Epic Fic Post
We have some really long ongoing fics in the kinkmeme, and I thought it might be nice if we had a seperate place to keep track of them all. Any fics over 20-30ish chapters and spawning two or more memes should have links to at least the first post on each meme here. Ideally, I'd want links to every individual story thread with something saying
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The gym is decorated in an explosion of green and red streamers, crepe paper adorning every available surface. Music is already playing, echoing loudly in the large, empty space. The few kids that have arrived so far stand in small clusters at the edge of the room, no one wanting to be the first on the dance floor.
Dan notices Leslie eyeing him sidelong, and quickly suggests they get some punch. She might be daring enough to venture out on that empty floor, but he's just realized maybe the reason he's never been to a dance before is that he doesn’t actually know how to dance. Not that he's not willing to try -- he’d just prefer to wait until there's at least a small group of bodies to hide in.
Punch acquired, they make small talk as people slowly drift in. It’s amazing, Dan thinks, how they can chatter away through an entire algebra class, pausing only at particularly pointed looks from their teacher, then carrying on again within minutes, yet standing here, he fumbles his words as badly as he did the first time they spoke, and, despite racking his brain for topics of conversation, comes up with very little. He’s already told Leslie she looks great, and she does, in a black dress that’s just tight enough and just low-cut enough that he has to keep reminding himself not to let his eyes wander. Dan himself feels a little underdressed by comparison, in slacks and a button-down shirt, but he notices that most of the girls have dressed up far more than the boys (several of whom are wearing jeans), so he figures it’s all right.
By the time Leslie drags him out on the dance floor, the gym is starting to fill up rapidly, and Dan is glad to have something to do other than make lackluster attempts at conversation anyhow. As it turns out, his nervousness is largely unfounded -- he’s not an entirely horrible dancer. Not a great one, either, but he at least manages not to step on her toes, so he counts it a success. They dance for a few more songs, then a boy Dan knows only vaguely asks Leslie to dance. He ushers her off with a smile -- it’s one dance, and it’s not as if he’d expected her to remain plastered to his side all evening -- and goes to stand by the wall.
Laurie and Jon spin by, and he can’t help but smile at them. Laurie looks beautiful in a pale blue dress, and they both look so happy it’s practically contagious. He finds, too, that it’s a little easier seeing them together, knowing he also has a date here…somewhere. His good mood begins to slip a little, though, when twenty minutes pass with no sign of Leslie. Maybe she’s in the bathroom, he thinks. Or maybe she can’t find him.
Or maybe she’s off in the shadows, slow-dancing with another strange boy, Dan realizes, catching a flash of red hair. He attempts to shrug it off. It’s not a big deal. Maybe he’ll go cut in on Jon and Laurie.
Or maybe not, he thinks as they sway by again, lips locked. Strangely enough, it’s not quite so easy to smile this time -- not that they’d notice if he did.
Dan attempts to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach, deciding he may as well find someone else to dance with; he’s not about to stand here like an idiot waiting for Leslie all night. He scans the room, finding that most everyone has partnered off by now. To his great surprise, though, he spots a familiar figure lingering off to the side. No, he thinks, couldn’t be…
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“Hey,” he says. “I thought you weren’t coming.”
Walter doesn’t look at him, instead staring straight ahead at the dancers. “Invited me.” He kicks himself mentally the moment the words are out of his mouth, but Dan only chuckles.
“Yeah, I guess I did. I told you it wouldn’t be so bad.” Walter’s eyebrows shoot up and at last he looks at Dan, a meaningful look from the corner of his eye, and Dan laughs again, just glad Walter hasn’t stormed off yet. He takes a deep breath.
“Hey, look, man…”
“Can go…elsewhere?” If they’re going to have this conversation, Walter would really rather not have it standing awkwardly on the sidelines of the dance, voices raised over the music.
And Dan gets that, but… “I uh, came with Leslie,” he says, nodding toward her. He’s about to suggest maybe they go outside or something, but freezes midway through the nod, heart sinking, as he sees her locked in a deep kiss with (the disappointment takes on an edge of anger) yet another boy. The decision is instant. “Yeah, let’s go.” He considers pausing to tell her he’s leaving, but she’s pretty obviously busy, and her mom was going to pick them up anyway, so it’s not like he’s leaving her stranded. He still feels a bit guilty, but mostly he’s just disgusted. With her, with himself for being such an idiot. Walter had even tried to warn him about her, and if he’d felt bad about his response before, now he feels vaguely, physically sick.
