Mocha 2
Author: sunsetsinthewes
Challenge: Mocha 2. A song stuck in my head
Extra: Sprinkles, chopped nuts, brownie, gummy bunnies (3WW: CCXLI (damp, incensed, skid)), fresh peaches, fresh pineapple
Word Count: 5,271
Rating: NC-17 (for sex in a few sections, drug use in one section, and bad language throughout)
Story: Polyfaceted; the title of this story is So It Goes.
Summary: Fifteen song-related ficlets featuring many different characters and situations.
Notes: First thing I've written in months! Sara originally prompted me with all these songs months ago, but here we are. Time frame spans 1982 through 2039, varying between canon and AU, but each section is clearly marked beforehand. As usual, italics denote spoken Italian while bold denote emphasis. Also, there seems to be a distinct theme of badass women taking a stand. Thanks dearly to subluxate for the Johnny-speak and the beta.
***
I will give you all I could ever give
Though it's less than you will need
Could you just forget, if you can't forgive
All the things I cannot concede
“For You” -- Barenaked Ladies
November 1982
Augusto is 31, Martina is 30
Canon
“I stand by my decision,” Martina repeats, defiant. “You deserve the large family that we’ve always wanted, and there’s no reason for you to give that up.”
“No reason? I love you, isn’t that reason enough?”
Avoiding his gaze, she gingerly sits up to rearrange the pillows supporting her back. After a beat or two, she murmurs, “And you also love Gabriella-- no, don’t deny it. I’m not foolish enough to think that takes away from your love for me, and I know that will never change.”
“What happened,” Augusto quietly replies as he reaches across the bed to grasp her hand in his, “was not your fault. Do you think it matters to me if we have four children or four dozen? All that matters is that I have you, not the size of our family.”
She knows all of this, of course, but that does nothing to ease her sense of blame. “Please. I want to do this.”
Finally, after four days of endless, circular debates, Augusto relents. “Okay.”
***
It's not the way that I planned
Just the right man, the wrong time
Even the moments he's holdin' me
I know he's not really mine
“She Gets What I Deserve” -- SHeDAISY
September 2002
Eileen is 29, Torey is 28
AU in which Torey marries Maggie
“I have to do the right thing.”
“The right thing?” Eileen heedlessly cries out. “There’s nothing ‘right’ about this. You’re miserable, Torey! How long are you going to throw away your life-- our lives-- for her?”
Torey winces, but barrels on. “I’m married. Nothing changes that, not how much we loathe each other and not the way I feel about you. I have to think about Dylan.”
Eileen softens. “Haven’t you sacrificed enough for your brother’s mistake? Hasn’t your entire family?”
“I’m sorry.”
A beat passes. “But I love you.”
“I know,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”
“I won’t cry for you, Salvatore Corlioni,” Eileen vows, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I won’t.”
When he answers, his voice is thick, aged beyond his years. “I think you should go.” It isn’t until her hand wraps around the doorknob that he manages to croak out an urgent, “Eileen!”
She wordlessly halts mid-step.
“I-I love you too.”
“I know.”
Seven years pass before Torey allows himself to tell her once more.
***
You spin my head right round, right round
When you go down, when you go down down
“Right Round” -- Flo Rida
June 2008
Michael is 36, Johnny is 31
Canon
For thirty-six hours, they do nothing but fuck.
No, that’s not quite true-- they sleep, they eat, and they talk about things both inconsequential and not. To Johnny’s surprise, there are no lulls in their conversation, no dull anecdotes that he has to endure. It turns out that they have more in common than he originally thought, and when they do disagree, he finds himself just as interested in Michael’s opinions as his own.
But there’s also the fucking. What was supposed to be a one-night stand has turned into a weekend-long session of some of the most amazing sex Johnny has had in years. They’ve fucked on every horizontal surface in his apartment, as well as a few of the vertical ones, and with a casual familiarity they’ve done things that Johnny usually does after six months in a relationship. Sexually, they click in a way he’s never quite experienced before.
On Sunday, after they eventually concede to reality and dress once more, Johnny walks Michael to his waiting cab. “That was great.”
Michael smiles. “It was.”
“We should do it again.”
“I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”
Their eyes meet, and Johnny grins. “How’s tomorrow night for ya?”
***
It's like a hurricane, speed train, she's a moving car
Catch her in the fast lane, oh I gotta know,
Can I keep up with her pace?
Kick it into gear when I see that face
“Love Like Woe” -- The Ready Set
September 2002
Damien is 19, Nicoletta is 15
Canon
Nicoletta Corlioni is, hands down, the craziest fucking bitch that Damien Alsandor has ever been with.
“You better have something good planned,” she announces on their first date, climbing into his car after shooting it an amused look. “If I want to go to some expensive French restaurant, I’ll take myself-- fuck knows I can afford it more than you can. I want to have fun tonight, got it?”
Damien grins. “How’s a party sound? My buddy’s got a place in Washington Heights and he’s having a blow out-- all the booze and coke you can handle.”
Her smile is slow, sensuous and seductive. “Sounds like my kind of party.” She waves a dismissive hand. “How fast can this piece of shit go?”
“Let’s find out,” he replies, tires screeching as they peel out of her neighborhood.
And that’s only the beginning.
It’s no secret to either of them that she’s slumming with him, but if that’s how she gets her rocks off, who is Damien to complain? Nicoletta seems to thrive on flouting every social convention that she can think of-- the more illegal or degrading the activity, the more she loves it. They spend most of their time together doing as many drugs as they can get their hands on, and in between that, they fuck (Christ, how they fuck...). Their dates usually consist of a combination of thievery and vandalism, among various other felonies, and they hang out in the seediest neighborhoods New York has to offer. Being with Nicoletta is one adrenaline rush after another and the wildest goddamn time of Damien’s life.
“You’re one motherfucking crazy bitch, you know that?” he asks her, as they make a run for it after breaking into a stranger’s backyard in order to skinny dip in their hot tub.
“Yeah?” she calls. “Then just try to keep up.”
***
Wait up last friday night
The party looked alright
Just as I stepped on in
I saw you look at him
Oh hell no, excuse me, what?
Must be jokin' around
Best leave your pumps at home
I'm ready to throw down
“Friday Night Bitch Fight” -- Ke$ha
June 2004
Angela is 25
Canon
She can’t be more than nineteen, the little slut. She’s been prancing around David ever since she started working for the family, tossing her red curls and giggling at every asinine thing he says. Not that Angela really blames her. She’s been fucking David for eight months now and still every time she sees him, there’s a twinge of arousal. Hell, they’re not even exclusive-- the fucker’s still married to that cunt and she’d be a moron to think he wasn’t fucking a half-dozen other girls on the side. But the short skirts and low-cut blouses are too much.
Eventually, Angela intercepts the little skank as she bounces her way out of David’s office. “This stops now,” she hisses into her ear.
“E-excuse me? I’m not sure I understand what you mean, Miss Palermo.”
