Never Mistake Mercy For Forgiveness

Never mistake mercy for forgiveness

Jjba writing practice

The form was tall, skin fair and olive in color. Smeared makeup as the lime colored hair framed the androgynously shaped head. The eyes, deep in color, green like the canopy of a rainforest wetted from the rains of stormy days and heavy humidity, were filled with dazed confusion. The form, showing peaks of wiry muscle, dripped the crimson colored fluids, they twisted and rolled down the folds of the outfit. Dripping. Pouring from the spot where the blow had been delivered. The form lurched forward, sneering. He hissed a jumble of words to his attacker. Who's gaze returned once more to the small images of the rainforest canopies that rested within the iris, now they filled with emotion. No longer was he struck with startled confusion, now washing over them was blood lust. A lust that wished to see this form, who had delivered a blow upon the unsuspecting body turned from the attacker, dead. Lust that sought the blood of all who stand in his way. And, as the body lurched forward again brandishing the fist to fill this lust, among the rumbling thunder and pouring rain there was a flash of lighting. The flash sending light into the air causing the pupils to shrink, almost as if to reveal what hide behind these emotions. For a split second a whole flurry of emotions shone through this lust for blood. But it was only for a fleeting moment.

Strike after desperate strike was sent to the blonde haired boy, but he seemed unbothered by this as the man shouted and groaned an agony and rage. Upon striking the boy would step aside and deliver his own punch to the exposed ribs, it was a waiting game now. A game to see who would slip up first. Like wolves they did a primal dance, sifting and twisting around one another, and like wolves they waited to see who fell first. Companions of the boy even gathered watching in intense anticipation as the blows kept being given. The fear seemed to be beginning to over take the man as more pain rushed through his body. This distraction as a voice called from the small crowd was his downfall, and he knew it. As soon as his eyes had darted aside his body seemed to scream, from deep down a primal voice chastised him and condemned him for this, and he knew exactly why. For as soon as he tried to correct this mistake all that he was met with was a fist planted in the face, his body collapsed as the rain continued to poor. He gagged as blood oozed from an assortment of cuts and bruises lined his body. His form tense as he barely held himself up, his gaze locked onto the cement as he caught his breath awaiting his fate. He looked around as footsteps approached, there stood the blonde haired boy he had so relentlessly been fighting, menacing as the rain poured over them. He could hear his heart pounding and once again the eyes shifted, the mask of a relentless murderer had been broken and now true colors showed.

behind the mask of these eyes there was more, pouring with blood and tears the eyes communicated something much clearer now. They spun a tale, sitting here they were filled with fear, the fear of a broken boy helpless to what he had become. Not just by the worlds help but with his own willingness to be molded into the beast that coward here. He huffed catching his breath as he was prepared for another blow to be struck but- a gentle hand was extended, the other shapes of the companions watched carefully, quiet mutters escaping them as the form which had been beaten and bashed looked to the blonde boy. His face still stern and cold but his body now more. . .forgiving? No. No. Merely understanding. Shakily, he raised his own wounded hand, and as his was taken, a strange new chapter seemed to have been opened in his book. He was not miraculously changed or forgiven by this act of kindness, but he was pulled from the deep hole that broken boy had fallen and dug into when he was so young. For the road to recovery was a long process

Luckily for you I am a god of the people @v01dv0r3

A gift of speedy and gentle pets <33

Also the image of the silly pooch bc I love it

Look at him sitting there

Why can't I get rid of you?

Jjba writing practice

Her voice was chilling as she spoke his name. A name, he was no stranger to. A name he had been reminded. Reminded and made to remember how much of a gift it was. By her. His eyes shakily moved to meet her's. This couldn't be could it? She had been out of his life for years this. . .woman. she had been gone and he was glad to have finally rid himself of her and that name. And yet here, finally in his quiet life, happy, she was back. He felt anxieties rise back up in him, something was not right. THIS was not right. she was gone, and she never greeted him like this.

His suspicions proved true as he gasped for breath his form jolting awake, he shakily silenced himself looking over. He quivered for a moment remembering the woman next to him, shinobu. His wife and a women he dosen't fully know how to feel about. While not actually his wife this time he has spent here he. . .has grown an attachment. He feels protective of her and the boy, hayato. His. . .son. the boy was hesitant to trust him but he felt something was growing. Over all, he had settled in quite nicely, this truly was a quiet life he could get used to. . .if only these dreams did not haunt him. Dreams of the woman he left, His mother. She controlled him for so long, even now at times like this he felt taken advantage of even though she wasn't on this earth any longer. Slipping from bed he quietly trudged his way to the bathroom. With a deep sigh he looked into the mirror.

