Reasons to do this: it will bring both you AND I joy

[cherry]

Guys! I am informed that it is some sort of day dedicated to spreading joy. I am all for this. (Some of you from waaaaay back in my #subcafe days may remember my inaugural "tell people that they rock," day.)

In this spirit, and knowing that everyone is best pleased by different things, I am offering a virtual cornucopia of things designed to bring joy. By commenting, you can have any combination of the following a la carte options:

1) A drabble. (Doctor Who, Dexter, Avatar: the Last Airbender, Life on Mars, Due South, Ocean's 11, Firefly, Dead Like Me, BSG, assorted comics (X-Men, Gen-X, Runaways, Y: The Last Man, etc.), Dogma, House, Dark is Rising, Narnia, Heroes, Harry Potter, Torchwood, or things you won't know about until you ask.)
2) An icon.
3) A reason I think you rock.

Comments

[wondygal.livejournal.com]

I am commenting on this joyful day to say hi! Because I friended you and then was all lurky, so hello! I quite like your writing and vidding.

Yay happy day! *spreads joy too*

[cherryice.livejournal.com]

Hello! Thank you, and I am mighty pleased to meet you.

I'm afraid that I don't know enough about you to come up with concrete reasons why you rock, but if you'd like to pick a fandom, I'm more than willing to throw together something drabble-ish or iconic.

[wondygal.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I only have four minutes until Day of Joy is over, here, but I'd love anything Doctor Who.

[cherryice.livejournal.com]

More Joy Day is more of a concept with a sliding time scale, I think. *G*

There's always a nip in the Hub, Martha has noticed. Wales in winter draws the heat from her skin, cold intensified by the chill emanating from the cut stone walls, the press of earth around them. The damp works its way into her clothes and hair, doing its best to release the curl in her hair, the chatter in her jaw. Arms wrapped tight around her knees, she digs her bare feet deeper into the worn blankets of Jack's bed. Thinks of the impeccable temperature controls of the TARDIS, of the thick orange comforter that lay across her bed there.

"Hey," Jack says, offering her a chipped mug, steam whisping up towards the stone roof.

Martha is leaner than she was two years ago, fuller than the day she knelt on the Valiant, nothing but bone, muscle, and hope. Her bones ache with it still, sometimes, the ribs she broke in Japan, the long scar along her left thigh. A year she spent, mostly in the dark and wind, rivers and fog and storms, and she thinks sometimes that the chill got too deep into her.

Jack drapes a blanket around her shoulders, over the jumpers, then drops down and winds an arm around her. He's down to his shirtsleeves and braces, gooseflesh clearly visible along the pale skin of his arms. She remembers the oppressive heat of the engines of the Valiant, the sweat and dirt on his face when she saw him again. Tish still sleeps with her windows thrown open wide.

"It all still happened," she says, leaning in to his shoulder. She doesn't look at his face. Sips her tea, peppermint.

"I know," he says, rough edges to his voice. Tish won't tell Martha what happened to him, but she wakes up crying sometimes, and all Martha can do is sit with her.

Jack leans his head against Martha's, curve of his cheek fitting easily against the top of her skull.

Jack's arm around her, blankets heavy against the chill in the air, the heat of the cup pressed between her palms. The temperature controls in the TARDIS are impeccable, but this -- this is warmth.

[wondygal.livejournal.com]

Aww, Martha and Jack! That sure brought me joy while I'm waiting to see the finale. *bounces* Very lovely! Oh, they are so awesome together.

[thefourthvine.livejournal.com]

I would like any of the three! *joy*

[cherryice.livejournal.com]

1) Name your fandom (and pairing/character, if you would so like).

2) I know you were looking for new Earthling icons, so: . . .

If you'd prefer something else, or something more fannish, just let me know.

3) I'd have a harder time coming up with reasons why you didn't rock, to be honest. You are a perfect combination of smarts and wicked-funniness, wrapped up in a layer of AWESOME. You are always, always, amusing, and your posts -- aside from being incredibly amusing -- introduce people to new fandoms, mediums, and other fannish types. For any number of reasons, I'm glad to be your friend.


PS: I fully intended to send you some CDa of relaxing background-type music, but it appears that I have lost your address. I could upload?

[tellitslant]

Ooooh. I would love a House drabble. Cuddy and the Cuddy-House (or Cuddy/House) dynamic are my favourite things about the show, but House himself is also cool.

:D

[cherryice.livejournal.com]

Man, pick a hard one.

There's sunlight slanting in from the windows that border her office, yellow summer-light tinged green by the rustling leaves of the oaks outside. House is across the desk from her, sucker dangling from the corner of his mouth (cherry, she thinks abstractedly, by the red tint on his lips). He is talking expansively, hands in motion, animated from the waist up. She's listening to the wind whistle through a cracked window. She doesn't have to listen to House know he's talking bullshit.

When it's do or die, when whatever patient has caught his attention has moved up the UN list from endangered to critical (extinction pending), his movements become more measured, his face less guarded, so that you can almost catch actual, real emotions. Whatever's going on right now, whatever test he wants to run, it's because he thinks it would be cool. "You just want to do it because you think it will bring you joy," she says.

"True," House admits, leaning forward to snag a mint. "I'm a bitter old man. The excruciating pain the patient is in has nothing to do with it." There's a flicker in his eyes there, something gone before she can properly diagnose it.

