I made one yesterday for Erwin. This wasn’t nearly so complicated :P
1. The “Some of my childhood baggage is finally resolved” Smile
I suspect Levi had long believed that he was abandoned because of something he had done wrong. Or maybe he thought he was inherently unlovable as a person. Upon meeting Kenny again, Levi learns that wasn’t the case at all. He was abandoned because Kenny was incapable of being a parent. With that mystery solved and a painful chapter of his life closed, Levi is able to relax. That, plus the Survey Corps’ amazing victory over Rod Reiss and his squad being silly and adorable helped coax out this amazing grin.
Branches, brambles, dead
leaves and heaving thoughts, all slicing into his face. Panic uncoiled in him like
a great hulking serpent, coiling slowly around his neck like a sadistic lover,
or a Hangman’s noose. His right pant leg snagged on a jagged rock and nearly
sent him tumbling into the dirt, but years upon years of honing his reflexes to
a broken-mirror sharpness saved him.
Happy birthday to you …
Some nefarious instinct
veered him off the packed-dirt path and toward the lake. The night air was icy
as he pulled it into his lungs, but his face was flushed and every muscle
burned. Someone had once said that his eyes were like bonfires trapped beneath
sheets of glacial ice; his entire body felt like that now. As he barreled down
the forested hill toward the chilling water, real terror woke in him for the
first time in his life.
He’d called for the boy.
First amused, then irritated, then worried.
He was a man who lived on
control, thrived on collected calm. He had faced horrors that would have sent
stronger people than he running straight into a padded cell and a capsulated
cocktail, yet he’d come out with cold, cruel sanity; every time he’d faced fear
before, he had done it with detachment, even with an odd sense of fascination.
He had felt the tightening of his chest, the thumping of his heart, with the
same kind of numbness that he wore in public like a cloak.
The floodgates hadn’t
just opened now. Something resembling precognition bashed down every wall he’d
ever put up, and an ocean’s worth of doubt and grief flooded through him at
Happy birthday to you …
Some part of him felt
like he deserved this. Some part of him had known that good fortune wouldn’t
hold out forever. He was not allowed a normal person’s life and problems. It
was not his lot to deal in armchair politics and cut coupons out of newspapers
on the weekends. His life was not in soccer games and selling chocolate bars. His
life was made up of dizzying heights the likes of which most people couldn’t
dream. He was atop the mountain, gazing down upon the rest of the world like an
emperor, but with those heights came the breath-stealing, soul-crushing,
By the time he found the
object of his panic, it was already over.
Time had ended.
The boy’s hair was slimy,
dripping, tangled in branches and weeds. The face was already turning a pale,
ghastly blue color. The eyes were blank soup-plates, his body limp and
waterlogged. He cradled the body like it was a sleeping newborn, his own eyes
refusing to see anything close to the truth. He didn’t see the blue lips, the
lolling mouth; he saw a bright smile, filled with love and laughter. He didn’t
see the cold, soaked arms that hung down like dead worms; he saw a hug. He felt
warmth and reassurance. Meaning.
He did not see frozen
glass in those eyes; he saw them sparkle.
Happy birthday, dear Mokie …
Something split in him.
Half of him was smiling, letting the boy drag him along a nature path and
pepper him with random questions; the other half sat in the dirt, clutching a
corpse, staring straight into the mouth of Hell.
Half of him was sitting
by a campfire, slicing a birthday cake with a plastic knife; the other half had
grave-water soaking through his shirt. Half of him was singing; the other half
was promising to rip open the world.
He cradled the boy. His
boy. His baby. He sang. He lamented. He felt himself cleaved in two like a log against
a rusted axe. He rocked back and forth, head hung low like a monk in prayer,
and his song faded into wordless babbling.
By the time park security
found him the next morning — his face a dead match for the body lying stiff in
his arms — he’d lost all capacity for speech.
Happy … birth —
They tried to take his
grisly prize from him. To pry the body from his grip.
Seto Kaiba’s scream
shattered the gates of Heaven.
She looks up from her magazine to see her stubbornly awake partner pleading at her with drug-enhanced puppy dog eyes.
“What song, Mulder?” She shifts in her chair and looks back at the magazine with calculated nonchalance. And he lets her.
“You know, the song.”
She looks up then. Again, calculated “recognition.” Again, he lets her.
“Mulder.” is all she says as she darts her eyes to the hallway, but he hears the “Do we have to go through this? You know I can’t carry a tune and someone might hear me” in the deepening timbre of her sleep and stress laden voice.
“Scully?” is all he says but she hears the “Please do it for me, I won’t make fun of you and who cares if they hear anyway” in the scratch and rasp of his blister-riddled throat.
I’m so confident about this new season. Like i’m completely confident that we will somehow lose to West Ham 5-0 even though they basically have no strikers, their first choice goalkeeper is suspended, their second choice sucks, one of their main defenders is injured, and their captain is gone. And trust me, the dodgy 1-0 wins against Stoke and Bournemouth, managing to get points only because of incorrect refereeing calls, and our inability to score against a terrible Arsenal defence haven’t made me any less confident.