...to dust

And so it is

Sat, 17 Jun 2006 04:23:49 GMT

It's been a while, and I'm not sure who's still around to read this, but I thought I'd tender my resignation from fandom.

Well, semi-retirement, since my poor little fandom heart is still beating (Veronica Mars!! at the moment), will always be beating, I think. Once a fangirl, always a fangirl.

However, I have decided not to renew my lease at splinter-moment.net, which is a little sad, since my entire fandom!life was housed there (including CM which is now dead, I'm guessing you already know).

As such, I've decided to house everything that I can't bear to throw away in this one last index post.

icons...

alias

alias: syd

alias: vaughn

alias: ship

alias: ship: syd/vaughn

btvs

colin firth

gilmore girls

the gyllenhaals

the o.c.

the o.c.: ben mckenzie

the o.c.: ship

the o.c.: ship: marissa/ryan

qaf

kimi raikkonen

x-men: movie-verse

random

wallpapers...

alias

btvs

random

fanfiction...

alias

Adagio (S/V, R, incomplete)
Sydney and Vaughn start a slow drive to one another.

Darker (We/Sa, R)
Weiss and Sark trade a weakness.

Déjà Vu (S/V, R)
Until one of us makes the other one come true.

Twist (S/L, NC-17)
The shift and slide of control.

Without Fail (S/V, PG)
Vaughn knows everything about Sydney, knows exactly what to expect, but she's still got a few things up her sleeve.

Without Trace (S/V, R, incomplete)
Sydney wants out.

btvs

Bursting Through (B/A, A/Fr, PG-13, incomplete)
An opened doorway sends Buffy careening back into Angel's life.

Kinetic (B/A, PG-13, incomplete)
Where better to hide than in an alternate dimension?

Safe From Harm (PG-13)
Faith goes killer on Angel in 'Sanctuary'.

dark angel

Back to You (M/L, PG-13, incomplete)
Logan's on a mission to get Max back, but can she return to him in the same state she left him in

Heavy as Empty (M/L, R)
Max deals after she sleeps with Rafer.

Hunter (M/L, PG-13)
Max deals with Ben's death and Logan's distance.

You Only Hide (M/L, PG-13, incomplete)
Starts with an alternate-'Out' and then ships the hell outta the first season.

gilmore girls

In Love and War (R/L, PG)
All's fair...

Take You On a Cruise (R/Lg, PG)
You're caught off guard the first time Rory Gilmore kisses you.

Thanks for the good times,
b.

Mon, 18 Jul 2005 13:45:22 GMT

Ok. I know it's very seriously been a helluva long time since I updated but I haven't been feeling terribly fannish lately. What especially with the lack of internet and new episodes.

However.

Have just watched the entire season of Alias in the space of three days. And though it lacked...hmm cohesion? Excitement? Novelty? I generally liked it more than Season 3, but I believe that goes without saying.

The point of this post however, is in response to the finale. I need to read Vaughn back-story fic. Stat. Anyone got any recs?

Huh.

Thu, 24 Feb 2005 07:15:54 GMT

It would appear that I have written fic. Rory/Logan Gilmore Girls fic to be precise.

TITLE: In Love and War

AUTHOR: bulletproof (bulletproof_android [at] yahoo.com)

RATING: PG-13

DISCLAIMER: Characters owned by Amy Sherman-Palladino. There are also a whole bunch of pop-culture references, but if the Gilmore Girls can't be bothered to put a disclaimer in for them, then neither can I ;)

DISTRIBUTION: Have at it, but if you could drop me a line to tell me where it's going, that'd be great.

SPOILERS: Post-'But Not As Cute As Pushkin'.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Written for the Event Integrity exchange. Merry belated Christmas to whomever this was for, and sorry for extended lateness *winces*. Hope you like it and thanks for the great requirements (they're at the end). I had fun with them ;)

The air in the cab of Lorelai Gilmore's car has grown stale and stagnant with a terse silence that is only occasionally disturbed by the driver's dark mutterings. The scowl that mars her beautiful face seems ingrained after years of practice. The sense of doom is irresistible, unmistakable; it's a Friday night, and Luke has done something very stupid.

"I can't believe he'd just go and do something like that!"

"I'm sure he meant well, Mom." Rory tries in a tentative, conciliatory tone. Twenty years of living with her mother have taught her that a) a Cranky Lorelai is a Careless Driver and b) a soft, calming voice seems to soothe the savage beast.

"Ha! 'Meant well'!" Lorelai responds, her rant taking on a slightly psychotic undertone, "Lex Luthor meant well, Sideshow Bob meant well, but what Luke did was just diabolically evil!"

"Mom," Rory sighs, barely stopping herself from rolling her eyes. They've been doing this ever since they left Star's Hollow; "all he did was arrange a nice little pre-Christmas getaway for the two of you."

"Yeah, which 'just so happens' to clash with the Annual Gilmore Christmas Party." Lorelai says in an overly exaggerated manner. Rory knows that if her hands weren't on the wheel, she'd be making air quotes. "And now, since everything's already booked, I have to go through hell and tell my mother that not only is my boyfriend not going, but that I myself will not be attending the mandated festivities. Coincidence? I think not. This is obviously torturous punishment for holding his flannel shirts hostage."

"Luke couldn't know when grandma and grandpa hold their Christmas party..."

"Uh, couldn't he? It's on the third Saturday of December, every year, the exact same day as the only day that we don't go to Luke's for dinner."

"Except for when we go to Al's, or order pizza, or go for Chinese food..."

"Okay, okay, Yale girl, no need to make with the QED. Pouty-pooper. Ruin my over-extended-bottom-lip fun."

Rory turns to her mother and channels her, "Dirty!"

"How?" Lorelai asks, incredulous, then thinks for a beat and returns with, "Oh, wait, yeah, I see it."

Rory scrunches her face as the realisation dawns on her, "Ew, you're picturing Luke naked aren't you?"

"Mmm, yes, thankyou, but I shouldn't be. He doesn't deserve naked thoughts considering what he's about to put me through. Ugh, I so don't want to face my mother right now. And I don't even have drinks with Dad to act as a buffer before I dive into the fray."

"Where is Grandpa this week again?"

"Oh, I don't know, business trip in Boston or Charleston or some other '-ton' that was really happening in the 40's."

Rory's brow wrinkles in confusion, "What was happening in Boston in the 40's?"

"Uh, y'know, people were riding in boats, drinking tea."

