Why do you suck so very, very much, FF.net?
So I finally decided to get around to posting the gift fics on FF.net, only it's being weird. It might be the library computer, but I'm blaming it on FF.net. It's only some of the stories--I haven't tried them all--but when I click 'edit' to add another "chapter" to The Hutch (my collection of Naruto oneshots) or In Which (my collection of Avatar: The Last Airbender oneshots), I get an error page. I didn't have a problem uploading documents or posting a new story, though. Anyone else having this issue? Do I need to message them about this, or should I wait and see if it straightens itself out?
Guh. Why are you doing this?
So I'm just going to post the ones I can and wait, for the moment.
Also, some original fic to make this post less depressing.
Genevieve bent in front of the drying unit, hand inside, groping around the drum for the last article of clothing she'd washed in the load, muttering. "Dammit, I know it's in here..."
It was a heavy vest, bearing an emblem of a group her brother had recently joined. They had a meeting tonight at a local eating-house, and she'd wanted it clean for him.
"Genny," Connor called from the kitchen. "What are you doing in there?"
"Looking for the friggin'--aha!" she crowed triumphantly as her hand snagged on heavy cotton of the vest.
"Just doing laundry?" he asked, stepping into the alcove that housed the washing and drying units.
She smiled, straightening from her painfully bent angle with the garment in hand. "Yep," she sang, holding it out to him. "It's still warm, even. Just go take a bath and get dressed and I'll have this properly pressed for you when you get done."
Connor eyed it warily, then turned heavy eyes on her. "Thanks for this, sis, but I don't think this is supposed to be washed..."
Her heart fell into roughly the region of her soles at the same rate her face fell into one of worry. "You won't get in trouble for it, will you?" she asked gingerly, the fingers of her free hand plucking at the loose hem of her blouse and smoothing over the wide, worn leather belt she wore around her waist. The vest dropped slowly to her side.
"No," Connor said reassuringly, reaching out a hand to pat her shoulder. "No, I don't think so. Besides, you're coming with me. You're charming enough when you're not being an overbearing shrew, which is usually when I take you out in public, so you can explain it to Lincoln when we get there."
"Connor!" Genevieve cried, mock-offended, and punched him in the arm. As her fist fell back to her side, she told him, "Go on, take a bath and wash that stink away. Since I've already gotten it this far, I may as well press it like I planned to."
"You-" Connor started.
"I had a bath this morning," she said airily. "Like always."
"You'll need to change, though," he said.
Genevieve looked critically at her khaki-colored broom skirt and salmon-pink tunic-style blouse with the lacy collar and pearl embroidery. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"
An expression of confusion flitted across Connor's face as he glanced at her outfit too. "Nothing, I guess," he muttered. "But can you use a little makeup? These are classy fellows. Don't want 'em looking down on me too soon." He laughed and turned back to the rest of the house. Genevieve heard him clambering up the stairs as she reached for the steam iron and flicked the switch to turn it on.
***
Genevieve had added a string of faux pearls and her mother's charm bracelet along with a bit of makeup like Connor had asked. Some blush, a little mascara and shiny lip gloss, but she hadn't changed her clothes, like he'd implied she should probably do. When she had walked out of her room to find Connor emerging from his, buttoning up his nicest brown shirt, he'd grinned brightly at her before leading her downstairs where he yanked on his vest and zipped it.
Outside, he'd had to kick the car several times before it roared to angry life and driven them to the other city of the city and the meeting place for his club. Now they stood just inside the door, waiting for Lincoln to call them over.
"Jackson!" he roared over the din of the other patrons. "C'mere, boy!" Meekly, Connor began to creep over to the man. Lincoln laughed. "I see you brought a tasty tonight," he added, eyeing Genevieve with interest.
"She's my sister, sir," he said quietly, eyes downcast. "Genevieve, though most just call her Genny."
