, unsung poetry, snippets of melodies, a symphony I could see and hear and almost touch. Drawn like a moth to the lambent glow of the music, I slid onto the stool beside the ethereal punk spectre. In my mind's eye, I crowned him the prince of punk, a fairy tale rebel.

Our bodies brushed intimately in the cramped space, raising ghosts of sensation along the exposed skin of my fishnets. "Wozzat, luv?" he murmured, kohl-rimmed eyes flickering over the point of contact with a soldering heat.

Mon dieu, {My God} Had I spoken my admiration aloud? A flush crept up my cheeks as I scrambled for a response.

"Désolé. Je répétais quelque chose pour ne pas l'oublier… Need to write it down before I lose it," {Sorry. I was repeating something so I wouldn't forget it…} I mumbled, a flimsy excuse for my wandering mind.

Fumbling through my bag ,I pulled out my tattered notebook, fingers trembling as I scribbled down a scrap of verse inspired by the punk's incandescent presence beside me. I scribbled my observations in hasty strokes. The dying light of day bled into night, a liminal space that begged for a soundtrack. I could almost hear it, a melody just out of reach, shimmering in the smoky air.

"The liminal light of late afternoon, yawning into early evening…" I muttered, pulling on the strings of the melody, trying to draw it back to me. "I don't want to be loved for the things that I don't do. I don't want to be just a pretty face, I want to be a work of art…We are all just works of art."

The jukebox fell silent, making my mutterings around sift and strange, slightly unhinged---but the punk prince remained---his gaze heavy on my skin. I met his stare, unflinching. Unabashed curiosity flickered in eyes, wide brown and doe-like, framed by lashes so lush they seemed to blur the line between masculine and feminine, earthly and ethereal. I found myself dizzied by warring impulses - to flee this unsettling intimacy, or be consumed by it wholly.

He was a changeling, gorgeously androgynous: part punk Mona Lisa with a Cheshire cat grin, part Jean-Michel Baptiste, part force-of-fucking-nature. He made me feel like a background character in his story, could be a punk fairy princess, and I would be the dragon. My thoughts raced, fragments of poetry and half-formed desires. I scribbled faster, chasing the threads of inspiration, but a nudge from my prince brought me back to earth.

Snatches of poetry, raw and unfinished, that I urgently longed to refine on the page before they dissipated like the last wisps of smoke in a spent ashtray. But the punk's aura dragged me too deeply into devotional reverie. I glanced up apologetically as my concentration scattered, the thread of inspiration slipping through my fingers once more.

The bartender had sprouted up directly in front of me, and she eyed me expectantly. Her hair was a shock of blue curls and silver streaks shorn close to her scalp, it made her eyes seem more gray. Her skin etched with lines that mapped out the years like a roadmap. I felt the familiar pang of a poem lost to the ether.

"Un…Jack Daniel's, s'il vous plaît," {A…Jack Daniel's, please} I said, no longer able to filter its lilt from my words, as I wasn't paying attention to dulling it.

"Blimey, that's a proper choice, innit? You 'ere for the battle of the bands event this week, love?"

"Oui, how did you know?" {Yes, how did you know?}

"Just a…sense," he demurred with a wicked grin. "Call it a punk's intuition, darling. I'm in the mix too, y'know."

The bartender chuckled as she set my drink down. "You mean because everyone is here for Bandfest? Don't listen to this one, lovey, he's incorrigible. The crowds will be in later on, but you're a bit early."

"Shh, Roz. Who's up tonight?" The prince asked, a wicked gleam in his eye.

"Oh, you want insider information? What's in it for me?"

"Givin' away free tattoos, could autograph yer arm, love."

"I'll pass, thanks. The brackets are up in an hour anyway. It's Night Terrors vs. Death Rapture, Blood Prophecy vs. Cherry Bomb, Spider Punks vs. Neon Requiem…"

"Why are the punk bands going up against the metal bands?" I asked, just as the prince inquired about Phantom Pulse.