"Oh, you mean closer to the 1740's, gotcha." Rory winks at her mother before pausing for dramatic effect, "We're here."

Lorelai grabs her daughter's hand and whispers in a conspiratorial tone, "Ssh, maybe if we close our eyes and wish really hard, the whole house will disappear, along with everybody in it."

"Or grandma will come and find us hiding out in your car and get even more mad," Rory whispers back. "Come on, we may as well get this over with."

"Okay," Lorelai grumbles, getting out of the car begrudgingly, "but I've got one thing to say."

"What's that?" Rory asks, pressing the doorbell.

"Avenge Mommy's death," she manages to get in before the housekeeper answers the door. Their coats are taken and they are ushered inside to the drawing room where Emily greets them with an eerily wide smile.

"Girls! Wonderful, you're here. Isn't this cold weather simply marvellous? The streets outside all covered in white and your complexions so rosy and red. Oh, it reminds me of when I was a little girl and I built figures in the snow. Don't you just love winter?"

As Emily continues on her ode, Rory inches closer to Lorelai and hisses into her ear, "What's up with Grandma?"

"Dunno, maybe the pod-people finally came to collect her," Lorelai hisses back before raising her voice to address her mother, "Mom, you're in a good mood today, what happened? Did they finally find a way to de-clomp your maids' shoes?"

"Very funny Lorelai, but I refuse to rise to the bait. You're right, I am in a good mood today and I am determined to have nothing ruin it; I've read some absolutely wonderful news." Emily claps her hands together, turning to Rory expectantly, "Rory, is there something you want to tell us?"

Rory's eyes widen, a deer caught in headlights, as she replies, "Uh, no Grandma, I haven't done anything news-worthy lately, at least I don't think I have."

"Ah, yes, but Rory, it isn't something that you've done, but rather something that one young Mr Logan Huntzberger has..."

"Logan...?" Rory murmurs as Emily retrieves something from the seat beside her.

"I see we're finally on the same wavelength." Emily smiles as she hands a newspaper to her granddaughter. What she sees there makes her eyeballs pop even more and her heart jump into her throat in shock:

'Declaration of Intent: I, Logan Huntzberger, do hereby declare my undying love for Rory Gilmore...'

Unable to take anymore, Rory closes her eyes and turns her head away from the paper for good measure, but her grandmother fills in the blanks for her:

"A proposal in his father's newspaper! It's terribly romantic, don't you think?"

Lorelai snatches the newspaper from her daughter's hands and examines the pictures that are littered artistically across the double-paged spread: Rory clutching Logan's hand tightly to her chest after their 50-foot plunge at the LDB outing, Logan with his arm slung ever-so-casually around Rory's shoulders at the Male-Yale sub-party.

"Rory!" Lorelai starts in an accusatory tone, "Limo-boy is way cuter than Pushkin, what were you talking about? I am going to have the most beautiful grandchildren this side of Brad and Jen's kids!"

"Mom..."

"So, Lorelai, you knew about Logan? I'd only heard that he and Rory had been talking at the Yale alumni party that your father and I held, but I had no idea that they'd made such a strong connection. When did they start dating?"

"Grandma..."

"I'm not sure," Lorelai answers, her eyes twinkling, seeing Logan's move for the prank, and the distraction from telling her mother about not being able to go to the Christmas party, that it is, "but Rory had been talking about him for a while before that, and he did drive her home after the party..."

"Stop!" Rory yells, standing with her hands raised in the international sign for 'Cease fire'. She glares at her mother for inciting mayhem, but is mostly fuming at Logan for his ingenious plan of fighting fire with fire: He's turned her most dangerous weapon, her family, against her; she has to begrudgingly admit that the round does indeed go to him.

"This is just a joke, Grandma-" Rory continues in a slow and measured tone, to keep her voice from quivering in anger, but Emily cuts her off.

"Oh, Rory, don't be silly. I know that the Huntzberger boys have somewhat of a reputation for, well, playing the field, but I don't think this is all a joke to Logan. He put the proposal in his father's newspaper, Rory, and I don't think I need to tell you that Mitchum Huntzberger is a force to be reckoned with. For Logan to do so, I think he must be deadly serious about his relationship with you. Now, have you thought about your answer?"

Rory just groans and allows her body to slump down to the couch, resting her head against her knees. It's going to be a long night.

* * * * *

The rest of the night proceeds in much the same fashion and by the fish course, while Emily has progressed from length of engagement to wedding plans to the names of their children, Rory has come to the conclusion that her grandmother isn't about to run out of steam on her own anytime soon. She's going to need some help.

Unfortunately, the only possible source of aid around is her mother and she has only been fuelling Emily's madness. "Sorry kid," she'd murmured earlier into Rory's ear as they'd proceeded from the parlour into the dining room, "but desperate times call for desperate measures. It's every Gilmore for themselves."

Rory smiles a little in remembrance of her mother's words and decides to take a leaf out of Logan's book. Turnabout is fair play after all.

She excuses herself from the dinner table to go to the bathroom, making sure that her cell phone is in her jeans pocket before remarking, "Oh Mom, wasn't there something that you needed to tell Grandma?"

Lorelai's eyes take on a stricken expression but the smile remains frozen on her face as she tries to reach under the table to kick her daughter in the shins. She misses as Rory gets up from the table. "I've got no idea what you're talking about, hon."

"Wasn't there something about a mini-break with Luke? When was that going to be again? The eighteenth?"

Rory ducks out of the room just as she hears the gears in Emily's brain click into place and when she trips down the hallway, the fireworks start to explode. "Lorelai Gilmore! Just when were you going to tell me?"

Rory makes her way to her mother's old room in search of a little privacy and dials the number that somehow mysteriously made its way onto her phone after her LDB outing with Logan as she closes the door. He picks up after a short number of rings and the voice that fills her ear is smooth, suave, and exceedingly irritating. "My darling future wife, I've been waiting for your call. I honestly didn't think you'd last this long."

"Logan James Huntzberger, you have no idea how much bodily harm I am going to do to you."

He chuckles a little, unconcerned with Rory's threat, "I think I do. You're using my middle name; I gather Emily has been discussing our future children's names?"

"Ugh! And the colour of the bridesmaid's dresses and where we'll be holding the reception. You've created a monster!"

"I hate to go grade school on you, but you started it, Ace. Bringing your grandfather into the game was an excellent idea, but your grandmother is infinitely more lethal. I'm just glad I remembered that I have the keys to Dad's offices."