"She got all the pretty of the pair of you," Lincoln said, though the light, almost indiscernible fondness in his tone belied his true feelings about Connor. His eyes switched from Genevieve's face, for which she was grateful, because it meant that she no longer had to glare at him, to Connor, and his expression darkened dangerously. His lips twisted into an ugly frown, his brow pulled down harshly.
"Jackson," he said slowly, his voice low and harsh, "why did you wash your vest? You should have remembered that it's a violation of our laws to clean it until I give the say-so."
Beside her, Connor froze. Genevieve stepped in. "I laundered it," she said. "I didn't know-"
"Ignorance of the law is no excuse," Lincoln thundered quietly, stepping just slightly closer to her, trying to be intimidating. "The penalty for this crime is death. I should kill you right here."
Genevieve set her feet apart, straightened her spine, squared her shoulders and lifted her chin to look the taller Lincoln in the eye, anger flaring hotly. She refused to be intimidated by any man. "Ignorance of the law is a damn good excuse," she hissed. She gained volume as she continued to speak. "How can I be expected to obey a law if I don't know it exists? The first man to say that phrase was an egotistical, power-mad sadist and those who repeat the phrase aren't any better." She spat the words into his face, still not looking away from his terrifyingly even stare.
She had stopped paying attention to her surroundings--had even stopped paying attention to her brother, who was very pale and holding himself very still beside her.
"Gen-" he started shakily.
"Shut up, Connor," she snapped, without even breaking gazes with Lincoln. She spoke to him next in a soft snarl. "I'm not a member of this group. I'm not expected to follow its--" she made her voice mocking for the next word "--laws. I thought I was doing something kind for my brother. If taking care of family is an offense punishable by death, then by all means, kill me here."
Lincoln continued to search her face for a long moment, his expression unchanging. Finally, his eyes softened and his mouth lifted in a maddening smirk. "Well, Jackson," he drawled, sweeping his eyes up and down Genevieve's body again, "I like her. She's...spunky."
Genevieve's rage was slower to cool than Connor's terror as they settled around the table in the eating-house and a serving girl grovelled up to Lincoln. To distract herself, she looked around at the other guests, none of whom appeared to have noticed the brief exchange between their highly feared and respected leader and a young woman they'd never seen before.
She and Connor looked to be some of the youngest. Besides Connor and Lincoln, there were roughly a dozen men, ranging in age from fourteen or fifteen to roughly forty-five or fifty. Besides herself, there were three other women, all cozied up to one of the men. They all seemed to be ten or so years older than Genevieve, which would put them about twenty-six or twenty-seven, giggly and vapid as schoolgirls. She wondered if they were hired women, or if they were wives or lovers. The men with women on their laps talked animatedly with them while the others conversed in a more dignified fashion amongst themselves. Genevieve studied them quietly, starting with Lincoln.
He was twenty-nine, she knew from Connor's excitable babbling, with hair the color of beaten gold, eyes like chocolate, and coppery skin. He had a very pretty face, with clean, straight lines, a full mouth, and a thick fringe of dark lashes, and the way he conducted himself said he well knew it. He kept his hair longer than was strictly fashionable, in a shaggy line around his shoulders when it was unbound, but tonight he'd pulled it into a horsetail at the base of his head. Lincoln was tall and slender, muscled but not overly so, with broad shoulders. He was flirting lightly with the serving girl, though she was younger than Genevieve.
To his right sat a short, portly man with a craggy face, bushy eyebrows, wiry white hair and a pale complexion. His eyes were icy blue and sharp. That was probably Gregor, Lincoln's second-in-command.
In the next place, a teenaged boy sat, twitching nervously and peering at people while they weren't looking. He looked enough like Gregor to be a younger, thinner version of him, though his was hair so dark it was nearly black, which probably meant that he was Gregor's son, Kevan. It was also probably his first meeting, since he looked no older than fourteen--the absolute youngest members of this club were allowed to be.