Walter sees exactly where Dan is looking, and if the sight doesn’t make him quite as miserable as his friend, it’s a close thing. Of course, in his case it’s more of a desire to go over there and punch Leslie in the face, girl or not. He does no such thing, of course, only leads the way out into the blessedly quiet night.
They walk in silence for a bit, neither of them feeling much like going home, conversation tacitly postponed in the wake of this betrayal. They end up on a bench a few blocks from Dan’s house, surrounded by a flickering pool of light from the streetlamp overhead. The silence stretches on, while Dan tries to find adequate words for what is now an even more sorely-deserved apology, and Walter desperately tries to come up with something to say to make Dan feel better. He’s having rather a hard time forgetting the look on his friend’s face upon seeing the girl he clearly likes making out with another boy.
Finally Dan blurts out, “Do you have any paper?” Walter looks at him a little strangely, but rummages in his pockets, coming up with a couple of slightly battered napkins. Dan spreads one out on his knee and hunches over it, pulling a pen from his own pocket. Walter watches as he begins to scribble out a villain profile.
Name: Leslie Chadwicke
Alias: He hesitates a moment, then fills in, Twilight Lady
Occupation: Vice queen
“What’s a vice queen?” Walter asks.
Dan isn’t exactly sure, but he’d read it somewhere and it seems appropriate. “Uh…I think it’s a nicer way of saying ‘whore.’” It strikes him as funny for some reason, making the corners of his lips twitch up. Walter grins back at him, and the next thing they know they’re both giggling, then laughing outright, the sound loud and wonderful in the stillness of the night.
When they’ve managed to collect themselves, they go back to Dan’s house, where his dad raises an eyebrow at Walter’s presence but says little, and tape the Twilight Lady profile into the current notebook. They flesh it out, Dan adding a surprisingly good sketch, transforming Leslie’s black dress into a nearly-indecent catsuit. It’s past 2 am when they finally get to sleep, and despite the disastrous date, Dan finds himself feeling happier, calmer than he has in days, as though everything is back to normal, back the way it should be.
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The ride to Jon’s house is quiet, pleasantly so -- that is, until Laurie catches Larry’s eye in the rearview mirror and sees the hint of anger there, the hard set of his mouth that means she’s done something wrong, though she can’t figure out what. Perhaps she’s being too affectionate with Jon…but no, that doesn’t make any sense. Out of all her real friends, Jon is the only one her dad actually likes. He’d been thrilled, in fact, to learn that they were going to the dance together.
When they pull up at Jon’s place, Laurie announces that she’s going to walk him to the door, and hops out without giving Larry a chance to object. They kiss at the front door, quick and chaste, but it is her first-ever goodnight kiss, and that might be enough to get her through whatever fit her dad is about to throw.
She slides back into the car and immediately spots the problem, heart sinking. On the stretch of seat between her and Larry is an English assignment from several weeks back. It bears an A-, but somehow she suspects In this instance, the content matters more than the grade.
“Dad, I can --”
He cuts her off without looking at her, eyes focused straight ahead on the road. “We'll discuss it when we get home, young lady.”
Laurie stares glumly out the window, wishing he'd at least turn on the radio or something. The silence stretches on, even more oppressive now, without the pleasant distraction of Jon beside her. She tries to formulate excuses, but really, there is nothing to excuse, and her mind keeps sliding away from rational thought toward dread of the clearly upcoming argument.
Finally the car comes to a stop, and she trails miserably inside after her dad. “Sit,” he says, pointing at the couch. She does, and he tosses the paper on the coffee table, looming angrily over her.
“It's just a story,” she blurts out. “It was an assignment, to write a science fiction or fantasy story, and my teacher really liked it --”
“And what about these?” he demands, pulling two very familiar notebooks from a shelf. “More English assignments?” Sarcasm drips from his voice.
“You went through my things,” she says, welcoming the anger that is creeping into her own voice.