"So your father doesn't know about this."

"Uh, that would be a definite no. Mitchum Huntzberger is a force that even I can't reckon with."

"And the rest of Hartford...?"

"Also doesn't know. Only your grandmother got that special edition of The Hartford Herald. It affects me too, Rory. I couldn't let the damage be too lasting."

"Thank God for small miracles," she murmurs, her tone picking up urgency as she remembers her current predicament, "but I need to get out of this now, and since you're the one who started this all, it's your responsibility. I need a sub-party, stat."

"That's one diagnosis, doc, but with my experience, I think your situation calls for Lesson Two of Coping with Painfully Boring Parties: The Disappearing Act."

Rory scoffs and rolls her eyes, "Like I need you to teach me The Disappearing Act. My Mom's been pulling that one ever since she could crawl, but it's no good. I'm stuck here 'cause my car's in for repairs at Star's Hollow."

"Relax, Ace, I've got the wheels and I'm in the area. I can pick you up in ten in front of your grandparents' house. Do you have a diversion?"

Rory smiles as she tells Logan of her mother's current predicament and he whistles low in appreciation, "Brutal and a master of subterfuge, I love those things in a woman. We're going to make quite a match someday, Miss Gilmore."

Rory laughs ruefully, "Especially if my grandma has anything to say about it."

"Right, so we've got the distraction and the getaway car covered. Do you have an escape route?"

Rory's eyes dart around the room and they settle on her mother's old bedroom window. What's good for one Gilmore...

"Yeah, I've got it covered."

* * * * *

"Take me away, James." Rory sighs melodramatically as she slides into Logan's two-seater.

"As you wish, milady."

Rory sinks back into her chair and closes her eyes, allowing herself to bask in the gentle silence that has settled over them, happy to be away from her grandmother's eager suggestions and her mother's teasing laughter.

"Don't think you aren't going to pay for this, Huntzberger."

Her eyes are still closed so she misses the grin that matches Logan's lascivious tone, "I'm looking forward to it."

"Just because you're taking me away to..." Rory trails off, gingerly opening her eyes, "Where are you taking me?"

"Ah, but that would be telling. Now if you'll kindly close your eyes again, I won't have to use this."

Logan fishes a silk, black blindfold out of his jeans pocket and Rory groans, "Logan, not again. Look, if you just drop me off at Star's Hollow-"

"Not the way this works, Ace. You call me for a ride and I get to take you wherever I want. And before you argue, you never specified a destination and I don't think you would've called me if you weren't looking for something a little unexpected to break up your night. Besides, what's the worse that could happen?"

Rory raises an eyebrow at his last comment, "Do we remember the last Life and Death Brigade event? The one where Finn had to be taken away in a stretcher?"

Logan laughs, "Finn could make it to the E.R. in his sleep; he's got a thing for one of the doctors there. C'mon, Ror, last time you had a 50-foot fall and you came out fine..." Logan took stock of Rory's widened eyes and countered quickly. "More than that, you enjoyed it. It was a 'Once in a lifetime experience', if I recall, and I'm not necessarily promising anything quite so life affirming this time 'round, but I do promise you will have fun. What do you say?"

"Not like I have a choice in the matter," Rory grumps, sliding down into her seat, "damned child-proof doors."

Logan's grin widens as he winks at her. "That's the spirit. Now if you're good, you might get a toy surprise at the end of the night."

* * * * *

Rory kept her eyes closed for the rest of the trip, as much in avoidance of the blindfold as in resignation. Perhaps Logan had been right...not that she'd ever admit it. Ever since her last experience with the LDB, Rory has been wondering if she has been missing something out of life, if maybe she does hide behind musty books and the recitation of facts and figures of other people's lives when she should be out there living; and she's never felt more alive than when she's around Logan.

Her reverie is broken by the gentle insistence of his voice, "Open your eyes, Rory."

She does and the sight that greets her leaves her in awe as she gets out of the car in a daze. They are in the middle of some nature reserve, she is sure, one with a frozen lake of ice surrounded by tall trees strung up with garlands of twinkling white lights.

"Logan, it's beautiful." She whispers, the words coming out in a puff of white.

He smiles at the wonderment in her eyes and takes her hand, "Come on."

They walk slowly along a path that leads to the giant tent that has been set up on the banks of the lake, passing a sled-full of girls being pulled along by a male LDB member on his hands and knees, a veritable menagerie of snow-animals and a giant sling-shot set up beside a large mound of snowballs being aimed at...

"Colin! What happened, man? I was sure that Finn would've lost."

Colin opens his mouth to answer, but closes it again quickly as a volley of snowballs hits his body, currently tied to a giant dartboard.

"Technically, we both did. We had to think up some new cruel and unusual punishment for Finn."

"Which was?"

Colin smiles at Logan, a slight tinge of malice tainting his otherwise good-natured smile, and Rory knows that Finn has been duped into something much worse than what Colin's going through. "You'll see when he comes back," he says.

Logan laughs again and tugs Rory away to the tent. She spares a last fleeting glance at Colin, wincing as a particularly large snowball hits him smack between the eyes and asks, "What did they lose?"

Logan hesitates before answering with a twinkle in his eye, "Let's just say it involved a magic eight ball, something around twenty shots of alcohol, and a girl."

"Lucky girl," Rory murmurs sardonically.

Logan smiles winningly in spite of her tone, "Well, if I'd known earlier that's what it'd take to impress you-"

"Rory!"

Not seeing Stephanie, Rory bumps directly into the other girl as they both enter the tent. She almost bumps into another figure but thankfully stops herself in time.

"Finn!"

Eying first Rory, then the owner of the hand that she is currently holding, Finn gives a sly smile to the blond, "Logan."

"Santa!" Logan exclaims, laughing as he takes in Finn's outfit. "This was your cruel and unusual punishment, I assume?"

"Too bloody right." Finn skulks, "Dress up as Santa they said. It'll cheer up the kids at the E.R. they said. Nobody mentioned that Stephanie would be tagging along and handing out goo guns!"

"Green goo guns," Rory notes, shrugging meekly when Finn shoots her a glare. "Very festive."

"Well I don't feel very festive," Finn pouts prettily. "Why don't you come and sit on Santa's lap and pass on some of that Christmas spirit?"

Rory takes one look at the green goop that is splotched across the entirety of Finn's red suit and grimaces. "I think I'll pass."