She turned her attention to the next man, one with a woman on his lap, but she couldn't see him past her wild brown curls. She would have continued down the line, but Lincoln stood up and cleared his throat. The serving girl had departed for the kitchen.
"Attention, my brothers!" he called. "All of us have arrived, the charming young lady who will be waiting on us has told me that the food is being prepared as we speak, and we have our newest brother here with us tonight! Connor, boy, stand up." He gestured grandly. "Your guest as well." Genevieve snapped her eyes on him angrily, but rose with her brother. "Connor Jackson, brothers, and his sister, Genevieve. They're family now. Treat them as such."
His gaze lingered on Genevieve for another moment before he waved his hand at them to sit. The rest of the night passed in almost a blur. Supper was served, some sort of pasta dish heavy with vegetables, with dishes of fresh fruit and cream. She noticed that Lincoln and Gregor never touched any sort of alcohol, and that when Kevan tried to reach for a mug of ale or flask of wine, Gregor slapped his hand away. Lincoln drank cow milk, Gregor and Kevan water. She drank only water or juice herself. No one but Connor attempted to speak to her. After the meal, the women were ushered into a small room off the main dining room while the men 'discussed business.'
Genevieve sat in a corner, desperately wishing she'd thought to bring a book while the older women chatted brightly. They kept referring to the men on whose laps they'd sat as 'patrons.' They were hired. Genevieve fought back a wave of repulsion, but before any of them could turn to draw her into their conversation, the serving girl knocked lightly on the door before letting herself in to announce that the men were finished and they could return to the others.
Connor intercepted her at the front door, near Lincoln, to tell her it was time to go. Lincoln wrapped Connor in a one-armed hug and planted a kiss on his forehead. Before Genevieve had a chance to do anything, Lincoln grabbed her right hand in both of his and lifted it to his lips. He brushed them lightly over her knuckles and aimed a charming smile at her. "Goodnight, miss," he said warmly. Genevieve snatched her hand back with a glare at him, and he chuckled. "Spunky," he said as an aside to Connor as they left.
Honestly, I have almost no idea where this is going. Originally it was going to be a biker fic, but then I realised I didn't know enough about bikers to pull it off, so I created yet another world. Ish. Joy. Also, Genevieve and Connor--twins or not?
Guh. Why are you doing this?
So I'm just going to post the ones I can and wait, for the moment.
Also, some original fic to make this post less depressing.
Genevieve bent in front of the drying unit, hand inside, groping around the drum for the last article of clothing she'd washed in the load, muttering. "Dammit, I know it's in here..."
It was a heavy vest, bearing an emblem of a group her brother had recently joined. They had a meeting tonight at a local eating-house, and she'd wanted it clean for him.
"Genny," Connor called from the kitchen. "What are you doing in there?"
"Looking for the friggin'--aha!" she crowed triumphantly as her hand snagged on heavy cotton of the vest.
"Just doing laundry?" he asked, stepping into the alcove that housed the washing and drying units.
She smiled, straightening from her painfully bent angle with the garment in hand. "Yep," she sang, holding it out to him. "It's still warm, even. Just go take a bath and get dressed and I'll have this properly pressed for you when you get done."
Connor eyed it warily, then turned heavy eyes on her. "Thanks for this, sis, but I don't think this is supposed to be washed..."
Her heart fell into roughly the region of her soles at the same rate her face fell into one of worry. "You won't get in trouble for it, will you?" she asked gingerly, the fingers of her free hand plucking at the loose hem of her blouse and smoothing over the wide, worn leather belt she wore around her waist. The vest dropped slowly to her side.
"No," Connor said reassuringly, reaching out a hand to pat her shoulder. "No, I don't think so. Besides, you're coming with me. You're charming enough when you're not being an overbearing shrew, which is usually when I take you out in public, so you can explain it to Lincoln when we get there."