"There wasn't a lot of quality competition this year, or that's what the sponsors said, so they automatically advance to the semifinals since they won last year."

"Bollocks!" The prince cried, his outrage palpable.

"Oi Punk, you don't want to sign with Vic Luna at Zenith Music Group, anyway."

"Tu…ne le fais pas? Mais pourquoi?" {You…don't? But why?} The words tumbled out, my curiosity getting the better of me. At her blank stare, I repeated the question in English, heat rising to my cheeks.

Roz leaned in, her voice low, "Look kid, it's complicated…"

The prince rolled his eyes, a sneer playing at his lips. "Betrayed a lot of good bands."

"You don't need to remind me, Punk, I lived through it. Despite the changes at Zenith Music Group, they still organize the annual Bandfest, which showcases both established and emerging talent in the punk and metal scenes. The event is highly respected within the community and provides a platform for bands to gain exposure and connect with fans," the bartender continued, her words stilted, rehearsed.

"Ay, and they are the sponsor bringing in your crowds." The prince's voice was sharp, laced with an emotion I couldn't quite place.

"The only time we're out of the red, punkass. We'd have to shut down if it weren't for the Battle." She said heavily, "Which is the greater evil, we are a place of refuge for several members of the community, not just you."

"You don't need to remind me Roz, I'm living through it. Right, I'll stop ragging on the corporate sods for now, until you have some plausible deniability." He raised his hands in mock surrender, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.

"There's a good Punk." Roz smiled, sliding him another pint before retreating.

I made a mental note to warn my bandmates about Vic and Zenith's sordid history. We were in this for the music, not the money, no one played metal for the money--but it never hurt to be cautious.

"Roz is like the den mother of the London punk scene, a living testament to grit and resilience, and screaming yourself hoarse at basement shows. Dream t'be like her when I grow up. To listen without judgment, offer advice without preaching, and know when to slide a shot of whiskey across the bar and when to cut you off. She has a way of looking at you, really seeing you, like you matter… like you are more than just another face in the crowd." His voice trails off, heavy with emotion. He blinks and shakes it off.

"Can I see it?" The prince's voice cut through our lost thoughts, his fingers reaching for my notebook.

I clutched it to my chest, a knee-jerk reaction. "Can you look into my very soul, like Roz?"

His smirk widened, that Cheshire cat grin that set my heart racing. He nodded, a challenge in his eyes.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he purred, and I felt my stomach flip. I repeated the phrase in my mind, first in French, then in English, just to be sure I'd heard him right. Wasn't this some flirty idiom?

"You have a book of poetry somewhere hidden in those skinny jeans, mon ami?" {my friend?} I ask, hesitant, double-checking his meaning. He flirts like others breathe.

In lieu of an answer, he produced a sharpie from thin air. Before I could protest, he had my arm in his grasp, his touch electric against my skin. I shrugged off my leather jacket, baring my arms to his ink-stained fingers. Roz chuckled as she set another drink before me, clearly amused by the prince's antics.

"You'll need it…I see you took this wanker up on the free tattoo offer. Don't let him draw any on your arms."

"Any? …Any what?"

"Wankers," she clarified with a laugh. It clarifies nothing, I need to study my British slang.

"I would not mar the flesh of such a beautiful and willing participant, Roz. Kindly fuck off," the prince mumbled around the sharpie cap clenched between his teeth.

Between the verses he scrawled, he peppered me with questions, his voice a giddy whisper.

"So, who's your poison, love? Which bands get your motor runnin'?"

"Ah, j'adore Rammstein, Gojira, et bien sûr, Motörhead. And so many others, doesn't even scratch the surface. Et toi?" {Ah, I love Rammstein... And you?}

"Proper choices, those. For me, it's the classics - Sex Pistols, The Clash, Buzzcocks. Real raw, in-your-face stuff, y'know?"