"But-"

Finn advances and Rory takes a step back, colliding into Logan's chest, "Logan! I love this song! Dance with me?"

Without another word, she physically drags Logan to the dance-floor where she places her hands around his neck to keep him in place.

Preoccupied with looking over her shoulder, she barely registers Logan calling her name. "Rory?"

"Hmm?"

"Not that I'm one to look a gift-horse in the mouth, but we're slow-dancing to Franz Ferdinand."

Rory smiles becomingly at him. "What can I say? I'm a strange girl with strange ways."

"That you are." Logan smiles back at her.

Rory takes stock of the lavishly equipped tent, neither changing her pace nor her hands' positions, and asks, "Where's the gong?"

"The gong?"

"You know, 'I do declare here gathered 109th grand assembly of the honourable bla bla blitty bla..."

"Well, this isn't exactly a grand assembly..."

"It isn't?" Rory asks, the corners of her lips quirked upwards, "'Cause it looks like you've got a lot of brigadiers assembled here and the tent is looking pretty grand..."

Logan smirks. What is it about this girl that makes clashing with her so enjoyable? "What I meant was, this isn't exactly a pre-scheduled event. Just something that got thrown together at the last minute."

"Not pre-scheduled? I'd say Christmas is pretty much a done deal every year."

"And it's one that we don't choose to recognise. We're an anarchy collective, Ror, give us a little credit."

Rory gives him a 'Yeah, right...' look. "So the Santa suit and the egg nog and that Christmas song by The Raveonettes I heard earlier..."

"...are parts of the holiday that we choose to recognise."

"Because you're an anarchy collective and you do what you like." Rory recites in her best charmingly annoying masculine voice.

"Exactly."

"So this isn't an 'official' gathering." Rory further clarifies.

"No."

"And there won't be any death-defying stunts that you'll be peer-pressuring me into."

"No." Rory chooses to ignore the unspoken 'Not yet' that is conveyed by the challenging look in his eyes.

"And that means that there could be Triskets, Oreos, Doritos and a bong?" she asks innocently, her breath catching slightly as she imagines the chocolaty confection.

Logan smiles as he catches on, "There could be Oreos, if the lady so desires it."

"She does."

"Then let there be Oreos." He declares, offering his arm as he leads her from the dance-floor.

* * * * *

Five slow dances (both on and off the ice), four standard shots of alcohol, three chimes from the clock and a couple of drunken antics later, the night is winding to a close and Rory is permitted to be driven home ("I can't take you home before three, Ace. I've got a reputation to uphold.")

As they walk through the tent to get to Logan's car, they come across an impromptu Santa photo booth, consisting solely of an over-stuffed chair, a girl with a Polaroid camera, and Finn in an abbreviated version of his previous Santa suit.

"I believe when this night started you were wearing pants." Rory notes, trying not to stare at the pasty whiteness of Finn's bare legs.

"Y'know, you wouldn't believe how often I hear that," Finn replies drunkenly. "The girls wouldn't sit on my lap because of all the green goo on my pants, so I took them off."

"Logic hath no fury like Finn de-pants-ed." Logan murmurs into Rory's ear in confidence before taking her elbow, saying the requisite goodbyes and leading her to the exit.

The drive to Star's Hollow is raucous and quarrelsome, Rory and Logan's version of quiet and pleasant, and ends with laughter and plans for Logan to come back to the town on Sunday to try Luke's coffee.

"I find it hard to believe that you've travelled to Italy and still think that Luke makes the best coffee you've ever tasted."

"Hey, don't knock it til you've tried it."

"I'll make my final verdict on Sunday, but I'm still going to have to take you to this little place just off campus. You can get a caffeine hit just from walking by the place and smelling the aroma of the coffee machine brewing."

"I'd like that." Rory smiles before taking hold of his hand. "Hey, you were right. I had fun tonight."

"Me too."

"And, I was good."

"You were," Logan agrees, "you even inspired a drinking game with your art of Oreo eating."

"So my toy surprise...?" Rory prompts, her eyes wide and hopeful.

Logan lets out a bark of laughter, releasing her hand so that he can return to the car to retrieve two packages wrapped in red and white. "Nothing gets past you, huh Ace?"

"We Gilmore Girls are tenacious when it comes to gift-getting." She assures him, taking the packages out of his hand and eagerly ripping into the packaging.

"Two things to remember me by." Logan remarks as she uncovers the first gift: A copy of 'Master and Commander' on DVD, to which Rory rolls her eyes, and...

"Mistletoe? This is clich・ Logan, even for you. And besides, I thought you were part of an anarchy collective that-"

"Rory?"

Her breath is stolen from her as he interrupts her, taking the mistletoe from her fingers and stepping towards her so that he fills her vision.

"Hmm?" she asks, preoccupied with his nearness.

"Stop talking."

He kisses her, his lips soft and unyielding, his mouth wet and warm and welcoming all at once and she cannot help but respond sweetly, wrapping her arms around his neck for leverage as she pushes herself up to meet him. They lose track of minutes, moments, time, lose breath and start again, and again, until a blinding series of light-bulb flashes break through to their senses and they hear a cackle of laughter coming from inside the house.

"That'll teach you to throw Mommy to the wolves!"

It is only now that they realise that the front door has been opened and that Lorelai is running through the house like a mad woman, holding her digital camera as if it is a trophy.

Rory sighs in resignation. She should've known she wouldn't get off so easily. "Logan Huntzberger, Lorelai Gilmore; ever so unfortunately, my mother."

"Nice to meet you, Lorelai." Logan calls into the house, causing Lorelai to stop skipping and to backtrack to the front porch.

"Back at ya, Limo-boy. Nice move with the proposal, by the way."

"And you too with the...future bribe material, I presume?"

Lorelai nods at the boy, obviously no stranger to the art of war, in respect, "You'd presume correctly. Hey listen, we should get together and compare notes on how to annoy the crap out of Rory. I've got so much dirt on her, she's thinking of not having her 21st birthday party."

"Sounds good. How about Sunday?"

"Sunday? What's happening on Sunday?"

"We're going to Luke's to compare coffee places."

"Ooh! Are you going to do the Connecticut Coffee Trail? Rory and I tried that once, but we were so studious in our endeavours, drinking about three or four cups at every place to get a real taste of the coffee, that my hands were shaking on the wheel by the fifth joint and we had to go home."

