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

[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.)