“Don’t give me that shit, little girl. I’m not blind and I’m not stupid, so don’t fucking treat me like I’m either. Maybe you’re looking for a promotion, or money, or even just a good fuck-- I don’t give a shit. Stay away from David Corlioni, got that?”
“I don’t think that’s your call to make. You’re not his wife.” The whore shoots her an overly friendly smile. “In fact, if what everyone says is true, you’re not even his only woman on the side. If he feels the need to look for satisfaction elsewhere, well, I’d say that you might only have yourself to blame, wouldn’t you?”
“Is that so?” Angela lowers her voice and takes great care to enunciate her every word. “First thing tomorrow morning, you’ll be handing in your resignation, effective immediately. If you don’t, I’ll disfigure that pretty little face of yours, simple as that. That is not an empty threat.” To her pleasure, fear flickers across the girl’s expression. “See, all those women-- including you and his wife-- are nothing more than come receptors to him. I’m not. I matter. And I’m not going to put up with some ambitious whore and her pathetic attempts to change that. Now leave, and don’t let me ever see you again.”
***
It’s getting late
To give you up
I took a sip
From my devil's cup
Slowly
It’s taking over me
“Toxic” -- Britney Spears
May 2004
Julia is 21, Eva is 3, Adamo is 1
Canon
For the fifth time in less than a minute, Julia confirms that the kids are still asleep. Eva’s sucking her thumb and her free hand is tightly clasped in Adamo's-- one look at them is all she needs to know that this is the right decision. Maybe in a few weeks, after everything’s died down, she can call Augusto and work this out. Until then, it’ll be just her and her babies, with no one threatening to come between them.
Julia’s hands are shaking as she finally retreats to the bathroom. Like the rest of the motel room, the bathroom is in a state of disrepair, but relatively clean. She sits on the closed lid of the toilet and fumbles with her purse for a few agonizing seconds before extracting the small bag of powder and paraphernalia.
In two minutes, the bottomless ache is washed from her bones and replaced with the familiar euphoria.
Stumbling into the next room, Julia revels in the relief she feels. There’s a long way to go, but in the meantime, she has her babies and her freedom. She’ll fight this addiction on her own terms, and this time, she’ll beat it for good. She’ll find a job-- a real job, like serving or something-- and get a nice apartment somewhere. She’ll support her children by herself, without anyone pulling the strings.
Yes, she decides as she falls onto the bed for the last time, things are going to be okay.
***
I wanna tease you till you’re begging me
And you’re on your knees
And it’s hard to breathe
And every other time is just a memory
Cus I only wanna be wanted by you
“Wanted” -- Jesse James
August 2012
Ethan is 20, Gino is 17
Canon
Ethan is on his knees when it happens, lavishing Gino with his complete attention.
“Yeah, that’s-- just like that. So good, fuck, I fucking love you.”
Time stops. Ethan jerks back as though burned, while ice floods Gino’s veins. Their eyes lock, widening in unison, and for a few moments, neither of them dare to breathe.
“Did you just say--”
“Say what?” Gino squeaks. “I didn’t say anything.”
“It sounded like you said--”
“That was just gas escaping.”
Another agonizing stretch of silence and then, “I love you too, you idiot, I’m in love with you.”
The rush of relief is enough to weaken Gino’s knees-- clutching at Ethan’s shoulders, he sighs, “Oh, thank fuck.” He glances down, a smile teasing at his lips. “In that case, mind picking up where you left off?”
***
You declared you would be three inches taller
You only became what we made you.
Thought you were chasing a destiny calling
You only earned what we gave you.
You fell and cried as our people were starving,
Now you know that we blame you.
You tried to walk on the trail we were carving,
Now you know that we framed you.
“The Punk and the Godfather” -- The Who
July 1986
Torey is 12, Johnny is 10
AU in which Torey is precognitive
“You’re being unreasonable!”
“Unreasonable? Augusto, he’s twelve, he’s still a boy! I’m not abandoning him like you!”
“You just don’t understand how these things work! I know, I’ve seen it, I watched my mother--”
“Oh, of course, your mother. Maybe I don’t want my son repeating her mistakes! No, don’t touch me--”
“Please, try to see reason, if he can’t tell us--”
“He can, he won’t!”
“You don’t understand--”
“I don’t want to understand!”
“For Christ’s sake, Martina, it’s been ten goddamn years!”
“Hey,” Johnny interrupts, hovering outside Torey’s room. “Don’ listen ta that.”
Torey scoffs. “Kind of hard not to.”
“They’re just upset an' blowin’ off steam.”
“Yeah, because of me.” He sighs. “Where’s Teresa?”
Johnny suddenly looms into view, leaning over the bed to peer at him. “With the little shit. I put on Sesame Street an' cranked up the stereo. Wanna tell me about it?”
“Not really.” Torey sits up, scooting over to make room. “I Saw something. Nothing too bad, but I can’t tell anyone. You’ll all know by next week anyway, but Ma flipped.”
“I think she’s been buildin' all this up for awhile,” Johnny reluctantly admits.
“...your fault! How could you--”
“How dare you even say that, how--”
Wincing, Torey spits out, “I really fucking hate this.”
“Yeah,” Johnny agrees, clasping his shoulder. “I hate it for ya too.”
***
You could've been the next one
(God only knows)
You could've been the one to comprehend me
You could've been the only one
(the broken down and sick one)
You could've been the one who I lie with
“FMLYHM” -- Seether
January 2006
Maggie is 30, Johnny is 29
Canon
“Still think ya shoulda let me call Matt,” Johnny grumbles, pressing the ice pack against her side and smoothing the butterfly bandage on her cheek.
“I’d rather go back home than let that sanctimonious ass sneer all over me,” Maggie snaps. “Anyway, nothing’s broken. It just hurts like a motherfucker.”
Johnny ignores the dig, clenching and unclenching a fist as he mutters, “I’ll tear off the shit-stain’s balls myself, I swear to fucking God. What was it this time?”
“He’s a beast.” A beat follows. “This is all your fault, you know.”
He stares. “The fuck are you talking about? My fault?”
“This,” she cries out, before seemingly remembering her bruised ribs. With a grimace, she continues, “This is! Look at me, Johnny! I’m thirty fucking years old, just look at me!”
“I’m lookin'. What?”
“I’m a joke.” Maggie’s cheeks are flushed with anger, splotchy and red. “I have no social life, my own kids hate me and, to be honest, I can’t stand them, and my marriage-- fuck, there are no words for my marriage.” She purses her lips and mumbles, “You could’ve prevented this if you weren’t such a selfish--”
For a long time, Johnny is unable to speak through his fury. Eventually, voice dangerously low, he hisses, “I didn’t make your choices, Maggie. I don’t owe ya a damn thing beyond my friendship, and I’m runnin’ outta that. I can’t keep makin’ excuses for ya. Ya chose this shit and you can deal with it.”
