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Episode 17: "I Would Never Hurt You, Master"
(A 'Hellsing' fanfiction by ParttimeDumbblonde)


Buckle up, folks. We're in for a bumpy ride. The fanfiction I've selected for this review features a number of problems, the least significant of which is not that it involves a subject which many people find rather uncomfortable to think about. Here, I'll let the story's own synopsis speak for itself:

It is that time of the month for a 16 yearold Integra and she has a small problem. Alucard loses control briefly and is overcome by shame. Integra is scared. How will they work through this? AxI R&R pleez!

Yes, the above paragraph is referring to THAT "that time of the month". As if challenged to think of the most nonsensical premise imaginable for a story based in the Hellsing universe, the author of this assassination attempt on logic decided that the outline of the plot should read as follows: "Integra is on her period, wacky antics ensue." Thankfully, the real meat of the story is even more idiotic than that! It involves Alucard going apeshit crazy when he smells her blood (and honestly, who wouldn't) then turning severely emo as he becomes ridden with guilt for losing control of his vampiric instincts. I won't spoil what happens next, but only because I got too drunk to remember anything I read after that point.

Our tour guide for this magical journey through every straight man's least-favorite subject goes by the name ParttimeDumbblonde—a somewhat odd alias, and not nearly as fitting as the one I gave her in my mind: FulltimeBadwriter. Since both of those names are awkward to type, I've decided to refer to this author as simply "PTDB" for the remainder of this review. It may seem lazy, but it's actually a courageous act of defiance against fanfiction authors who refuse to put creative energy into anything except choosing usernames that will cause any word processing software with a spell check feature to self-destruct.

Because every sentence I write in this introduction ensures that more people are going to jump ship before I get to the fanfic itself, let's go ahead and dive right on into this one. If you think you can take the pain, then sit back, relax, pop a couple of Midol, and prepare to regret clicking on the link to this episode even more than you already do.

 

 

"Integra, is this long distance?" Walter's voice asked from the receiver.

"Yeah...but it's an emergency!" a 16 year-old Integra replied.


Integra: I just thought of a super funny name for a Lady Gaga song parody, but Twitter is over capacity! Help!

"Well, just be quick. What is the problem?" Walter was speaking from a hotel room phone.

Walter does not appreciate being disturbed during his weekend away at the singles convention.

Integra took a second to cover the receiver, pull the phone down just a bit and listened. She was inside a cupboard in the kitchen, way deep inside. When she couldn't hear anything, she put the phone back to her hear. "I...jeez this is so embarassing."

Hunting for your parents' liquor stash and accidentally locking yourself inside a cupboard is just another one of those zany incidents that makes growing up such an adventure.

"It's okay, you can tell me anything, remember?"

"Yeah, okay." Deep breath. "I'm out of tampons." She squeezed her eyes shut. There was a pause on the other end of the line.


Walter: Wait a minute... Is this Marty D. and the Jerkhole again? Alright, fine, here's your fucking sound bite: "WKNR 91.7 plays the WORST contemporary rock hits!" Stop calling me, goddamn it!

She decided to just keep talking. "I'm down to pads. That's all I have left. I have enough of those and, well, it's not even very heavy, but-"

"Alucard."

"Yeah. He's totally creeping me out, Walter."


Oh what, did he not act "sensitive" enough during your last unprovoked crying jag? You know what, maybe your need for constant reassurance that the bloating doesn't make you look ugly is creeping him out.

"Just keep your gun handy, I guess," he replied.

Walter is so hilariously disinterested in her safety that I'm half expecting a subplot where Integra finds out he took out a huge life insurance policy on her right before he left.

"oh wow...thanks. If he couldn't regenerate like that, he'd be swiss cheese right now."

"That bad, huh?"

"Yup. I've got two bullets left...wait...no nevermind. I used those coming down the stairs."


Integra: Asshole stairs was all gettin' up in my grill, so I had to ice those punk-ass bitches. Steps bettah recognize!