"Well you know what they say, Lorelai, you should take everything in moderation."

"Including moderation itself, of course." Rory pipes up, finally getting over the weirdness of Logan and her mother getting along.

"Of course," Logan winks at Rory and Lorelai takes this as her cue to leave.

"Well, again, it was great to finally put a face to the infamous name."

"Likewise."

Lorelai retreats into the house and closes the door behind her, leaving Logan and Rory alone on the front porch again. He resumes his former position in close proximity to her, taking her hand and giving her a disarming smile. "So I'll see you on Sunday?"

"Sunday," Rory nods. He slowly closes the gap and presses his mouth gently against hers in a brief and final kiss before pulling away to whisper, "Merry Christmas, Rory."

Rory bites her tongue against the retort that she knows would be spilling from her mouth otherwise, choosing to recognise the Christmas spirit of peace and goodwill for the time being. "Merry Christmas, Logan."

She watches him drove off before returning to the house, bracing herself for the inevitable.

"I'm not sure how well I'd be able to sell the first one, but the rest are definitely going to The Enquirer." Lorelai teases, flipping through the photos on her digital camera. She takes a slight break from her mocking to look Rory straight in the eye. "I like him, kiddo. He seems like a good guy."

"He is," Rory assures her mother, flopping down on the couch next to her, "when he's not conspiring with you and actively plotting my downfall."

Lorelai shrugs, throwing an arm around Rory with the motion, "So he can hold his own against you. I like these qualities in a future son-in-law."

Rory groans and makes a resolution in her mind: The kiss may have marked a temporary cease-fire with Logan, but hostilities were definitely resuming on Sunday.

END

REQUIREMENTS: Must include: 1. Rory sneaking out her mother's old bedroom window during a Friday Night dinner 2. Finn dressed as Santa tries to get Rory to sit in his lap 3. This line of dialogue: "I believe when this night started you were wearing pants." 4. Logan gives Rory a gift. Must not include: 1. Excessive use of Rory's nickname 2. Sappy!Logan 3. Dean.

do the feedback : bulletproof_android [at] yahoo.com | see the sites : splinter-moment.net

That is all. Japan is still great. My job is great. Now if only I could get the whole net thing working...

Sun, 02 Jan 2005 11:08:58 GMT

A belated Happy New Year to you all. Here are some icons.

The O.C.

Hero

Gilmore Girls

+plus...

Fanart

Wallpaper: 800x600 | 1024x768

Enjoy ;)

cos you gotta have faith...

Wed, 08 Dec 2004 22:58:20 GMT

Oh so cliched and predictable:


eliza dushku is love
brought to you by the isLove Generator

Heh but this one was better:


lj icons are love
brought to you by the isLove Generator

Bwah!

But what I really wanted was:


buttfaced miscreants are love
brought to you by the isLove Generator

Heh.

gakked from, well, everyone on my flist.

ETA:

You belong with Mark Darcy. You like your men
smart,loyal and hunky. The fact that he is
successful helps too. Though he appears to be
tough,deep down he's a big 'ol teddy bear. When
behind closed doors he's a tiger..grrr!Lucky
you!

Which Colin Firth is your daddy?
brought to you by Quizilla

gakked from rhienelleth and ms_pie. And while am mildly jealous of your Mr Darcy's, am not too displeased with ending up with his modern counter-part, reindeer jumper and all ;)

Honey, I'm home

Tue, 07 Dec 2004 10:53:07 GMT

So...long time no LJ.

A few things have been happening, the most important of which is I DIDN'T FAIL MY HONOURS YEAR! I also qualify to do Masters (postgrad-ness) which is all good, but I may be headed to...Japan next year. Dependent on whether or not the good people at the Consulate think I am miscreant material.

Speaking of miscreants...I am totally lovin' the Rory/Logan on Gilmore Girls. I have the drabbles and icons to prove it:

I am quite aware of my fandom ho-ness. And my compulsive shipper-ness.

And speaking of icons...here are some more for good measure:

General Gilmore Girls Goodness

The O.C.

And finally, re: CM. I've been thinking about including wip's in the archive again since, really, I can. I figured out the theory behind it shouldn't be so different from the way I did wip's before the advent of PHP and since there seems to be a slump in the ficdom lately...So yeah, don't be too alarmed if your wip turns up at the archive some time soon.

And that, after all my long-windedness, seems to be all.

as the d would say, whoot

Fri, 12 Nov 2004 01:41:14 GMT

CM has been relaunched complete with new fic.

Meanwhile, I didn't think anyone rocked as hard as Pamie, but really, really, M. Giant does. BWAH! Go read the recap.

I'm not here, this isn't happening

Sun, 12 Sep 2004 14:07:36 GMT

Am disappearing for a while (if you hadn't already gathered) since my thesis is killing me.

All splinter-moment.net sites will be on hiatus til November. Except for icons, obviously, because, well, GIP!

scratches head

Wed, 01 Sep 2004 06:49:30 GMT

Or y'know, bleeding not. I have no clue what's going on with my domain at the moment. Some days it works, some days it don't. I can only *assume* it's been hacked because I certainly haven't been able to do anything with it.

In either case. GIP.

Wed, 25 Aug 2004 14:50:30 GMT

And just as quickly, it seems to have resolved itself. <scratches head> False alarm on the hacking front, it seems, but perhaps it is indeed time to get rid of the index.php?x= format. Hmm. Weird.

Wed, 25 Aug 2004 10:32:05 GMT

So. It would appear that splinter-moment.net has been hacked. What possible enjoyment one could hope to gain from such a venture escapes me completely, but this is such as it is. I am unable to access both my site via FTP and my control panel and have little by way of time or patience to deal with it at present. As such, the main site and all those housed within shall be down at least until the weekend.

Bastards.

<returns to P&P fic for some semblance of calm>

wherein fred finds the gradient tool

Sat, 21 Aug 2004 16:30:49 GMT

Procrastinating is goooood.

Firth:
1. 2.

Alias:
3. 4. 5. 6.
7. 8. 9.

The O.C.:
10. 11. 12.

Scarlett Johansson:
13. 14. 15.

Kimi Raikkonen:
16.

and just for the hell of it,

Eliza Dushku:
17.

The usual rules apply: want, take, comment and upload to your own server for indeed, hotlinking is still evil. Eeeeevil. Wow I need sleep.

sleep is for the weeeaaak

Thu, 05 Aug 2004 17:24:24 GMT

One day I'm going to screw up my sleeping patterns so irrevocably that I'll never sleep again.

