“…”

Preserving his kin ‘til certain victory

Hello all! Below this pinned post will be the rules and headcanons of this blog as it changes and evolves. Please be sure to read before interacting

This blog, though long retired at this point, is still something I come back to every now and then to wistfully recall where my passion for writing burst free again, and how much it truly got me through some miserable times.

I think about all of you, and my mutuals who encouraged my growth and facilitated the ability for me to expand my horizons and write some truly impressive stuff. Especially a character like Hans who lacks any form of speech which was ALWAYS and uphill battle. And yet we made it work, and I’ll always remember the astonishment it brought to people and how good it made me feel about the effort of my creations.

I am moving on to bigger and bolder projects, ones I hope you all will find down the grapevine on your own and enjoy so much. Perhaps some of you will even get an inkling of my style and know it’s me. I’d be very flattered…

But not to make this too sappy. Just, thank you all. This was a small detour in my life that made me realize how much I loved my words and how loved they truly are. Any of you can choose to reach out and eventually I will respond. This blog stays up as a link to a past I’ll never forget.

A vow of silence is kept under lock and key

Oh, these things…

hans thought back to the day he even got these guns, looking down and inspecting them as the machinery clicked and settled with the twist of his wrists. Herr Major once saw Hans firing many a set of arms from the stock in their barracks. As expected, the werewolf wore the same demure expression as each shot rang in beautifully deafening symphony at the target. All perfect shots.

“Oooohohoh! Absolutely splendid show, mein dear Captain~!” Max ushered his entrance with a sing-song praise of his brilliant new specimen. He always liked to imagine the scene around his precious toys as they demonstrated their capabilities. Oh, the bodies that filled the mind of that portly madman were ones very few could sleep to; it happened to be the only suitable lullaby for someone as twisted as the Major…

“Zhough I notice… you seem… bored.”

Ja. Exceptionally so. Captain realized as his body grew stronger by the day with such rigorous training emboldening the already impressive lycan physique he had, modern weaponry felt hollow. Why bother with a bullet what a pair of claws can do just as well? Child’s play.

“Perhaps zhere is a vay ve can remedy zhis. I see you’ve an eye for zhe mauser. Quite a fun one! Compact, fast, zhe vorks! But… simple.” In that same breath, an almost disgustingly long rectangular lockbox was placed upon the table that housed many of the ammunition Hans had run through that day. It was a fine oak polished to an egregious shine, decorated with a fine filigree border that resembled leaves encroaching upon the center. The delicate click of the latches echoed in the range that undeniably brought intrigue to Günsche. “Zhey say zhis kind of artistry is a vaste. But vhen I see a veapon such a zhis, judged by it’s supposed “impracticality”? I zhink of an ancient proverb passed down to many of my generation…”

It was then that Hans glimpsed them. A bulkier set of mausers, definitely meant for a higher caliber. But mein got, those barrels. Almost embarrassingly long as the red velvet interior nested them finely in the case. It took a lot to bring any sort of expression to Hans’ face; this was one of those moments. And it was one of bewilderment. That very moment was when a finger snapped, and a door opened with shambling footsteps. A man, a fellow soldier, tied up behind his back and blindfolded. He was in too much smoldering fear to speak up at this point, and chose to simple scramble through to find some form of exit as his moans of desperation bounced off the rocky brick walls. And major got close, speaking the very phrase that lingered in the moment.

“Unter Blinden ist der Einäugige König…”

Without much hesitation, fearing to consequences of rejection, Hans lifted the unwieldy firearm in his firm grip and aimed. The man was an annoying target— his futile shambling only amplifying the unexpected difficulty of steadying such an awkward gun. Every second that passed, he knew a fire was mustering in Herr Major; it disgusted him, as if Captain was feeding some shameless and carnal fetish for Montana’s bloodlust until the shot finally rang.

And soon it did. The man lay lifeless on the floor, and Major calmly smiled with raised brows and a gesturing hand, inviting the Captain to observe his handiwork.

“Ooof. Armes ding… scraped zhe side of his head. Sure, his brains are finely splattered on zhe ground. But sloppy. Zhe art must be perfected. Keep at it, one-eyed king. You may understand zhat pistol’s beauty just yet!” As he left, Hans had to admit something to himself that bore some truth. Major was right: This gun is an art form. Sure, he missed the mark by a few inches, but it challenged him. Finally, a human instrument that met the standard of his skill and need to refine. And of course, the intimidation factor alone made the many years of weilding these dual Mausers a small victory to draw. So yes, in the beginning, Hans was a terrible shot.