She laugh hollowly. “You knew how I felt, you could have--”
“I don’t owe you my life!” he shouts at her. “I never have! Get that through your fuckin’ head. I should’ve cut you off a long time ago, but I felt pity for you. You and your... your fuckin’ obsession.”
Eyes flashing and shaking with rage, Maggie gets to her feet. “Fuck you, Johnny Corlioni. I don’t have to take this.”
“You don’t have to--!” he chokes out. “Get the fuck out of my home and don’t ever fucking come back.”
The door slams behind her.
***
Mistreated, misplaced, misunderstood
Miss 'No way, it's all good', it didn't slow me down
Mistaken, always second guessing, underestimated
Look, I'm still around
“Fucking Perfect” -- P!nk
February 2020
L is 20, Little Augusto is 17
Canon
“I can’t stand it, I’m gonna snap,” Little Augusto vows as they reassemble the couch. “Ever since you moved out, it’s only gotten worse. I mean it, L, I can’t do this. If Dad’s bitch doesn’t kill me, her brats will probably get the job done. You know how she plays favorites, and now that I’m the only one, she directs all of her poison at me.”
L winces, stacking blankets under the end table. “You know Nonna’ll always welcome you and you sure as fuck are allowed to stay here whenever you want.”
“Yeah, but you have a relationship now. I don’t want to get in the way of that.”
“It’s not like we’re too busy fucking on the couch for you to be able to crash here. Well, at least not while you’re sleeping on it.”
“Oh for-- gross!” Little Augusto cries, drowning out the laughter. “Fuck off. And you know that’s not what I meant.”
Sobering, L continues, “It’s only until you graduate, anyway. Then you’re free to get the fuck out of there and go wherever you want.”
“About that...” Little Augusto tosses a pillow in the direction of the bedroom, avoiding his brother’s gaze.
“Oh fuck no. You’re finishing high school if I have to force you at gunpoint. I swear to God, I’ll get Nonna on my side if I have to, don’t think I’m bluffing.”
Little Augusto’s eyes reflexively widen in fear and he hurries to clarify, “No, no, I don’t mean that, I--” With a sigh, he sinks onto the coffee table. “I just mean that I’ve been thinking about what I want to do. You know, once my prison sentence is over. I’ve kind of been thinking about, um, moving.”
“Well, yeah, of course,” L absently agrees. “I’ll help you find a place, don’t worry. Between Nonno’s money and the trust fund from Maggie, you can move to the Upper East Side, if you want.”
“No, not--” Little Augusto hesitates. “I meant moving away. Out of the city, even.” Biting his lip, he chances a glance. “I’m not like you and the others, L. There's nothing left for me here."
"Nonna's here. I'm here." L pauses. "Terri's here."
"Don't." He sighs once more, deep and weary. "It's not like I'd leave forever or anything, and you can't tell me you ever thought there was a chance I'd be joining the business. I just don't see why I should stay." Eyes pleading, he relates, "I don't want to spend the rest of my life being a Corlioni. I want a chance to be Augusto. You know?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I think I do." An awkward beat passes. "You know I love you, right?"
"Fucking sap. I know. And for some stupid reason I love you back."
L cocks his head thoughtfully. "This isn't because I said that Aleksy and I fuck on the couch, right?"
"No, but you can bet your left nut that I'm not sleeping on that biohazard ever again."
***
When I grow up, be on TV
People know me, be on magazines
When I grow up, fresh and clean
Number one chick when I step on the scene
But be careful what you wish for
‘Cause you just might get it
”When I Grow Up” -- Pussycat Dolls
September 2015
Martina is 63, L is 16, Terri is 15, Little Augusto is 13
Canon
On the second day of Maggie’s disappearance, Terri and her brothers come down the stairs to find their Nonna waiting for them in the kitchen. Unlike every other morning they’ve spent with her, this particular morning holds no welcoming breakfast smells, no comforting atmosphere of harried bustle, and no cheerful melodies from Mrs. Colvio as she begins her housekeeping duties. Instead, Nonna sits at the kitchen table with a solemn expression on her face, her hands tightly clasped together.
“I received a phone call this morning,” she tells them without preamble. “Your mother’s body was found in a parking lot just after midnight.” Here, she hesitates. “She was stabbed, but the authorities assured me that she didn’t suffer too--”
“Did Dad do it?” L interrupts curiously.
Nonna’s eyes widen. “What? No, of course not, how could you even think such a thing!”
L merely shrugs. As if they weren’t all thinking it.
“Does this mean I don’t have to go to school today?” Augusto pipes up. “Because I have a math test that I totally didn’t study for.”
“A math-- did you understand what I’m saying? Your mother has been killed.”
Finally finding her voice, Terri quietly asks, “Are they sure it’s her?”
Nonna softens. “Yes, tesora. They made a positive identification. I’m so sorry.”
“Good.”
For a moment, no one speaks.
“Excuse me?”
“Good,” Terri repeats, the unimaginable relief making her bolder by the second. “I’m glad she’s dead. She’s-- she was a horrible, hateful woman, even you said so.”
“Terri...” L murmurs beside her in warning.
“Whatever my opinions may have been,” Nonna testily states, “she is still your mother and we do not wish that kind of fate on anyone, is that clear?”
“She was never a mother! Not to any of us and definitely not to me. Maggie hated me, she always has, and I’m not going to pretend I’m upset that she got what she deserved.” Now that Terri’s on a roll, she can’t seem to stop, not for L and Augusto’s astonished gasps or for Nonna’s rising outrage. “She was a spiteful, conniving, selfish, manipulative person that tricked Dad into a marriage so that she could use him for his status and power, and then she resented the very children that made it happen. She did any awful thing she could think of for his attention and took it out on us when he ignored her! Maggie never cared about us-- all she cared about was making sure people knew her name and how important she was. Well, the whole world’s going to know about the murdered wife of the mob boss, so that bitch is just getting what she wants. In fact, I wish she had died sooner and saved us the trouble!”
It’s as if all the air has been sucked out of the room, no one daring to breathe until L finally spits out, “She doesn’t mean that, Nonna.”
“I do too--”
“It’s the grief,” he insists, shooting her a glare. “Terri’s just in shock, she doesn’t know what she’s saying.”
Nonna nods slowly. “Of course. I understand.” She turns on her, adding, “All the same, you do not use that sort of language in my house. You do not use that sort of language ever, understood?” Blood boiling, Terri grunts out a vague affirmation. “Good. Now head upstairs, all of you. I’ll be along after I make a few phone calls. And children? I am sorry that this happened.”
“That makes one person,” Terri mumbles under her breath as she follows her brothers.
***
I've been awake for a while now
You've got me feelin' like a child now
'Cause every time I see your bubbly face
I get the tingles in a silly place
“Bubbly” -- Colbie Caillat
May 2013
Sam is 21, Jeannette is 15
Canon
Sam's known Jeannette since she was three, and in spite of the six year difference in age, he's always thought of her as his intellectual equal. She's the only girl-- only person-- that can make him feel stupid, a quality of hers that he's always admired. So naturally, he values their friendship and wouldn't jeopardize it for anything.
