#heichx

          there is no tell, so to speak. though … why would there be? his             reality is not a game of poker, no matter how often it seemed             otherwise. though he was a STRATEGIST — he was also the stoic             GAMBLER who played with nothing more to lose & everything to             win.                                                  or so he thought.            for everything he gave, there always seemed to be one step further,           one step that crumbled into a skeletal staircase beneath his feet &            directed him to  f a l l.  one step further, & it never takes him by            surprise. there is very little that would surprise him at present, he            thought —- his method would continue unhindered; & so would his           thought. but absent shock would manifest itself in the tightening            of marble muscle, the clenching of his jaw, the unbidden tremor            of his body that would take him later, when he was away from             public eye.           he holds the gun steady, steady against the brow of his colleague —          even when the voice of another ( another sentenced to die by his           hand on this day ) interrupted.           there were some things that made the task perceivably more           difficult than it could have been, should have been.                                   [ must they make it personal? ]           QUIET — the purposed mind allows idle thought to muse what they           might assume of the EASE with which he employs his actions. it’s a           shame that it was more easy than they’d likely assume. lady           necessity did command him.                   breathe in .  .  .            his finger relaxes on the trigger —- he notices the way confusion            writes itself upon hange’s expression as the gun eases from her            brow — blue stone irises flicker up to meet the bladed gaze of            the witnessing official — NO TELL : this stone grip tightens on            the metal of the pistol before he directs a heavy blow to the            side of the speaker’s, levi’s, head.                                  ❝  quiet, prisoner. ❞            the official seemed satisfied — erwin turned sharply, & the barrel             of the gun once more met hange’s brow. a dull echo of formalities,             legal proceedings, fell from his lips before the dominating crack            of the pistol echoed. THERE WAS NO  H E S I T A T I O N.                                                                                       .  . .  breathe out.              he lowered the  gun, turned with the same crisp motion as before, &              began again ———- the metal’s light pressure against levi’s brow,              the drone of those legal proceedings that denied erwin the            freedom to recognize their humanity.                                        a second shot shattered the afternoon air.  

**Note: Mun’s answer are all to be completely honest. Don’t send url if you don’t want brutal honesty

                   "--- i made the wrong choice.."                    finally finding the voice to speak,                    eren shattered the silence. he couldn't                    remain silent any longer. as much as he                    would rather not discuss the demise of                    the entire squad, it was something that                    was bound to be a conversation topic at                    some point. and he had far too much on                    his mind to just continue to neglect the truth.                    he'd been wrong.

      "Oh Captain, My Captain."

                            ❝ A valuable asset? What? You think he did this for you?                                  Levi wasn’t another one of Erwin’s goddamn chess pieces,                                 you arrogant piece of shit. He wasn’t yours to begin with. ❞   farlan’s anger seems to be flowing neatly from his core, where it burns with a fiery, hot    passion. his expression turns from that of sadness and bereavement, to one that can    only be described as pure disgust. how they can stand before him and spew their bullshit   directly onto his clothes and his own opinion of the deceased makes him sick to the core.   though the heavily drafted crap sounds as though it comes from a different origin, an    origin also known as Erwin Smith, what with the way it sounds and the gravity the words   it would sound much better coming from the lips of the murderer himself. so much better.                                  ❝ Get the fuck out of here, before I change my mind. ❞

                         ❝ Don’t be so sour about it, you.. ( pfffffff---- ) look lovely. ❞     he's certainly found the humorous element to the gesture that the other just so happened     to have missed, lips curling into a smile as he tries ( so diligently---- ) not to collapse into     laughter. of course, that's easier said than done; he's cackling into his palm within a     matter of seconds.

    Though he intends to sound strong within himself, his voice seems to break off halfway, echoing into a near silence. It's repugnant to him that he could seem so weak; he almost curses himself for not being able to show that everything is just as it was. The guilt leeches onto him before he knows it, and he feels the twitch of his lips as his expression turns sour. And though he knows the answer, the question still makes its way past his lips,                                                           ❝ Where is she, Levi? ❞

    "---- Get it fuckin' sorted."