"Connor!" Genevieve cried, mock-offended, and punched him in the arm. As her fist fell back to her side, she told him, "Go on, take a bath and wash that stink away. Since I've already gotten it this far, I may as well press it like I planned to."
"You-" Connor started.
"I had a bath this morning," she said airily. "Like always."
"You'll need to change, though," he said.
Genevieve looked critically at her khaki-colored broom skirt and salmon-pink tunic-style blouse with the lacy collar and pearl embroidery. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"
An expression of confusion flitted across Connor's face as he glanced at her outfit too. "Nothing, I guess," he muttered. "But can you use a little makeup? These are classy fellows. Don't want 'em looking down on me too soon." He laughed and turned back to the rest of the house. Genevieve heard him clambering up the stairs as she reached for the steam iron and flicked the switch to turn it on.
***
Genevieve had added a string of faux pearls and her mother's charm bracelet along with a bit of makeup like Connor had asked. Some blush, a little mascara and shiny lip gloss, but she hadn't changed her clothes, like he'd implied she should probably do. When she had walked out of her room to find Connor emerging from his, buttoning up his nicest brown shirt, he'd grinned brightly at her before leading her downstairs where he yanked on his vest and zipped it.
Outside, he'd had to kick the car several times before it roared to angry life and driven them to the other city of the city and the meeting place for his club. Now they stood just inside the door, waiting for Lincoln to call them over.
"Jackson!" he roared over the din of the other patrons. "C'mere, boy!" Meekly, Connor began to creep over to the man. Lincoln laughed. "I see you brought a tasty tonight," he added, eyeing Genevieve with interest.
"She's my sister, sir," he said quietly, eyes downcast. "Genevieve, though most just call her Genny."
"She got all the pretty of the pair of you," Lincoln said, though the light, almost indiscernible fondness in his tone belied his true feelings about Connor. His eyes switched from Genevieve's face, for which she was grateful, because it meant that she no longer had to glare at him, to Connor, and his expression darkened dangerously. His lips twisted into an ugly frown, his brow pulled down harshly.
"Jackson," he said slowly, his voice low and harsh, "why did you wash your vest? You should have remembered that it's a violation of our laws to clean it until I give the say-so."
Beside her, Connor froze. Genevieve stepped in. "I laundered it," she said. "I didn't know-"
"Ignorance of the law is no excuse," Lincoln thundered quietly, stepping just slightly closer to her, trying to be intimidating. "The penalty for this crime is death. I should kill you right here."
Genevieve set her feet apart, straightened her spine, squared her shoulders and lifted her chin to look the taller Lincoln in the eye, anger flaring hotly. She refused to be intimidated by any man. "Ignorance of the law is a damn good excuse," she hissed. She gained volume as she continued to speak. "How can I be expected to obey a law if I don't know it exists? The first man to say that phrase was an egotistical, power-mad sadist and those who repeat the phrase aren't any better." She spat the words into his face, still not looking away from his terrifyingly even stare.
She had stopped paying attention to her surroundings--had even stopped paying attention to her brother, who was very pale and holding himself very still beside her.
"Gen-" he started shakily.
"Shut up, Connor," she snapped, without even breaking gazes with Lincoln. She spoke to him next in a soft snarl. "I'm not a member of this group. I'm not expected to follow its--" she made her voice mocking for the next word "--laws. I thought I was doing something kind for my brother. If taking care of family is an offense punishable by death, then by all means, kill me here."
Lincoln continued to search her face for a long moment, his expression unchanging. Finally, his eyes softened and his mouth lifted in a maddening smirk. "Well, Jackson," he drawled, sweeping his eyes up and down Genevieve's body again, "I like her. She's...spunky."
Genevieve's rage was slower to cool than Connor's terror as they settled around the table in the eating-house and a serving girl grovelled up to Lincoln. To distract herself, she looked around at the other guests, none of whom appeared to have noticed the brief exchange between their highly feared and respected leader and a young woman they'd never seen before.