Right?
It's the summer between grad and undergrad when everything changes. Sam's been home for exactly ten minutes when he barges into Karen's room, announcing, "You haven't seen your favorite brother in a month, and you can't even bother to come say hi?"
Karen glances up from a pile of books, beaming. "What are you talking about, Zach's in the next room. Besides, I have company."
That's when he notices Jeannette perched on the bed, feet gracefully tucked under her, brilliant red hair swept up in a practical bun. They've known each other for twelve years, but somehow, the Jeannette he's seeing is a stranger-- glamorous, beautiful, and alluring.
‘Has she always been hot?’ Sam wonders, following with an immediate, ‘Oh no.’ Aloud, he manages, "Hey, Jean."
She rolls her eyes. "Samuel. I heard you're going into MIT's graduate program." With a quick grin, she adds, "Generous of them to accept you after you took three years to earn a bachelor's."
Sam snorts. "Lambda calc, Jean, I had to take three years. What’s the excuse for your third year?”
“Double majors.” She sticks out her tongue and, for a brief second, his gaze lingers. “But it’s not like I won’t have my pick for grad school next year-- did you know that Yale and Harvard have thrown their hats into the ring? Not bad for a fifteen-year-old, huh?”
“That’s great, I mean it.”
“Yeah, yeah, everything’s great, but if you two are done nerd-gasming all over each other,” Karen breaks in, gesturing at the textbooks scattered throughout the room, “I’d like to get back to the biology final that I’m supposed to flunk next week.”
“Oh, right, sorry.” Sheepish-- in no small part because he completely forgot his sister was in the room-- Sam shuffles through the doorway. “We’ll talk this evening, okay? And it was great seeing you, Jeannette.”
“You too,” she replies with a heartfelt smile that shoots straight to his gut.
Well fuck.
***
The whole damn world is just as obsessed
With who’s the best dressed and who’s having sex,
Who’s in the clubs and who’s on the drugs,
Who’s throwing up before they digest
And you still don’t have the right look
And you don’t have the right friends
And you’re still listen to the same shit you did back then
High school never ends
“High School Never Ends” -- Bowling For Soup
April 2015
Stefano is 25
Canon
The wedding is the first time Stefano’s been in the company of the entire family since moving seven years earlier, and within minutes of his arrival he was able to tell that nothing had changed. The same violent, bigoted, sanctimonious assholes, in the same over-expensive clothing and jewels, sizing him up with the same disdainful airs. Home, infernal home.
He's standing just outside the narthex with the rest of the wedding party, waiting for his turn to walk down the aisle. Absorbed in admiring Isabella’s radiance while equally ignoring his father’s existence, Stefano doesn’t notice Nicoletta sidling up to him until her voice is hissing in his ear.
“I just want to make one thing clear.” The pleasant smile on her face is a jarring contrast to her venomous whisper. “I’ll never get why Is loves you so fucking much, but she does, so whatever. It means a lot to her that you bothered to show up. But keep one thing in mind-- today’s about Isabella and Isabella only. If you can’t manage to pull your self-centered head out of your holier-than-thou ass for one fucking day so our sister can have the wedding of her dreams, you’ll have me to answer to. If you ruin today, I promise you’ll wish that you’d never been born. Got it?” Without waiting for an answer, she slinks back to her place in line, looking for all the world as if they’d been discussing nothing more sinister than floral arrangements.
“Too late,” Stefano mutters under his breath seconds before beginning the long walk toward the altar.
Without a doubt, nothing had changed.
***
This is beginning to feel good
Watching you squirm in your shoes
A small bead of sweat on your brow
And a growl in your belly you’re scared to let through
You thought you could keep me from loving
You thought you could feed on my soul
But while you were busy destroying my life
What was half in me has become whole
“Control” -- Poe
July 2039
Leo is 52, Grace is 19
Canon
It's impossible to ignore the creaking of the door. So it comes as no surprise when, halfway through cabinet J-N, a shadow falls over Grace.
"What do you think you're doing?" Leo demands. His eyes are narrowed, left hand clutching a coffee mug.
Grace stares for a moment, adopting one of her mother's patented bored expressions. "Reading. I thought that was obvious."
Leo presses his lips into a thin line. "You have three seconds to get your hands out of my papers and get the fuck out of my office."
"Oh. No, I'm good." With a casual air, she returns her attention to the files before her.
"Do not," he states, his every word tightly controlled, "test me."
Grace scoffs, setting aside the papers and rising to her feet. "Or what? You'll shatter my hands again? I'd have thought a toddler was more your speed." As he makes a move toward her, she deftly dodges out of his reach, fingers wrapping around the hilt of the knife tucked into her waistband. In a low and chilling voice, she warns, "Touch me, and I will kill you. I've spent hours being tutored with knives by Aunt Nic, you know. I broke in here, I can break into your bedroom while you sleep.”
Throughout this he merely-- disgustingly-- watches her in contemplation. “You’re going to regret this.”
“No,” Grace replies, glee visibly rising. “No, I don’t think I will. You forget-- I’m Mother’s daughter. Only where she plays games, I strike with intent.”
True doubt flickers across Leo’s face. “I could ruin you.”
Sighing with disdain, Grace crosses the room and heads for the hallway. As she passes her father, she whispers, “I’m not afraid of you anymore. Even you must see the truth in that. It’s your turn to feel fear, Daddy.”
Closing the door behind her, she’s careful to memorize every detail of the tableau she leaves in her wake-- Leo stranded in the middle of his office, still as stone and ashen.
***
Hey boy where do you get it from
Hey boy where did you go?
I learned my passion in the good old
Fashioned school of lover boys
“Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy” -- Queen
December 2021
Zach is 18, Adamo is 18
Canon
Zach is the one to initiate their first kiss.
It’s nothing unusual, really-- her lips are soft and taste sweetly of vanilla, her tongue is just the right mix of hesitant and demanding, and they manage to not bump their noses or teeth together too often-- but even though there’s nothing overtly remarkable about it, Adamo can’t remember ever having a simple kiss feel like that.
When they finally pull apart, it takes a few moments for gravity to recommence and the world to right itself once more. Once he’s double-checked that he is, in fact, still breathing, Adamo gasps, “Wow. That-- wow.”
“Yeah,” Zach echoes. “Wow.”
“How’d you--” Adamo briefly struggles with the concept of thought. “Where’d you learn that?”
He flushes. “Um, here and there. You could say my education is varied. It’s never been quite so... so... so before.”
“Huh. I wonder what’s so different this time.”
“I think that’s because it’s you, and it’s me,” Zach murmurs, sliding steadily closer, “and it’s us.”
“Us.” Adamo grins. “I like the sound of that. C’mere.”