She knew him before the infarction (she knows he thinks of it as Before, capitals and all, as BEFORE on a bad day), and she tries not to contextualize his behaviour around one event. She knew him BEFORE, and it wears her down, watching as everything about him is washed away by the pain and the drugs, watching the bitterness and anger eat him from the inside, until soon all that will be left is his brilliance and pride.

'You're not alone,' she wants to tell him; or at least 'you're only alone by choice;' or 'you're alive, and that's a hell of a lot more than a lot of people have.'

"Go run your tests," she says instead.

[tellitslant]

Oooh, hon, that is GORGEOUS. I have so missed reading your writing - it is so lovely. And you totally captured the two of them, and their interaction. And please write more Cuddy, at some point in the future? *looks cute*

Thank you! :D

[cherryice.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I'm glad you liked it. *G*

OMG, I really need to start writing something, anything, agai.

[ella-bee.livejournal.com]

You write Dexter?!? Duuuude.

(PS: Now that I'm all graduated I'm at home this weekend and it feels weeeeeeiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrdddddd.)

[cherryice.livejournal.com]

I haven't yet, but I adore the show, and I'm willing to try.

(PS: I'm not there, either. :( I've actually moved into an advisory-type role this year, and it turns out my assumption I was going was a misconception. I found out last week that there were already plans made, and no one even bothered to tell me that I wasn't invited. I was a bit perturbed.)


Maria takes a vacation after Jame's funeral. Actually, she shows up to work early the next morning, bullpen deserted, and sits behind her desk with her eyes dry and fingers white where they grip her pen. She hears muted whispers as her people drift in, compared to the usual chaos, it's like she's separated from everyone else by fifteen feet of ice.

At nine, Angel knocks at her door, fedora grasped uneasily in one hand. "Yes?" she asks, scratching strings of letter across the paper before her. He doesn't say anything, which is good, because if he does she thinks she'll scream. After a minute, he steps into her office, standing silently in front of her desk, hands twisting at the brim of his hat. After another moment, he reaches out and drops a hand to her shoulder, soft, and turns and walks away. She's writing nothing more than random strings of letters, I'm so sorry, blurring before her eys.

At ten, Matthews walks in to her office, and escorts her to the door.

So, Maria takes a vacation. She's moved since she and James were lovers, but they've always stayed friends, so there are bits of him all over her home. She sees them in the Keys as well, and realizes only then that he's something she's carrying with her. 'You sell yourself short,' James used to tell her, 'and you let others sell you short, too.' Yelled, that last time, when it ended for good. 'I am so fucking sick and tired of you undercutting yourself,' he yelled, his hands tight around her arms. 'You're hurting me,' she said, voice tight and controlled, and tried not to be afraid.

She's carrying him with her, and there are probably better people to keep her company -- less angry, less damaged, less dangerous, less honest. She knows him, though, knew him, and he wasn't capable of being the Bay Harbour Butcher. That guy, that guy is still out there, and he's one of hers. It's something that she knows in her bones. Watching the waves come in, eyes dry, she tilts her face to the sun, and knows what she has to do.

It's not just about James from here on out. There's a lion in with the lambs, and it's not going to lay down with them. There's a monster in the fold, and it looks and acts like one of her people, but it's not. 'You sell yourself short,' James used to tell her.

She thinks she's just about done.

[livii.livejournal.com]

I just wanted to say hi, so HI! Also you rock for so many different reasons: you like all the best characters, you write awesome fice, you do great graphics, you're Canadian, you're clever, you're funny, and I really like knowing you and should talk to you more often, yo. :D

[cherryice.livejournal.com]

Hiiii! You rock because you are witty and smart, and constantly say interesting things. You have so much glee for so many things, a fantastic spread of interests at pretty much every level, and you make people excited about the things you're into. Also, you have fantastic taste in music. *G*

We need to talk more often, yes! *stalks you in her spare time*

PS: Have you heard Sun Kil Moon? Because if not, I need to upload it for you.

[livii.livejournal.com]

:D :D :D

You are so awesome, dude.

And now, I haven't heard Sun Kil Moon - would love to!

[http://users.livejournal.com/_bounce_/]

Here's Hilltop Hoods: The Calling, which I promised I'd upload ages ago.

https://www.yousendit.com/transfer.php?action=batch_download&send_id=581371232&email=91a5698d997bab4b0a0ae10a44ec95d5

May I have a Runaways drabble?

[cherryice.livejournal.com]

Thanks! I shall grab it when I get home from work.

Nico falls asleep in math class, listening to her teacher drone on about 'x's and 'y's. (Isn't it 'x's and 'o's, she thinks distractedly, chin slipping down on her fist, Karolina's soft laugh slipping through her subconcious.)

And she dreams: sharp teeth and a hot hiss of breath, an explosion over the skies of Los Angelos (like the northern lights, only orange and yellow and pink and alien), eyes flashing in the night, spark and spill of circuits, a dark hand in hers and the warmth of her own blood. What have we become? she thinks, time running backwards through her brain.

Blood then, again, close press of walls and a hand in hers. A twist of the world and reality shudders and refuses to conform. There's a woman lying dead on the floor, and it's her mother, and it's Gert, and it's Alex, and it's Nico herself, paralyzed. Cold, cold, limbs that won't move and lungs that won't work, and screaming (screaming screaming screaming but not a sound).

Screaming, tile floor of the classroom cold beneath her, Nico wakes. Breathes, throat sore, lungs shuddering, and cannot remember dreaming.

(For the best, maybe, that she not remember what is to come, the crone murmers, and says a word that rinses the dreams away.)