Once upon a time…

The Captain was wild of spirit in his youth: keen, hungering, and bloodthirsty when it came to the hunt. No snap of twig nor brush of bush went unnoticed upon his pointed ears if prey was on the mind. And, without fail or error, Hans always made his keep and fed his pack well.

Of course, he was not the only one of the many werewolves that would seek nourishment and protection for his extended family. Male Lycans of many variety came and went from the fold, all having their strengths and weaknesses; features that would see The Captain’s status solidified as the true alpha. It made him seem an impenetrable force to those of the same sex as he toted the affections of his many female members.

But one sought to change such monotony…

Erich was his former name before the change. He, like Hans, was tall, built and of dark completion. But unlike Günsch, the former had a fine and smooth face and silken blonde hair. It almost shone brighter than that of the Lycan that changed Hans initially. The only way one could describe him was a renaissance painting given life and deadly canid undertones.

To the surprise of many, he’d try to show up the alpha many a time. There was nothing he couldn’t resist challenging Hand over: Hunting, fighting, even as far as to woo the many ladies of their pack. All the while, though, only Captain could notice that Erich’s attention was never drawn to the gawking hounds around him, but to the ruby eyes of his leader.

zu seiner anderen Hälfte.

After certain nights when the pack would be gathered for safety in the long and cruel winter’s howl, Hans noticed that Erich would rest beside none but him— hard not to notice the blonde lycan’s trained and deadly talons would often find themselves harmlessly draped upon his alpha’s chiseled frame. And after many a time this happened, Hans saw no issue with it. To some extent, he even found a warmth to this furious frame’s rarely seen feminine tenderness…

Hans would have been eager to see where this bond would have found itself farther down the line, had it not been for the day that his life had changed for the worse.

Berlin

He still remembers like a painful stammer in the back of his brain all to well, the day that Erich faded into nothingness as the silver bullets sprung from the alleyways; they blasted through tile after tile on the roofs, and sent the golden ethereal wolf to pathetic howls and screams before flickering into fine trails of tapering dust. Then nothingness. Hans not only lost his pack, but his freedom, and everyone and everything tied to the concept. But now it was foreign as any other country’s language on his tongue. And soon enough, his own language would come to follow as Herr Major took that as well.

And Major loved it. He knew as the years went by, and the minutes lingered in silence on the deck of the Deus Ex Machina, his newfound Captain would bury those thoughts deeper and deeper— all for the sake of the Lycan’s sanity and fear. It was a living hell that not even the company of the Millenium members could satiate, and a prison none could understand but those that gleefully trapped him there.

I swear, some of y’all are champions to this fandom. It honestly sucks that, as a series, Hellsing is closed and done. On one hand it’s great that it never got dragged out of an unceremonious whimper of an ending, but what we did get was… well, so little. Even MORE SO given The Dawn will most likely never be finished.

So, i do feel as if I’m lacking in my drive to post, because there is a sort of natural dead-end I’ve met with the Captain especially. I’d really love to find the time to answer the last of my asks, maybe even start up a couple RPs! But for now I remain a lurker, just enjoying all the mutuals who do such a stellar job pumping content into this small but dedicated side of fandom. Besides, I always love checking in and seeing that my stuff not only recirculates, but gets so many people happy and excited for more. I only hope I can still supply FAR into the future!

OOC

Honestly? I love getting random-ass questions like these!

2. It’s chill. I can respect someone deep appreciation for life. Though I do feel it’s a real fire-starter in casual conversation, since a LOT of people conflict over its ideologies. So mad props to vegans who can coexist with non-vegans and vice versa!

7. Eels. Eels every god damn time. I love those wacky sea noodles so much. I’ve always wanted a tank big enough to house a Green Moray ever since I was a wee lad. Always loved the way they swam.

11. I’ve held on to almost every sketchbook I’ve owned since Elementary. It’s very important for me as an artist to be constantly reminded of where I started and how far I’ve come in my skills.

“You are trash, ‘Voman!”

Another one of the officials of the Third Reich at it again; another round of belittling for the surviving few who’d abandoned their homeland for a tactical retreat by order of Herr Major. It was something Hans could easily tolerate for many days, months or years; he had nothing to prove, and all the power to back it up. To that end, he wondered why these men were even allowed to accompany their fantastic ship and join the Letze Battalion. Possibly just to get clear air space…

Regardless of how little he cared for their antics, the old washed up officer was agitating him to no end. Of all the people he could have spit and thrashed about, it was Second Lieutenant Rip Van Winkle. Even if she could have split him into ribbons with her bullet, she was halted from acting so ill to an official. She had to bare the licks she’d receive today

“B-Bitte verzeihen Sie mir, Officer I… ‘vas just off on mein shot, I-“ another slap halted her excuses in the man’s face, practically chewing his brown handlebar mustache to think she’d even utter another word. It didn’t even hurt her, but the shame and fury brought her to tears all the same. He never acted out like this to any other soldier; possibly some deep seeded hatred for a woman on the frontlines…

“Target practice, und you decide to strike down one of MY MEN in ‘ze crossfire?! lächerlich! Ich sollte dich in der Sonne verwelken lassen!” Those words send chills down the huntress’ body as if she were still alive. In her head, that could have been a very real possibility, as she was still so new that Major’s plans were still under tight lock.