***
Challenge: Mocha 2. A song stuck in my head
Extra: Sprinkles, chopped nuts, brownie, gummy bunnies (3WW: CCXLI (damp, incensed, skid)), fresh peaches, fresh pineapple
Word Count: 5,271
Rating: NC-17 (for sex in a few sections, drug use in one section, and bad language throughout)
Story: Polyfaceted; the title of this story is So It Goes.
Summary: Fifteen song-related ficlets featuring many different characters and situations.
Notes: First thing I've written in months! Sara originally prompted me with all these songs months ago, but here we are. Time frame spans 1982 through 2039, varying between canon and AU, but each section is clearly marked beforehand. As usual, italics denote spoken Italian while bold denote emphasis. Also, there seems to be a distinct theme of badass women taking a stand. Thanks dearly to subluxate for the Johnny-speak and the beta.
***
I will give you all I could ever give
Though it's less than you will need
Could you just forget, if you can't forgive
All the things I cannot concede
“For You” -- Barenaked Ladies
November 1982
Augusto is 31, Martina is 30
Canon
“I stand by my decision,” Martina repeats, defiant. “You deserve the large family that we’ve always wanted, and there’s no reason for you to give that up.”
“No reason? I love you, isn’t that reason enough?”
Avoiding his gaze, she gingerly sits up to rearrange the pillows supporting her back. After a beat or two, she murmurs, “And you also love Gabriella-- no, don’t deny it. I’m not foolish enough to think that takes away from your love for me, and I know that will never change.”
“What happened,” Augusto quietly replies as he reaches across the bed to grasp her hand in his, “was not your fault. Do you think it matters to me if we have four children or four dozen? All that matters is that I have you, not the size of our family.”
She knows all of this, of course, but that does nothing to ease her sense of blame. “Please. I want to do this.”
Finally, after four days of endless, circular debates, Augusto relents. “Okay.”
***
It's not the way that I planned
Just the right man, the wrong time
Even the moments he's holdin' me
I know he's not really mine
“She Gets What I Deserve” -- SHeDAISY
September 2002
Eileen is 29, Torey is 28
AU in which Torey marries Maggie
“I have to do the right thing.”
“The right thing?” Eileen heedlessly cries out. “There’s nothing ‘right’ about this. You’re miserable, Torey! How long are you going to throw away your life-- our lives-- for her?”
Torey winces, but barrels on. “I’m married. Nothing changes that, not how much we loathe each other and not the way I feel about you. I have to think about Dylan.”
Eileen softens. “Haven’t you sacrificed enough for your brother’s mistake? Hasn’t your entire family?”
“I’m sorry.”
A beat passes. “But I love you.”
“I know,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”
“I won’t cry for you, Salvatore Corlioni,” Eileen vows, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I won’t.”
When he answers, his voice is thick, aged beyond his years. “I think you should go.” It isn’t until her hand wraps around the doorknob that he manages to croak out an urgent, “Eileen!”
She wordlessly halts mid-step.
“I-I love you too.”
“I know.”
Seven years pass before Torey allows himself to tell her once more.
***
You spin my head right round, right round
When you go down, when you go down down
“Right Round” -- Flo Rida
June 2008
Michael is 36, Johnny is 31
Canon
For thirty-six hours, they do nothing but fuck.
No, that’s not quite true-- they sleep, they eat, and they talk about things both inconsequential and not. To Johnny’s surprise, there are no lulls in their conversation, no dull anecdotes that he has to endure. It turns out that they have more in common than he originally thought, and when they do disagree, he finds himself just as interested in Michael’s opinions as his own.
But there’s also the fucking. What was supposed to be a one-night stand has turned into a weekend-long session of some of the most amazing sex Johnny has had in years. They’ve fucked on every horizontal surface in his apartment, as well as a few of the vertical ones, and with a casual familiarity they’ve done things that Johnny usually does after six months in a relationship. Sexually, they click in a way he’s never quite experienced before.
On Sunday, after they eventually concede to reality and dress once more, Johnny walks Michael to his waiting cab. “That was great.”
Michael smiles. “It was.”
“We should do it again.”
“I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”
Their eyes meet, and Johnny grins. “How’s tomorrow night for ya?”
***
It's like a hurricane, speed train, she's a moving car
Catch her in the fast lane, oh I gotta know,
Can I keep up with her pace?
Kick it into gear when I see that face
“Love Like Woe” -- The Ready Set
September 2002
Damien is 19, Nicoletta is 15
Canon
Nicoletta Corlioni is, hands down, the craziest fucking bitch that Damien Alsandor has ever been with.
“You better have something good planned,” she announces on their first date, climbing into his car after shooting it an amused look. “If I want to go to some expensive French restaurant, I’ll take myself-- fuck knows I can afford it more than you can. I want to have fun tonight, got it?”
Damien grins. “How’s a party sound? My buddy’s got a place in Washington Heights and he’s having a blow out-- all the booze and coke you can handle.”
Her smile is slow, sensuous and seductive. “Sounds like my kind of party.” She waves a dismissive hand. “How fast can this piece of shit go?”
“Let’s find out,” he replies, tires screeching as they peel out of her neighborhood.
And that’s only the beginning.
It’s no secret to either of them that she’s slumming with him, but if that’s how she gets her rocks off, who is Damien to complain? Nicoletta seems to thrive on flouting every social convention that she can think of-- the more illegal or degrading the activity, the more she loves it. They spend most of their time together doing as many drugs as they can get their hands on, and in between that, they fuck (Christ, how they fuck...). Their dates usually consist of a combination of thievery and vandalism, among various other felonies, and they hang out in the seediest neighborhoods New York has to offer. Being with Nicoletta is one adrenaline rush after another and the wildest goddamn time of Damien’s life.
“You’re one motherfucking crazy bitch, you know that?” he asks her, as they make a run for it after breaking into a stranger’s backyard in order to skinny dip in their hot tub.
“Yeah?” she calls. “Then just try to keep up.”
***
Wait up last friday night
The party looked alright
Just as I stepped on in
I saw you look at him
Oh hell no, excuse me, what?
Must be jokin' around
Best leave your pumps at home
I'm ready to throw down
“Friday Night Bitch Fight” -- Ke$ha
June 2004
Angela is 25
Canon
She can’t be more than nineteen, the little slut. She’s been prancing around David ever since she started working for the family, tossing her red curls and giggling at every asinine thing he says. Not that Angela really blames her. She’s been fucking David for eight months now and still every time she sees him, there’s a twinge of arousal. Hell, they’re not even exclusive-- the fucker’s still married to that cunt and she’d be a moron to think he wasn’t fucking a half-dozen other girls on the side. But the short skirts and low-cut blouses are too much.
Eventually, Angela intercepts the little skank as she bounces her way out of David’s office. “This stops now,” she hisses into her ear.
“E-excuse me? I’m not sure I understand what you mean, Miss Palermo.”