“I wouldn't have to you if you weren’t lying to me,” he replies, and the truth of it sends a twinge of guilt through her, but the unfairness spurs her on.
“How dare you --” The words are overdramatic, childishly so, weakening any argument she might have had, but they’re out of her mouth before she can stop them.
“How dare you disobey me!” he hisses, suddenly in her face. “You live in my house, young lady, and while you do, you'll follow my rules.” Eyes blazing, she opens her mouth, about ready to tell him where he can shove his ridiculous rules, but, probably luckily for her, he cuts her off again, only getting started. “Everything you have - this apartment, your bedroom, that dress, the pen and paper to write this foolishness,” he shakes the notebooks at her, “I pay for. These are my things and I will go through them if I please.”
He flips through the books, and she curses herself and her friends for dating so many entries. “I told you I wanted no more of this. I think you know I didn't mean writing little stories instead of running around in the woods. How many hours to be spent on this when you could've been doing schoolwork, or out having a life like a normal 13-year-old girl?”
She's doing fine in school and she does have a life -- as evidenced by the lovely evening he‘s in the process of ruining -- but he doesn't give her a chance to respond. “Well, I'm going to be very clear this time. I don't want you hanging around Dan or Walter anymore. I don't care for their influence. I don't want to hear about them and you're not to speak to them unless it is strictly school related. And no more ’Watchmen’ stuff,” he adds, managing to make it sound like a dirty word.
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She can tell he’s winding down, getting to the part about how he has her best interests in mind, but before he gets a chance, Sally appears in the doorway, wearing a nightgown and a scowl. “Go to your room, Laurie,” she says, and Laurie complies, slamming the door and collapsing onto the bed, tears brimming in her eyes. It's not long before shouting echoes through the house, snippets of it reaching her ears.
“-- needs to get her head out of the clouds, damnit!”
“She’s still a child, and --”
She's torn between not wanting to hear this and dying to know what they're saying about her. Finally the curiosity wins out, and she creeps out into the hall.
“-- changed since we were kids. You separated me from my friends, from people I cared about, and you will not do the same to my child!”
“Your child is living in my house and she will do as I say!”
“What the hell do you think you're doing?”
The response is muffled, but Sally's “You will not!” is clear as day. At the sound of a scuffle, Laurie retreats back into her room, curling up on the bed, back pressed to the headboard, knees hugged to her chest. She feels numb and exhausted, mined buzzing blankly, watching with mild, detached interest as tears fall on to her dress, little dark blue splotches spreading on the fabric. She begins to drift, and has just about fallen into a fitful sleep when the door opens nearly an hour later. She startles back to full awareness as Sally crawls onto the bed beside her, holding the notebooks.
“He ripped out a few pages before I could stop him, but I think I taped them back in the right order,” she says, passing them over. Laurie flips through and nods listlessly, sniffling, and then she’s sobbing into her mother’s shoulder. Sally holds her, stroking her hair gently. When she’s calmed down, she says softly, “He really is trying to look out for you. He just doesn't know he's doing it all wrong.”
“It's not fair,” Laurie sniffs, hating the childishness, but unable to help it.
It is unfair. Unreasonable, too, and she's already told Larry that. To Laurie, she says, “Don't let him tell you who you can be friends with. Dan and Walter are good boys. He'd know that if he bothered to get to know them.”
Something in her voice makes Laurie look up. “Like Eddie was a good boy?”
Sally chuckles softly. “Yes, I suppose so.”
“Why doesn't Dad like him?” She's not sure why she's asking this now, but somehow it seems to fit.
Sally smiles wistfully. “I'll tell you when you're older.” It’s an answer Laurie hates, but she knows that’s all she’ll get out of her mother on the subject.
They talk well into the night, and by the time Sally gets up and returns to her own room, Laurie is fast asleep on the bed beside her.
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And Larry. Seriously, if I ever write a book about parenting adolescents, one whole chapter would be DO NOT GO THROUGH THEIR STUFF, THEY WILL NEVER EVER EVER TRUST YOU AGAIN. EVER. AND THEY'LL BE ALL PISSED IN THE FIRST PLACE. This is actually the first part of this I've read, since I'm one of those hypocrites who writes epics but doesn't read other people's until they're done, but it's very good.
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