I leaned in, excited, but too close. I nearly jumped as my lips grazed the dusky shell of his ear. "Ah, un homme de bon goût! I've seen the Buzzcocks live, you know. Pure chaos, c'était incroyable!" {Ah, a man of good taste! I've seen the Buzzcocks live, you know. Pure chaos, it was incredible!}

"No bleedin' way! Metal chick like you? I'd give me left bollock to have seen the Sex Pistols live. But I did catch The Clash back in '07. Changed me life, it did."

"Lemmy, sans aucun doute. The man's a legend!" {Lemmy, without a doubt.} I declare into the bar.

"Oi, don't go disrespectin' Johnny, now! The bloke's a punk icon, 'e is!"

"You're a punk icon!" someone shouted from the back, but the prince waved them off with a grin.

"Oh, I didn't catch your name," I said, with a sudden shame, my brow furrowed.

"Everyone just calls me Punk. You can too. Just not dirty punk, we don't want to come to blows, do we, love?"

"I'd kick your ass, mon ami. Pas grand chose à donner, mon petit prince des fées… eh mon prince dégingandé, right? I would not describe you as petite even if you are skinny." {I'd kick your ass, my friend. Not much to give, my little fairy prince… eh my lanky prince, right?}

Miguel was at my side in an instant, all rippling muscle and furrowed consternation. "Carnalita, {little sis} why did you sneak out on practice just to drink in this hellhole?" he rumbled, disapproval lacing every sonorous word. Tenderness faded a bit.

I met his gruff chiding with an insouciant toss of my hair. "Salut, Miguel. Ça fait longtemps." {Hello, Miguel. It's been a while.}

"Is that Jack? No puedo mas… Carnalita…This shit is bad for you." {I can't take it anymore…little sis...}

"Je nais etre rond comme une queue de pelle. Tu es vraiment un trou de balle quand tu dis des choses pareilles!" {I would be round as a shovel handle. (Idiom, essentially she is saying ~ I was born to be drunk) You are really a dumbass when you say things like that!}

Miguel's grumbling stream of Spanish reprimands washed over me as I settled into our familiar dynamic - the tender yet terse cantata of friend and protector that had composed them score of our relationship since childhood. For all his bluster, I knew every arrhythmic cadence encoded Miguel's steadfast affection.

Only Gabriel's soft interjection could salve the rising discord. "You worry too much, Miggy. We've been practicing all week."

He cast me a plaintive glance, silently pleading for conciliation, and I grudgingly obliged with an internal eyeroll. "Qu'il aille se faire! C'est vraiment chiant tu te rends compte." {Let him go fuck himself! It's really annoying, you know.}

Heedless of my saucy french asides, Miguel merely drew a fortifying breath before continuing in that maddening timbre of unrelenting reason. "Gabri and I could have come out with you. You shouldn't go out alone in an unknown city - it's not safe for you, mi carnalita."

The prince leaned towards us with a lazy smirk, "S'not that serious. The Rusty Nail is safe enough." He paused as the bartender snorted in agreement before continuing, "We're keeping the lady safe, mate…you can trust me, I'm one of the Spider-Punks."

Miguel simply sneered at the prince's proffered handshake, dismissing it out of hand. "You have arms like sticks. How would you keep her safe?"

The punk's smirk widened as he shrugged. "Ah, one of those. Never skip leg day, eh bruv?"

I strangled a guffaw as Gabriel hastened to run interference, engulfing the punk's hand eagerly. "We've heard of you guys, the local punk band, yeah? Your drummer is…gahh…Ah-Mazing! You think we could meet?"

"You call that punk noise "rock"?" Miguel scoffed. "Metal is where the real skill lies…Real talent is in the complexity, the technical skill. Metal pushes boundaries, takes you to new places. Punk's just three chords and an attitude."

I rolled my eyes. At this rate, I'd have to drag Miguel out before he started a brawl.