By this point, Captain had enough…

Later that night, the man that scolded Frau Winkle so often was out for the night, taking in the humid night air of the Amazon. Him and his crew-mates sung merry war songs and drank ‘til their footsteps were that of a toddlers. He was spent, and excused himself to take a leak near a vacant bush. That was when Captain saw his moment. A permanent sign to those who would challenge the select few of Montana’s chosen soldat.

Shaking off the remaining droplets of piss, the Nazi officer was slow to turn back to the shoddy campfire that his comrades set up, only to see they were no longer there; the air still and eerily quiet.

“Jakob…? Playing tricks on mmme…?” The gravely voiced slurred out before moseying over to the light. Hitting a bump in his stride, he stopped to investigate after slowly turning his head to check the perimeter. He’d had no need to check anymore, as his desperate shriek of terror now filled the jungle— crawling backwards from the sight of a freshly mutilated human soldier. His face was dragged upwards by obvious claw marks to the point that what little remained of his eyeballs nestled cozily into his caved forehead that glistened with freshly exposed sinew and brain matter. Turning his head away, the General then saw the silhouette of snakes; this was soon proven to be an incorrect guess, as looking upward showed the shadowy outline of his last two men impaled upon thick tree branches— the assumed snakes actually their intestines strung out straight from their bleeding stomachs.

In that moment, he was dropped into hell…

Tried as he could to stifle his panic, he clawed toward the distant light of the Dues Ex Machina, desperate to find footing against the influence of his stupor. Those attempts failed as time and time again he tripped and hobbled over every obstacle. Overcome with fear, he cowered in the open dirt path, fully accepting his fate as he prayed to god for his sins; such a disgusting plea from a man of his status. When the General thought all hope was lost, he looked up to see what he believed was his savior in the moonlight. It was Hans.

“AUGH! C-Captain, ‘ve are under attack! Sound ‘ze alarm, call Herr Major, ANYTHING!” He screamed and cried, clasping upon Hans’ Afrika Korps coat for some form of stability in his shaken state. He would soon come to learn that this was the worst possible mistake he’d ever make in his entire life.

Without hesitation, the Lycan gripped the shoulder of the feeble man and easily lifted him three feet off the ground. He quite enjoyed seeing the Nazi’s face turn from relief to plummeting dread as he came to realize Hans wasn’t intending on saving him. He loved being the hunter, invigorating the memories of his past and perhaps indulging the moment far too much. The mans wrinkled hands reached out to resist Hans’ second hand looming toward his neck, only to see them slip right through as it shifted into a claw of voluminous white mist. Like a ghost possessing a weak-willed body, the general watched on as the claw phased through his neck, and the clawed fingers clasped inside. And with a single puff of silver smoke, Hans reformed his hand, and burst a hole in his prey’s neck like a balloon where his wrist rested inside.

And with one fell swoop, Derr Hund degloved the cowards body with the firm tug of his vertebra…

Seeing the freshly exposed steaming guts litter the floor before his boots filled him with the same joy a child would find from crushing an anthill; It was the mess he loved, most. But more importantly, it was the fact that he’d put a wallowing swine in their place. If this was an attack on Major, Hans would have simply popped a fresh round in their skulls from his Mauser, the way Max liked it best. But the oozing remains of this general had chosen to tear down someone The Captain had considered innocent and beaming with a joy so sorely lacking amongst their rank. Hans would never admit it, but he cared for Rip in a way he couldn’t for his commander officer or fellow soldiers; a fondness he would never outwardly admit to anyone else. But he did realize now, very clearly that if anyone were to trfile with Frau Winkle ever again…?

Just letting y’all know this blog is gonna be on a short hiatus. Shouldn’t be longer than a week or two. Been a little hard to keep the creative juices flowing as my life has been VERY active as of late. Don’t worry, though! There’s still some good content coming later down the line. Plenty of asks getting answered as well as the promised short story. I’ll also still be online if any of you’d like to chat with me.

Promise I’ll get back to you on your replies @section-xiii-makube and @sraelitz once I’m in a good space to write more often.