'what is your name?' He quietly asked himself. 'I am kosaku. Kosaku kawajiri.'

He looked to his reflection, feeling his heart thump in his chest. His stand manifested as it stood beside him, kosaku was startled stumbling back, he sighed relieved to see it was only his longest and oldest friend. Carefully dressing himself in some casual and comfortable clothing he began to cook. It would be morning soon and he needed to kill time. He would not go back to bed knowing the memories of her awaited him, he hated remembering that time. Especially her.

So he continued to cook. Because he was kosaku kawajiri. Loving husband to shinobu kawajiri and father to hayato kawajiri. He could cook and clean, was "learning" to play the violin. He often played for his wife and son long into the night to help them all sleep. He was a father, a businessman, and a husband.

he was, kosaku kawajiri.

I don't think that was even close to your objective-

I think I hear starscream in the distance

Awoken by cries of pain

Hellsing writing practice

"montana! Get yourself together man! You don't have much time! Hurry!!"

the voice split his thoughts as he fumbled, eyes searching around, he tried to locate who it came from, but the hurried crowd of his comrades kept him from seeing the owner of the eerily familiar voice whom called him. He felt his chest tighten as he scrambled for his gun, grasping it tightly as he moved with the comrades. Soviets. They were attacking, that's what he remembered, for some reason his mind was a jumbled blur, but he remembered that. One couldn't forget as the gunfire began to ring out now. He felt his grip tighten, but something made his heart begin to thunder in his chest. His eyes watched as one after another figures jolted, blood splattered and the ringing in his ears was all he had as they dropped like flies. He soon slowed looking around him. Bodies strewn about, blood soaking everything even his own body. His ears rang out and his heat thumped in his throat as he stepped back once, then again.

"Run Montana! Run!"

The voice again ushered- no demand, almost screamed but he looked around and saw nothing but casualties. He felt his heart beat against the boney cage which held it there, almost as if it were ready to break free and leap from his chest, though he felt his body go cold as he bumped into a solid shape. Grasp loosening on the gun as he felt a shiver rush up his spine, his gaze landed upon one of the enemies which had bombarded him and his comrades. His eyes widened as they spoke to one another, several men now approaching. He knew not the language, but he knew what it meant, as slowly they cracked their knuckles, one grabbing him by the collar of his uniform. He tried to fire but his aim was horrid, even without the shake, the men laughed yanking away the gun. He felt his heart in his throat once more pounding like a criminal at his cell door, the iron taste of blood filling his mouth as he bite down on the tip of his tongue, the first blow was delivered. He felt numb and helpless, this feeling rising as they contuined, his ears still ringing as the blows were swift and painful.

"NO! NO- NOOO-"

the horrified voice of the major rang through the mighty zeppelin as he jolted awake, nearly falling out of his bed. He shook like a young child awoken from a horrible dream, cowering with his blankets wrapped tightly around him. Tears and chilling sweat drenched his face and body. He buried his head among the blankets as he contuined to sob, much quieter so not to alert anyone else to his emotional state.

"Why most these things be so hard to control- why- why do they plague me so."

he whimpered between muffled sobs. Form shivering, weeping, like many children would in his situation. But, unlike these fearful children wrapped safely in their beds, there was no warm arms to hug them of a concerned parental figure. Unlike most folk of his age, no partner worriedly awoken by the cries of pain and agony to wrap him in the blankets and a loving embrace, to coo to him sweet nothings and the fact he was safe. But this was the way major liked it, to keep these hideous thoughts his own, for they were his burdens to bury. His to trifle with. For he was no child, no regular man of his age. He was Major Montana max. A man who had chosen his fate, and will bare it to the end.

AAA- TYSM- IM GLAD U LIKE IT- SBSBSB-

Iggy, 11

11. something [other character] believes about them that isn't true

Everyone thinks that Iggy hates kids, but actually he’s pretty neutral on them. If they’re loud and mean then it’s on sight, but the calmer kids who respect his boundaries and give him treats and scratches are fine in his book