“Don’t give me that shit, little girl. I’m not blind and I’m not stupid, so don’t fucking treat me like I’m either. Maybe you’re looking for a promotion, or money, or even just a good fuck-- I don’t give a shit. Stay away from David Corlioni, got that?”
“I don’t think that’s your call to make. You’re not his wife.” The whore shoots her an overly friendly smile. “In fact, if what everyone says is true, you’re not even his only woman on the side. If he feels the need to look for satisfaction elsewhere, well, I’d say that you might only have yourself to blame, wouldn’t you?”
“Is that so?” Angela lowers her voice and takes great care to enunciate her every word. “First thing tomorrow morning, you’ll be handing in your resignation, effective immediately. If you don’t, I’ll disfigure that pretty little face of yours, simple as that. That is not an empty threat.” To her pleasure, fear flickers across the girl’s expression. “See, all those women-- including you and his wife-- are nothing more than come receptors to him. I’m not. I matter. And I’m not going to put up with some ambitious whore and her pathetic attempts to change that. Now leave, and don’t let me ever see you again.”
***
It’s getting late
To give you up
I took a sip
From my devil's cup
Slowly
It’s taking over me
“Toxic” -- Britney Spears
May 2004
Julia is 21, Eva is 3, Adamo is 1
Canon
For the fifth time in less than a minute, Julia confirms that the kids are still asleep. Eva’s sucking her thumb and her free hand is tightly clasped in Adamo's-- one look at them is all she needs to know that this is the right decision. Maybe in a few weeks, after everything’s died down, she can call Augusto and work this out. Until then, it’ll be just her and her babies, with no one threatening to come between them.
Julia’s hands are shaking as she finally retreats to the bathroom. Like the rest of the motel room, the bathroom is in a state of disrepair, but relatively clean. She sits on the closed lid of the toilet and fumbles with her purse for a few agonizing seconds before extracting the small bag of powder and paraphernalia.
In two minutes, the bottomless ache is washed from her bones and replaced with the familiar euphoria.
Stumbling into the next room, Julia revels in the relief she feels. There’s a long way to go, but in the meantime, she has her babies and her freedom. She’ll fight this addiction on her own terms, and this time, she’ll beat it for good. She’ll find a job-- a real job, like serving or something-- and get a nice apartment somewhere. She’ll support her children by herself, without anyone pulling the strings.
Yes, she decides as she falls onto the bed for the last time, things are going to be okay.
***
I wanna tease you till you’re begging me
And you’re on your knees
And it’s hard to breathe
And every other time is just a memory
Cus I only wanna be wanted by you
“Wanted” -- Jesse James
August 2012
Ethan is 20, Gino is 17
Canon
Ethan is on his knees when it happens, lavishing Gino with his complete attention.
“Yeah, that’s-- just like that. So good, fuck, I fucking love you.”
Time stops. Ethan jerks back as though burned, while ice floods Gino’s veins. Their eyes lock, widening in unison, and for a few moments, neither of them dare to breathe.
“Did you just say--”
“Say what?” Gino squeaks. “I didn’t say anything.”
“It sounded like you said--”
“That was just gas escaping.”
Another agonizing stretch of silence and then, “I love you too, you idiot, I’m in love with you.”
The rush of relief is enough to weaken Gino’s knees-- clutching at Ethan’s shoulders, he sighs, “Oh, thank fuck.” He glances down, a smile teasing at his lips. “In that case, mind picking up where you left off?”
***
You declared you would be three inches taller
You only became what we made you.
Thought you were chasing a destiny calling
You only earned what we gave you.
You fell and cried as our people were starving,
Now you know that we blame you.
You tried to walk on the trail we were carving,
Now you know that we framed you.
“The Punk and the Godfather” -- The Who
July 1986
Torey is 12, Johnny is 10
AU in which Torey is precognitive
“You’re being unreasonable!”
“Unreasonable? Augusto, he’s twelve, he’s still a boy! I’m not abandoning him like you!”
“You just don’t understand how these things work! I know, I’ve seen it, I watched my mother--”
“Oh, of course, your mother. Maybe I don’t want my son repeating her mistakes! No, don’t touch me--”
“Please, try to see reason, if he can’t tell us--”
“He can, he won’t!”
“You don’t understand--”
“I don’t want to understand!”
“For Christ’s sake, Martina, it’s been ten goddamn years!”
“Hey,” Johnny interrupts, hovering outside Torey’s room. “Don’ listen ta that.”
Torey scoffs. “Kind of hard not to.”
“They’re just upset an' blowin’ off steam.”
“Yeah, because of me.” He sighs. “Where’s Teresa?”
Johnny suddenly looms into view, leaning over the bed to peer at him. “With the little shit. I put on Sesame Street an' cranked up the stereo. Wanna tell me about it?”
“Not really.” Torey sits up, scooting over to make room. “I Saw something. Nothing too bad, but I can’t tell anyone. You’ll all know by next week anyway, but Ma flipped.”
“I think she’s been buildin' all this up for awhile,” Johnny reluctantly admits.
“...your fault! How could you--”
“How dare you even say that, how--”
Wincing, Torey spits out, “I really fucking hate this.”
“Yeah,” Johnny agrees, clasping his shoulder. “I hate it for ya too.”
***
You could've been the next one
(God only knows)
You could've been the one to comprehend me
You could've been the only one
(the broken down and sick one)
You could've been the one who I lie with
“FMLYHM” -- Seether
January 2006
Maggie is 30, Johnny is 29
Canon
“Still think ya shoulda let me call Matt,” Johnny grumbles, pressing the ice pack against her side and smoothing the butterfly bandage on her cheek.
“I’d rather go back home than let that sanctimonious ass sneer all over me,” Maggie snaps. “Anyway, nothing’s broken. It just hurts like a motherfucker.”
Johnny ignores the dig, clenching and unclenching a fist as he mutters, “I’ll tear off the shit-stain’s balls myself, I swear to fucking God. What was it this time?”
“He’s a beast.” A beat follows. “This is all your fault, you know.”
He stares. “The fuck are you talking about? My fault?”
“This,” she cries out, before seemingly remembering her bruised ribs. With a grimace, she continues, “This is! Look at me, Johnny! I’m thirty fucking years old, just look at me!”
“I’m lookin'. What?”
“I’m a joke.” Maggie’s cheeks are flushed with anger, splotchy and red. “I have no social life, my own kids hate me and, to be honest, I can’t stand them, and my marriage-- fuck, there are no words for my marriage.” She purses her lips and mumbles, “You could’ve prevented this if you weren’t such a selfish--”
For a long time, Johnny is unable to speak through his fury. Eventually, voice dangerously low, he hisses, “I didn’t make your choices, Maggie. I don’t owe ya a damn thing beyond my friendship, and I’m runnin’ outta that. I can’t keep makin’ excuses for ya. Ya chose this shit and you can deal with it.”