Caps by _jems_.
See user info for brush credits.

Wed, 28 Jul 2004 17:08:28 GMT

Franz Ferdinand's 'Michael' was written for this scene. I swear it.

1.

2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

1. 'Michael' - Franz Ferdinand
2. 'Love is a Battlefield' - Pat Benatar
5. 'Need to Destroy' - THC
6. 'Everlong' - Foo Fighters

Holy crap how did it get to be 3 in the morning?

Oh, and if I ever forget to say so, all of my icons are up for grabs. Just please don't hotlink and comment if you're taking :)

Umm yay?

Thu, 15 Jul 2004 15:12:10 GMT

Abrams Promises to Fix 'Alias'

Heh and I just made this icon the other day, too:

Here's to better times ahead.

sighs

Fri, 09 Jul 2004 01:33:24 GMT

You know that Alias has ruined you when...

- you sit up at any mention of the number 47 (at which point you have to tell your flatmate, who also watches Alias, that no, the number 47 is not just the number on the door in Sydney's dream in 'Conscious', the number 47 has been there since the beginning of time. The number 47 is everything.)
- you describe Angel's move of infiltrating The Black Thorn as "pulling double agent duty" (come on! He became one of them so he could see their internal structure, a la the plane in 'Phase One', and then take them all out.)
- you think the glamour spell Angel uses to make Hamilton believe that his crew and him are fighting is really a vamped up (ha!) version of Jack's pen/bug-killer.

These things aside, I really liked this ep. At parts it moved a bit slowly for my tastes, but the general idea, I liked, because hey, they were never going to be able to wrap this up entirely neatly. If they actually took down the senior partners, I think I'd feel a little cheated. But this, this works for me.

Meanwhile, what the crap is up with eljay? It doesn't like me today. Oh and The Killers are my new addiction. And Franz Ferdinand. Damn you dinanimo.

Oh, and while we're at it, here are some icons, cos as sick and twisted as it is now, it's still my ship, and I'm sticking by it <stubborn pout>

1. 2. 3.

and this one cos it cracks me up:

4.

try as I might, I'll never be a real femslasher <sighs>

1. 'Vow' - Garbage
2. 'The Darker Days of Me and Him' - PJ Harvey
3. 'Erase and Rewind' - The Cardigans

finally

Fri, 02 Jul 2004 23:30:52 GMT

So. After much, much pain (oh how I miss my house with cable), the new CM is finally up.

[le link]

Thankyou all for your extreme patience with these extended delays and thankyou most of all to Diebin, because without her, there would be no new archive. <sighs> and now I am off to work. Woot.

sooooo good

Tue, 29 Jun 2004 08:42:00 GMT

Ha ha! I knew it! (gacked from mysquishy)

My Best Friend is dinanimo

Our 21 common interests are: adam brody, alias, amélie, bobby drake, buffy, coldplay, colin firth, david anders, donnie darko, fanfic, gilmore girls, jake gyllenhaal, jennifer garner, michael vartan, radiohead, sark, seth cohen, seth/summer, spydaddy, syd/vaughn, the o.c.

Who is your best friend?

Created by macoto

Heh especially after her visit to Sydney where we
- watched The Day After Tomorrow, which wasn't excruciating. Esp. with le Jake <le sigh>
- argued about the correct pronounciation of celli. I think chelli, like cello, she thinks selli, like celery.
- gave each other weird looks about the other's food choices (mostly me about her dislike of nachos and the concept of cheese in general)
- abused my cable connection (and then stupidly forgot to burn them for d to take home; like PS)

Meanwhile, life started again last Friday <kisses my one and only exam> and so, there is a new version of icon.ography since the other one was fugly ;)

zzzz

Wed, 16 Jun 2004 15:56:41 GMT

It's 1:50am. Must mean it's time for icons. Why must my brain work so?

More for boyfriendlove:

1. 2. 3.

Random Alias:

4. 5.

And of course, the Kimi:

6.

4. 'Where I End and You Begin' - Radiohead
5. 'Gorecki' - Lamb

huh

Wed, 16 Jun 2004 08:39:04 GMT

Cheers to whoever nominated Déjà Vu over at the FOF. It's been a slow year, fic wise, for me, so it was a nice little surprise to be nominated at all. Thankyou :)

Tardiness is a skill. Really.

Thu, 10 Jun 2004 08:50:41 GMT

For the Lauren Reed ficathon, a month late since I am such an incredibly bad ficcer. It wasn't for lack of trying. Believe me.

TITLE: Twist
AUTHOR: bulletproof (bulletproof_android@yahoo.com)
RATING: NC-17
SPOILERS: Somewhere in Syd's missing two years. Spoilers for 'Full Disclosure'.
SUMMARY: The shift and slide of control.
PAIRING: Syd/Lauren
DISCLAIMER: Characters owned by JJ Abrams. Title is a song by Goldfrapp who I owe most of this fic to.
DISTRIBUTION: Want, take, have.
AN: Written for the Lauren Reed ficathon, for _green_. Profuse apologies for lateness. I've been struggling with my concept of Lauren for a while now, forgive me. I'm working on another Syd/Lauren piece in penance, but I thought I should get this one out before it got any ridiculously later. This is a little more explicit and, uh, femslash-y than the stuff I normally write. You've been warned.

There is something mesmerising about watching her work.

Her face is painted porcelain, trained tightness as she works the NSC lines coming out of her practiced mouth. What she does she does as an art, and Sydney wonders if she touches Vaughn in the same measured way that her hips are now marking the beat of her heels.

They have not met, but Sydney remembers her face well. Remembers Vaughn's and the way it lit up upon seeing Lauren; the way his lips lingered on Lauren's, the same way their memory still burns over hers.

Finding out Lauren was Covenant was oddly satisfying, fitting in some way, and Sydney is still struggling with the way it feels to be petty. She is still struggling with the way it feels to be Julia Thorne, really, but some days are easier than others.

Like this one, on her fifth assignment, watching Vaughn's lover through the cross hairs of her rifle, she feels the angry antagonism that they have built into her character seep through surface and lace the adrenalin that accompanies most missions. It would be so easy to shift her aim ever so slightly from the NSC informant to Lauren. So easy, and Sydney realises the thrill of having Lauren's life at her fingertips.

She caresses the trigger and imagines porcelain breaking.