"Ah, mais non, Miggy. There's art in simplicity too. Punk, metal, it's all about the energy, the message, non?" {Ah, but no, Miggy. There's art in simplicity too. Punk, metal, it's all about the energy, the message, right?}

Miguel grunted, but squeezed my hand.

I stood, motioning for him to lean in close. "Allez, let's save the competition for the stage, d'accord? I learned some things about the record company. We should talk in private." {Come on, let's save the competition for the stage, okay?}

The prince unfolded himself, towering over me. "Tell you what, mate. Let's settle this on stage. We'll let the crowd decide who's got the real chops," he challenged.

Gabriel chimed in, "Pero, mana's right, Miguel." {But, sister is right, Miguel.}

Miguel looked ready to explode, but Gabriel's eyes held him in check.

"Music's music. Let's just focus on putting on a good show, and maybe we can learn something from their band, eh?" Gabriel said.

The prince leaned in, lips grazing my cheek. "Aye, love. Can't wait to teach your wall of meat here a thing or two. How about we give 'em a show they won't forget…later?"

I grinned, "Oui! A collaboration? Here… Ça ne casse pas trois pattes à un canard…mais, pour vous. I want it back later." {Yes! A collaboration? Here…It doesn't break three duck legs (Idiom ~ It's nothing special) …but, for you. I want it back later.}

The lanky punk sauntered off, his studded boots leaving faint trails of glitter on the barroom floor. Miguel's scowl deepened as he watched him depart, fists clenched tightly.

"Is that your poetry notebook?" he growled, voice rumbling low.

"Yes, I traded it to the punk faerie for these tattoos, I smirked, revealing the vine-like scrawl of ink now adorning my flesh like raised scars from whipping brambles.

Miguel's face darkened further, storm clouds gathering at my words. "The one you never let anyone touch or read…"

His voice strangled to a whisper, and I could not parse the complex calculus of emotions flitting behind his eyes

Gabriel placed a calming hand on his brother's arm.

"Easy, hermano {brother}. He's not worth it," Gabriel said in a soothing tone.

"Be nice, Punk is a good guy. I like him," I countered softly, a warm glow blossomed within me as I realized my entire arm was now a crawling garden of sentences entirely in French.

Miguel opened his mouth, undoubtedly to unleash a heated retort, but Gabriel cut in, "Should we go look at the brackets to see who we're facing?"

"It looks like my entire arm is covered with quotes from The Little Prince, which happens to be my favorite book. It's actually quite a sweet gesture," I said softly, fingertips grazing the raised words like treasured runes.

With renewed curiosity, I examined the ink quote now etched on my skin: "Vous êtes maître de votre vie et de vos émotions, ne l'oubliez jamais. Pour le meilleur et pour le pire." {You are the master of your life and your emotions, never forget that. For better or worse.}

I didn't mention the lone scrawl that could have been a phone number hidden amidst the literary foliage now vining my limb. Miguel was in full-on Dad mode, and I didn't need to add fuel to that particular fire.

"I already know the competition for the quarterfinals, we don't need to waste our time. Come on, manos {used as slang for brother}, we're going to kick some ass!" I giggled brightly, elated at my new 'tattoos' scrawling up my arms. I didn't put my leather jacket back on, I didn't want to cover any of it up.

Miguel's glare never wavered, his eyes fixed on the far side of the bar where the prince had disappeared into the crowd. "Don't tempt me. Let's go, carnalita {little sister}, time for practice."

With a resigned sigh, I surrendered to my brothers' insistent tugs, allowing them to lead me from the Rusty Nail. But the punk prince's parting words still reverberated through my mind like the lingering notes of a siren song. Later, he had purred, that single hushed syllable seeming to contain all the intoxicating lure of a siren's call - equal parts velvet promise and brazen challenge, twined inextricably into an enchantment I could not resist. The whole damn bar was a sailor's nightmare.

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