She laugh hollowly. “You knew how I felt, you could have--”
“I don’t owe you my life!” he shouts at her. “I never have! Get that through your fuckin’ head. I should’ve cut you off a long time ago, but I felt pity for you. You and your... your fuckin’ obsession.”
Eyes flashing and shaking with rage, Maggie gets to her feet. “Fuck you, Johnny Corlioni. I don’t have to take this.”
“You don’t have to--!” he chokes out. “Get the fuck out of my home and don’t ever fucking come back.”
The door slams behind her.
***
Mistreated, misplaced, misunderstood
Miss 'No way, it's all good', it didn't slow me down
Mistaken, always second guessing, underestimated
Look, I'm still around
“Fucking Perfect” -- P!nk
February 2020
L is 20, Little Augusto is 17
Canon
“I can’t stand it, I’m gonna snap,” Little Augusto vows as they reassemble the couch. “Ever since you moved out, it’s only gotten worse. I mean it, L, I can’t do this. If Dad’s bitch doesn’t kill me, her brats will probably get the job done. You know how she plays favorites, and now that I’m the only one, she directs all of her poison at me.”
L winces, stacking blankets under the end table. “You know Nonna’ll always welcome you and you sure as fuck are allowed to stay here whenever you want.”
“Yeah, but you have a relationship now. I don’t want to get in the way of that.”
“It’s not like we’re too busy fucking on the couch for you to be able to crash here. Well, at least not while you’re sleeping on it.”
“Oh for-- gross!” Little Augusto cries, drowning out the laughter. “Fuck off. And you know that’s not what I meant.”
Sobering, L continues, “It’s only until you graduate, anyway. Then you’re free to get the fuck out of there and go wherever you want.”
“About that...” Little Augusto tosses a pillow in the direction of the bedroom, avoiding his brother’s gaze.
“Oh fuck no. You’re finishing high school if I have to force you at gunpoint. I swear to God, I’ll get Nonna on my side if I have to, don’t think I’m bluffing.”
Little Augusto’s eyes reflexively widen in fear and he hurries to clarify, “No, no, I don’t mean that, I--” With a sigh, he sinks onto the coffee table. “I just mean that I’ve been thinking about what I want to do. You know, once my prison sentence is over. I’ve kind of been thinking about, um, moving.”
“Well, yeah, of course,” L absently agrees. “I’ll help you find a place, don’t worry. Between Nonno’s money and the trust fund from Maggie, you can move to the Upper East Side, if you want.”
“No, not--” Little Augusto hesitates. “I meant moving away. Out of the city, even.” Biting his lip, he chances a glance. “I’m not like you and the others, L. There's nothing left for me here."
"Nonna's here. I'm here." L pauses. "Terri's here."
"Don't." He sighs once more, deep and weary. "It's not like I'd leave forever or anything, and you can't tell me you ever thought there was a chance I'd be joining the business. I just don't see why I should stay." Eyes pleading, he relates, "I don't want to spend the rest of my life being a Corlioni. I want a chance to be Augusto. You know?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I think I do." An awkward beat passes. "You know I love you, right?"
"Fucking sap. I know. And for some stupid reason I love you back."
L cocks his head thoughtfully. "This isn't because I said that Aleksy and I fuck on the couch, right?"
"No, but you can bet your left nut that I'm not sleeping on that biohazard ever again."
***
When I grow up, be on TV
People know me, be on magazines
When I grow up, fresh and clean
Number one chick when I step on the scene
But be careful what you wish for
‘Cause you just might get it
”When I Grow Up” -- Pussycat Dolls
September 2015
Martina is 63, L is 16, Terri is 15, Little Augusto is 13
Canon
On the second day of Maggie’s disappearance, Terri and her brothers come down the stairs to find their Nonna waiting for them in the kitchen. Unlike every other morning they’ve spent with her, this particular morning holds no welcoming breakfast smells, no comforting atmosphere of harried bustle, and no cheerful melodies from Mrs. Colvio as she begins her housekeeping duties. Instead, Nonna sits at the kitchen table with a solemn expression on her face, her hands tightly clasped together.
“I received a phone call this morning,” she tells them without preamble. “Your mother’s body was found in a parking lot just after midnight.” Here, she hesitates. “She was stabbed, but the authorities assured me that she didn’t suffer too--”
“Did Dad do it?” L interrupts curiously.
Nonna’s eyes widen. “What? No, of course not, how could you even think such a thing!”
L merely shrugs. As if they weren’t all thinking it.
“Does this mean I don’t have to go to school today?” Augusto pipes up. “Because I have a math test that I totally didn’t study for.”
“A math-- did you understand what I’m saying? Your mother has been killed.”
Finally finding her voice, Terri quietly asks, “Are they sure it’s her?”
Nonna softens. “Yes, tesora. They made a positive identification. I’m so sorry.”
“Good.”
For a moment, no one speaks.
“Excuse me?”
“Good,” Terri repeats, the unimaginable relief making her bolder by the second. “I’m glad she’s dead. She’s-- she was a horrible, hateful woman, even you said so.”
“Terri...” L murmurs beside her in warning.
“Whatever my opinions may have been,” Nonna testily states, “she is still your mother and we do not wish that kind of fate on anyone, is that clear?”
“She was never a mother! Not to any of us and definitely not to me. Maggie hated me, she always has, and I’m not going to pretend I’m upset that she got what she deserved.” Now that Terri’s on a roll, she can’t seem to stop, not for L and Augusto’s astonished gasps or for Nonna’s rising outrage. “She was a spiteful, conniving, selfish, manipulative person that tricked Dad into a marriage so that she could use him for his status and power, and then she resented the very children that made it happen. She did any awful thing she could think of for his attention and took it out on us when he ignored her! Maggie never cared about us-- all she cared about was making sure people knew her name and how important she was. Well, the whole world’s going to know about the murdered wife of the mob boss, so that bitch is just getting what she wants. In fact, I wish she had died sooner and saved us the trouble!”
It’s as if all the air has been sucked out of the room, no one daring to breathe until L finally spits out, “She doesn’t mean that, Nonna.”
“I do too--”
“It’s the grief,” he insists, shooting her a glare. “Terri’s just in shock, she doesn’t know what she’s saying.”
Nonna nods slowly. “Of course. I understand.” She turns on her, adding, “All the same, you do not use that sort of language in my house. You do not use that sort of language ever, understood?” Blood boiling, Terri grunts out a vague affirmation. “Good. Now head upstairs, all of you. I’ll be along after I make a few phone calls. And children? I am sorry that this happened.”
“That makes one person,” Terri mumbles under her breath as she follows her brothers.
***
I've been awake for a while now
You've got me feelin' like a child now
'Cause every time I see your bubbly face
I get the tingles in a silly place
“Bubbly” -- Colbie Caillat
May 2013
Sam is 21, Jeannette is 15
Canon
Sam's known Jeannette since she was three, and in spite of the six year difference in age, he's always thought of her as his intellectual equal. She's the only girl-- only person-- that can make him feel stupid, a quality of hers that he's always admired. So naturally, he values their friendship and wouldn't jeopardize it for anything.