* * * * *

The first time they meet, Lauren is more surprised than Sydney and she can't quite keep a slight smirk from tugging at the corner of her lips.

She is different to how Lauren had first envisaged her, hardened into leaner, more lethal flesh than Michael's soft-focused view of her ever made her out to be. But then again, Lauren reasons, Sydney is not herself these days.

"Julia Thorne," Lauren says as she shakes her hand, her tone mocking, "you were my sniper in Barcelona, weren't you?"

The grimace that twists at Sydney's lips is dangerous, twists in counterpart to the grip that she has on Lauren's hand, and they are pulled together abruptly until they are flush against one another, until Sydney's breath is hot and hard down Lauren's neck.

"Let me be clear about one thing, Miss Reed. We may be working together temporarily, but I am not, nor will I ever be, your anything. Is that understood?"

Lauren's smile slides a little wider as she gauges the strain of Sydney's hand in hers, her reply even as she matches the force of Sydney's hold, "Perfectly."

She is acutely aware of how much of this woman's life she holds in her hands, acutely aware of how easy it would be to break her, mould her, possess her completely. She allows her fingers to linger a little longer over Sydney's than is strictly appropriate when she tells her how much she is looking forward to working with her.

* * * * *

The club of the scheduled rendezvous is crowded, pulsing, and Sydney trains her body to move with the beat that suffuses the air like tension.

She is careful in her distance, close enough to track Lauren's movement in the far corner of the club but distant enough to blend into the bodies that writhe on the dance floor. Sydney throws her head back and surveys the scene with half closed eyes: Lauren's lips are on the mark's ear, her hands strategically placed between them, slowly sliding from her thigh to his. The mark turns to Lauren, her lips heavy and pouting, her eyes wide and guileless, and he smiles as if he has her where he wants her. She is in her element now and Sydney has to wonder if it is this side of Lauren that made Vaughn forget her so easily.

The mark thrusts his hand into Lauren's and they slip out of the club discreetly, shifting through shadow to lose his security detail. Sydney is slow to follow, and when she reaches the alleyway, one of his broad, tanned hands is already dangerously high on the inside of Lauren's parted thighs, the other tracing the slow rising line where cloth meets flesh over her breasts.

She knows that Lauren couldn't take this man alone; if Lauren weren't so vulnerable and so damn distracting, she wouldn't be able to conquer him without Sydney's help. Sydney likes this thought, keeps its counsel, and allows it to stay her movements as she regards them a little longer.

Lauren watches Sydney watching her over the mark's shoulder and smiles at her enigmatically. Her gaze is locked on Sydney's as his lips graze her collarbone, and when she moans Sydney feels it under her skin. She cocks a brow at the way Sydney shifts visibly, throws down the gauntlet, and Sydney takes it as her impetus for action.

Her movements are fast and clean once they are put into motion, a singular blow to the man's jugular sends him down and he crumples into a boneless heap at their feet.

Lauren's voice is smug when she steps over his lifeless form, her mien imperious, her appearance debased with her hair mussed, her lips savaged and swollen, "Enjoy the show?"

Sydney narrows her eyes and sets her jaw as Lauren steps closer. The blonde casts a cursory glance over her shoulder at the man, and remarks, "Nice work; pity about the timeliness." She presses even closer, and the scent of her musk rises between them, a palpable entity. "You're going to have to finish what he started."

Sydney's eyes darken as she huffs, "What are you talking about?"

The leer on Lauren's lips is predatory, capturing Sydney's attention, and before she knows it, Lauren's hand is wrapped around her wrist, guiding her hand swiftly past the slit of her skirt, up the dampness of her thighs, and there, god, the heat between Lauren's legs is shocking; there is no denying it now, "I think you know what I'm talking about. If you had done your job a little more efficiently, I wouldn't be in the predicament that I am in now. You owe me, Julia, and I can only imagine how you dread the idea of being in my debt."

"Get off of me."

Sydney pulls back, disgusted, and shoves at Lauren roughly, but Lauren's grip is still tight and vice-like on her wrist. Lauren spins them quickly, pinning Sydney to the wall that she herself was pressed against just moments before, and pants against Sydney's cheek, "Funny, I think I'd rather get off."

Lauren's lips slam against Sydney's before she can protest any further and she revels in the feeling of Sydney struggling beneath her. She shifts both of Sydney's wrists into one hand and snakes the other between them, rasping the fabric of Sydney's top with her palm above Sydney's stomach, her ribs, her breasts. Despite herself, Sydney finds herself arching into the touch and she berates herself silently for it even as Lauren is smiling at her for it.

"It's been a while since anyone's touched you, hasn't it Julia?" she whispers harshly, breaking the kiss momentarily before diving back in. Sydney feels the sting of truth behind her words, feels it all the more intensely because Lauren has a little something to do with it. She puts a bite back into the kiss, sinks her teeth sharply into Lauren's lower lip, draws blood, and feels Lauren recoil, gratifyingly, at the action.

Sydney feels a smile beginning at the corner of her mouth, but she is stopped short. The tension in the air changes, crackles, and Sydney feels it riding along her skin like a current; any sense of control that she had held momentarily is erased as Lauren passes a finger over the wound, her lips curling into an unnerving smile.

Lauren hooks a hand around Sydney's neck and crashes them together so forcefully that their teeth clatter. Lauren's kiss turns savage, her hands sliding under Sydney's top so that her nails can scratch and scar bare skin. The situation is quickly slipping away from her and Sydney's mind turns a little sluggishly, distracted as her body gives responses that Lauren knows only too well how to elicit.

The mouth that closes over her cloth-covered nipple is hot, experienced, and yes, fuck, she feels this as much as she doesn't want to. The combination of the sight of Lauren's victorious smirk as she looks up at her, and the moan that is wrenched from her involuntarily is enough to make Sydney snap. She bites Lauren's lip hard, disorienting her before switching their positions and pinning Lauren to the wall with her forearm to the blonde's windpipe.

Lauren moans at the force and her eyes flutter as she pants for breath, pushing out the words, "I knew you'd like it rough."

And then there are no more words as she slides into a groan, Sydney's hand making quick work of the delicate fabric of Lauren's top, exposing Lauren to Sydney's callused fingers and jagged nails that circle her breasts before she kisses a puckered nipple and scrapes her canines over it.