She and Connor looked to be some of the youngest. Besides Connor and Lincoln, there were roughly a dozen men, ranging in age from fourteen or fifteen to roughly forty-five or fifty. Besides herself, there were three other women, all cozied up to one of the men. They all seemed to be ten or so years older than Genevieve, which would put them about twenty-six or twenty-seven, giggly and vapid as schoolgirls. She wondered if they were hired women, or if they were wives or lovers. The men with women on their laps talked animatedly with them while the others conversed in a more dignified fashion amongst themselves. Genevieve studied them quietly, starting with Lincoln.
He was twenty-nine, she knew from Connor's excitable babbling, with hair the color of beaten gold, eyes like chocolate, and coppery skin. He had a very pretty face, with clean, straight lines, a full mouth, and a thick fringe of dark lashes, and the way he conducted himself said he well knew it. He kept his hair longer than was strictly fashionable, in a shaggy line around his shoulders when it was unbound, but tonight he'd pulled it into a horsetail at the base of his head. Lincoln was tall and slender, muscled but not overly so, with broad shoulders. He was flirting lightly with the serving girl, though she was younger than Genevieve.
To his right sat a short, portly man with a craggy face, bushy eyebrows, wiry white hair and a pale complexion. His eyes were icy blue and sharp. That was probably Gregor, Lincoln's second-in-command.
In the next place, a teenaged boy sat, twitching nervously and peering at people while they weren't looking. He looked enough like Gregor to be a younger, thinner version of him, though his was hair so dark it was nearly black, which probably meant that he was Gregor's son, Kevan. It was also probably his first meeting, since he looked no older than fourteen--the absolute youngest members of this club were allowed to be.
She turned her attention to the next man, one with a woman on his lap, but she couldn't see him past her wild brown curls. She would have continued down the line, but Lincoln stood up and cleared his throat. The serving girl had departed for the kitchen.
"Attention, my brothers!" he called. "All of us have arrived, the charming young lady who will be waiting on us has told me that the food is being prepared as we speak, and we have our newest brother here with us tonight! Connor, boy, stand up." He gestured grandly. "Your guest as well." Genevieve snapped her eyes on him angrily, but rose with her brother. "Connor Jackson, brothers, and his sister, Genevieve. They're family now. Treat them as such."
His gaze lingered on Genevieve for another moment before he waved his hand at them to sit. The rest of the night passed in almost a blur. Supper was served, some sort of pasta dish heavy with vegetables, with dishes of fresh fruit and cream. She noticed that Lincoln and Gregor never touched any sort of alcohol, and that when Kevan tried to reach for a mug of ale or flask of wine, Gregor slapped his hand away. Lincoln drank cow milk, Gregor and Kevan water. She drank only water or juice herself. No one but Connor attempted to speak to her. After the meal, the women were ushered into a small room off the main dining room while the men 'discussed business.'
Genevieve sat in a corner, desperately wishing she'd thought to bring a book while the older women chatted brightly. They kept referring to the men on whose laps they'd sat as 'patrons.' They were hired. Genevieve fought back a wave of repulsion, but before any of them could turn to draw her into their conversation, the serving girl knocked lightly on the door before letting herself in to announce that the men were finished and they could return to the others.
Connor intercepted her at the front door, near Lincoln, to tell her it was time to go. Lincoln wrapped Connor in a one-armed hug and planted a kiss on his forehead. Before Genevieve had a chance to do anything, Lincoln grabbed her right hand in both of his and lifted it to his lips. He brushed them lightly over her knuckles and aimed a charming smile at her. "Goodnight, miss," he said warmly. Genevieve snatched her hand back with a glare at him, and he chuckled. "Spunky," he said as an aside to Connor as they left.
Honestly, I have almost no idea where this is going. Originally it was going to be a biker fic, but then I realised I didn't know enough about bikers to pull it off, so I created yet another world. Ish. Joy. Also, Genevieve and Connor--twins or not?