Right?
It's the summer between grad and undergrad when everything changes. Sam's been home for exactly ten minutes when he barges into Karen's room, announcing, "You haven't seen your favorite brother in a month, and you can't even bother to come say hi?"
Karen glances up from a pile of books, beaming. "What are you talking about, Zach's in the next room. Besides, I have company."
That's when he notices Jeannette perched on the bed, feet gracefully tucked under her, brilliant red hair swept up in a practical bun. They've known each other for twelve years, but somehow, the Jeannette he's seeing is a stranger-- glamorous, beautiful, and alluring.
‘Has she always been hot?’ Sam wonders, following with an immediate, ‘Oh no.’ Aloud, he manages, "Hey, Jean."
She rolls her eyes. "Samuel. I heard you're going into MIT's graduate program." With a quick grin, she adds, "Generous of them to accept you after you took three years to earn a bachelor's."
Sam snorts. "Lambda calc, Jean, I had to take three years. What’s the excuse for your third year?”
“Double majors.” She sticks out her tongue and, for a brief second, his gaze lingers. “But it’s not like I won’t have my pick for grad school next year-- did you know that Yale and Harvard have thrown their hats into the ring? Not bad for a fifteen-year-old, huh?”
“That’s great, I mean it.”
“Yeah, yeah, everything’s great, but if you two are done nerd-gasming all over each other,” Karen breaks in, gesturing at the textbooks scattered throughout the room, “I’d like to get back to the biology final that I’m supposed to flunk next week.”
“Oh, right, sorry.” Sheepish-- in no small part because he completely forgot his sister was in the room-- Sam shuffles through the doorway. “We’ll talk this evening, okay? And it was great seeing you, Jeannette.”
“You too,” she replies with a heartfelt smile that shoots straight to his gut.
Well fuck.
***
The whole damn world is just as obsessed
With who’s the best dressed and who’s having sex,
Who’s in the clubs and who’s on the drugs,
Who’s throwing up before they digest
And you still don’t have the right look
And you don’t have the right friends
And you’re still listen to the same shit you did back then
High school never ends
“High School Never Ends” -- Bowling For Soup
April 2015
Stefano is 25
Canon
The wedding is the first time Stefano’s been in the company of the entire family since moving seven years earlier, and within minutes of his arrival he was able to tell that nothing had changed. The same violent, bigoted, sanctimonious assholes, in the same over-expensive clothing and jewels, sizing him up with the same disdainful airs. Home, infernal home.
He's standing just outside the narthex with the rest of the wedding party, waiting for his turn to walk down the aisle. Absorbed in admiring Isabella’s radiance while equally ignoring his father’s existence, Stefano doesn’t notice Nicoletta sidling up to him until her voice is hissing in his ear.
“I just want to make one thing clear.” The pleasant smile on her face is a jarring contrast to her venomous whisper. “I’ll never get why Is loves you so fucking much, but she does, so whatever. It means a lot to her that you bothered to show up. But keep one thing in mind-- today’s about Isabella and Isabella only. If you can’t manage to pull your self-centered head out of your holier-than-thou ass for one fucking day so our sister can have the wedding of her dreams, you’ll have me to answer to. If you ruin today, I promise you’ll wish that you’d never been born. Got it?” Without waiting for an answer, she slinks back to her place in line, looking for all the world as if they’d been discussing nothing more sinister than floral arrangements.
“Too late,” Stefano mutters under his breath seconds before beginning the long walk toward the altar.
Without a doubt, nothing had changed.
***
This is beginning to feel good
Watching you squirm in your shoes
A small bead of sweat on your brow
And a growl in your belly you’re scared to let through
You thought you could keep me from loving
You thought you could feed on my soul
But while you were busy destroying my life
What was half in me has become whole
“Control” -- Poe
July 2039
Leo is 52, Grace is 19
Canon
It's impossible to ignore the creaking of the door. So it comes as no surprise when, halfway through cabinet J-N, a shadow falls over Grace.
"What do you think you're doing?" Leo demands. His eyes are narrowed, left hand clutching a coffee mug.
Grace stares for a moment, adopting one of her mother's patented bored expressions. "Reading. I thought that was obvious."
Leo presses his lips into a thin line. "You have three seconds to get your hands out of my papers and get the fuck out of my office."
"Oh. No, I'm good." With a casual air, she returns her attention to the files before her.
"Do not," he states, his every word tightly controlled, "test me."
Grace scoffs, setting aside the papers and rising to her feet. "Or what? You'll shatter my hands again? I'd have thought a toddler was more your speed." As he makes a move toward her, she deftly dodges out of his reach, fingers wrapping around the hilt of the knife tucked into her waistband. In a low and chilling voice, she warns, "Touch me, and I will kill you. I've spent hours being tutored with knives by Aunt Nic, you know. I broke in here, I can break into your bedroom while you sleep.”
Throughout this he merely-- disgustingly-- watches her in contemplation. “You’re going to regret this.”
“No,” Grace replies, glee visibly rising. “No, I don’t think I will. You forget-- I’m Mother’s daughter. Only where she plays games, I strike with intent.”
True doubt flickers across Leo’s face. “I could ruin you.”
Sighing with disdain, Grace crosses the room and heads for the hallway. As she passes her father, she whispers, “I’m not afraid of you anymore. Even you must see the truth in that. It’s your turn to feel fear, Daddy.”
Closing the door behind her, she’s careful to memorize every detail of the tableau she leaves in her wake-- Leo stranded in the middle of his office, still as stone and ashen.
***
Hey boy where do you get it from
Hey boy where did you go?
I learned my passion in the good old
Fashioned school of lover boys
“Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy” -- Queen
December 2021
Zach is 18, Adamo is 18
Canon
Zach is the one to initiate their first kiss.
It’s nothing unusual, really-- her lips are soft and taste sweetly of vanilla, her tongue is just the right mix of hesitant and demanding, and they manage to not bump their noses or teeth together too often-- but even though there’s nothing overtly remarkable about it, Adamo can’t remember ever having a simple kiss feel like that.
When they finally pull apart, it takes a few moments for gravity to recommence and the world to right itself once more. Once he’s double-checked that he is, in fact, still breathing, Adamo gasps, “Wow. That-- wow.”
“Yeah,” Zach echoes. “Wow.”
“How’d you--” Adamo briefly struggles with the concept of thought. “Where’d you learn that?”
He flushes. “Um, here and there. You could say my education is varied. It’s never been quite so... so... so before.”
“Huh. I wonder what’s so different this time.”
“I think that’s because it’s you, and it’s me,” Zach murmurs, sliding steadily closer, “and it’s us.”
“Us.” Adamo grins. “I like the sound of that. C’mere.”
***