She keeps her arm over Lauren's throat as one hand dexterously lowers the other woman's fly and sneaks its way down the front of her leather pants. The fit is tight, gets tighter as she starts to move, dragging a fingernail teasingly along the slit of her folds, and the seams and metal teeth of the zipper start to dig into the back of her hand.

The groan has now transformed into a whimper, now into a gasp and keening moan as Sydney plunges three fingers without warning into Lauren, and some distant part of her brain acknowledges the irony of cheating on Vaughn with the woman that he is most probably fucking. The thought adds a vicious twist to her ministrations, her strokes brutal as her nails scratch her up from the inside.

Lauren latches onto Sydney's forearm as if it is the only thing that is keeping her from drowning in sensation, her fingers bruising as her nails drive into flesh. Her breath is being forced out of her with the unrelenting push of each stroke, and yes, god, she is so close, so damn close, all she needs is one last-

And this is the precise moment that Sydney's movements unerringly stop.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Sydney smiles, so like the one that Lauren was wearing moments before, because this is finally familiar, this is finally where she needs to be. This is absolute control and Lauren Reed at her fingertips.

"You're close, aren't you Lauren?"

"I think that much is clear," she bites back and Sydney tsks, making a move to withdraw but leaving the barest hint of her fingers inside of Lauren.

"You'd like to come, wouldn't you Lauren?"

The heat of Lauren's gaze would have withered anyone lesser, but the power that Sydney has over her now is intoxicating, they both know it.

"Yes." Lauren finally manages, low and muttered.

"Then beg."

Lauren grits her teeth, bites her tongue, but Sydney starts to move again, slowly in and torturously out and she feels herself slipping, finds the word passing her lips without her knowing it, "Please."

"Louder." Sydney commands, moving faster, harder, but only incrementally so.

"Please." She stresses, starting to unravel again.

"Good girl."

Lauren is rewarded with savage stabs and ruthless pace, her back scratching against the harsh brick of the wall, Sydney's fingers hitting that exact spot, right there, right fucking there, again and again, until, until-

"God!"

-she is coming harder than she can ever remember coming in her life, her whole body tensing, singing with sensation until she thinks it is burnt into her and she falls limp against Sydney's arm.

Sydney steps away and lets Lauren slump to the floor like a rag-doll. She wipes her hand over the rough denim of her jeans, and robotically goes through the motions to finish the job: pulling a knife from her boot, flipping the mark over and grabbing his wrist with practiced ease. She works with surgical precision, cuts just deep enough and retrieves the chip that is implanted just below the skin of the inside of his wrist.

"A study in efficiency," she murmurs. She looks over at Lauren who has just now composed herself enough to stand on shaky legs. She smiles at her condescendingly, "Shall we go? We got what we came for."

Lauren smiles in return, "Indeed." She remarks, before taking the chip from Sydney's hands and leading the way out of the alleyway.

END

Boyfriend!love

Mon, 07 Jun 2004 15:02:29 GMT

I'm brutally aware that I have a million and one things due <coughs>Laurenficathon</coughs>, but I seriously just. can't. do them. I've tried, really! <exasperated sigh>

So, in procrastination, I bring you iconses:

For boyfriendlove, from alikona727's suggestions:

1. 2.

Plus random other Alias-ness:

3. 4. 5.
6. 7. 8.

And Kimi since the GIP is over:

9. 10.

1. Q & A
4. 'It's a Fire' - Portishead
5. 'Spies' - Coldplay
6. 'Amsterdam' - Coldplay
7. 'Lover You Should've Come Over' - Jeff Buckley

squee! + GIP

Fri, 04 Jun 2004 06:18:37 GMT

Haha! dinanimo is coming to visit! Whee!

Also? GIP. I have no idea what this means or if I am using it in the correct way, but I can only assume it means Gratuitous Icon Pimpage. Or postage. Or Propoganda. Take your pick.

bawls

Wed, 26 May 2004 08:37:50 GMT

Ow. Ow ow ow ow ow. Oh man, see *this* is how finales are supposed to be. The throwbacks man, the THROWBACKS. Ryan in the car, Marissa on the driveway, the Jeff, THE JEFF. The last five minutes were definitely killer. <sniffles> Is it next season yet?

ETA: Was surfing theoc_slash for Comfort fic when I came across this. Guffaws! Someone needs to write Ryan/Dave from the Gilmore Girls. Stat.

Ummm...wah?

Tue, 25 May 2004 05:49:24 GMT

Ok. So. Given that it's been a pretty crapola season, I didn't really expect much of the finale which is good and bad, I guess. Good because at least I wasn't terribly disappointed, bad because dude, I know that they can do better than this.

Random thoughts:

- Apart from prettiness factor, I've never been a terribly huge Sarkney shipper, but Sark's little "proclivity" remark had even me going. Dude. Someone needs to fic that.

- Sark getting caught in the carpark? Sark caving so soon to Vaughn? Sark spilling to "Lauren"? No. No and no. Question: How many characters can you assassinate in one season? Answer: Quite possibly all of them.

- And on that note... Vaughn was almost comical this ep. Dark!Vaughn still doesn't quite have me convinced, but he tries so hard <pets boyfriend>

- 'Michael' aside, I liked the phone conversation between Syd and Vaughn. She knoooows him. shipshipship.

- Sloane/Nadia (and I refuse to remove the slash from its position there) is just creeeepy. I can only hope that she's going to play him just as he has her.

- Weiss and Vaughn working together! S1-Yay! That is all.

- The Safehouse CIA agents remain the stupidest CIA agents of them all.

- As freaking if Sydney couldn't kick Lauren's ass. I don't care if Lauren is a field agent. She's Sydney freaking Bristow for crying out loud.

- I *liked* Vaughn shooting Lauren after her little "Boy scout" comment. *Finally* not so stupid after all. And even though I loved Vaughn shooting Lauren again with Sydney in his arms, it's not them. Or at least, it's not S2 them. <sighs> those were the days...

- Jack needed to pull out a gun at the last second. Just to make the twistedness of this season complete.

...to dust

And so it is

Huh.

cos you gotta have faith...

Honey, I'm home

as the d would say, whoot

I'm not here, this isn't happening

*scratches head*

wherein fred finds the gradient tool

sleep is for the weeeaaak

Umm yay?

*sighs*

finally

sooooo good

zzzz

huh

Tardiness is a skill. Really.

Boyfriend!love

squee! + GIP

*bawls*

Ummm...wah?

scratches head

sighs

bawls