022. Splatter



The earthy soil of the battleground carries the stench of death, like rotting, gory meat.

Walter tilts himself backwards against some of the rubble, lighting up his cigarette by a nearby pile of ashes and bones. It won't matter in the end who it was, or even who they all were. If anyone makes it out of this with their lives. The weak, reddish flame illuminates his face.

"Humans," a petite, ghostly-white young girl approaches him, tutting. "So quick to die."

(To him, it's unclear whether she means the corpses or Walter's cigarette.)

There's nothing so girlish about the deep, throaty baritone escaping those pale and curvy lips. Somehow that hasn't deterred Walter's growing curiosity, or the eerie quality of his sexual dreams. The ones with pretty-pink lips mouthing over Walter's neck, or suckling on his veiny cock.

"Piss off."

As soon as the words manifest, Walter lurches forward, Girlycard's icy-cold fingers clenching around his face and pulling him up. "You may want to be careful with that silvered tongue of yours," she murmurs, almost giggly. "It doesn't flatter you at this tender age."

The pain is arousing almost, like a burning, earnest tingle spreading in his nerves.

Walter doesn't react to the surge of terror or delight, keeping his facial expression vacant. "Go find someone else to lecture," he says monotonously. "Oh, waitthey're all fucking dead."

Girlycard's bloody, index finger traces against Walter's upper lip, featherlight and prodding.




Hellsing isn't mine. I LOVE THESE TWO. I WILL NEVER STOP LOVING THEM. EVEN WHEN WALTER BROKE MY HEART LATER ON. Also thoughts/comments welcomed!