"Just be confidant. In his face. Your the master; he can't hurt you and he won't. He can control himself," Walter reassured her.

"Yeah, you're right. It's just annoying is all, but you're right."


Having an unkillable, homicidal vampire drunk on the scent of your blood somehow seems like it would go beyond "annoying" by a ways, but I guess Integra is just cranky.

"I'll be back at the end of the week, I swear it."

"K. I'll see you then. Bye." After he said good-bye, Integra pressed the off button and sat there in silence, listening for any signs of him.


The sound of someone whistling the opening theme to Bonanza told her that he was close.

When she couldn't hear anything, she slowly began to make her way out of the cupboard. She crawled out and stood up, brushing off her school uniform. She wished all day that she could just spend the night there at school, but Alucard would probably come and find her anyway. It was still raining cats and dogs outside, so basking in the sun was out of the question; besides, it's not like the sun hurt him anyway.

Also, her green sweater was at the cleaners that day. Not that it mattered, since wearing a green sweater wouldn't have done shit. Still, mentioning it is an economic way of filling space.

She thought about going outside; maybe he would rather sulk inside, watching her from behind a window, than get wet chasing her.

Alucard can take 9mm rounds to the chest like they're nothing, but ask him to run through a sprinkler and he's all "Fuck that noise!"

The thought was very appealing. She walked to the back door and grabbed the door knob, twisting it, pulling the door open, letting the sound of the rain and thunder roll into the kitchen. Just then, an arm shot out from behind her and a gloved hand with a red sigil on the back pressed the door closed again, quickly. She spun around, glaring defiantly up at the smirking vampire looming over her.

Alucard: Hey Integra, I noticed some of the cans in the pantry had been put back with the labels not facing outwards. Am I gonna have to smack a bitch? You gonna force me to do that, Integra? Hm? Make me smack a bitch?

"I'm afraid I can't let you go outside now, Master. You might catch a cold." He bent down to be level with her face, an arm on either side of her head now. Man, this monster really likes to back me into walls, doesn't he? She mused.

It's funny because, a couple days ago, Alucard flew into a rage after a grapefruit squirted him in the eye and kicked Integra into a wall that had the theatrical poster for Pink Floyd The Wall on it.

"Where were you thinking of going, anyway?"

"It's none of your business, Vampire!" she spat.

"Oh but, my dear," he leered at her, grinning and revealing two gleaming fangs, "You are my business."


Alucard has finally embraced the fact that his outfit is basically a goth pimp suit.

"Step back, Alucard." He did as he was told, begrudgingly. "Now, I want you to stay away from me!"

Integra: Also, did you pick up a pack of Mike's Hard Lemonade like I asked? Well DID YOU!?

"Oh, Master, you've already tried that one. Think of another."

"Leave me alone!"

"Synonymous with the first command. Care to try again?"

"Alucard! You're never going to get my blood! Just get over it!"

This seemed to shut him up. He just glared down at his little master, trying to think of something to say.


Come on man, you've got like a hundred different blood puns at your disposal. "Sorry Master, hope there won't be any bad blood between us!" "Looks like your blood has suddenly run cold!" "Someone's in a bloody foul mood this evening!" Just pick one.

Before he could respond however, she pushed past him and stalked away. His red eyes darted after her, the smell of virgin blood wafting right under his nose. He couldn't stop himself from turning and reaching out.

Oh please no, please God, don't let this turn into a Hilary Duff songfic...

In a split second, he had grabbed Integra's upper arm and forcibly yanked her back to him. She yelped and crashed into him. That sweet, intoxicating scent overpowered him and he pushed Integra down to the tile, not even hearing her yelling at him, the sharp cries of pain as she fell to the floor. He was over her, gripping her uniform top with one hand, the other hand on her thigh.

It's like Integra's sophomore prom all over again, except Alucard isn't her lesbian gym teacher and a bunch of stoned seniors aren't murdering a cover of a Smashing Pumpkins song in the background.

"Alucard! Alucard, stop! STOP!" she shrieked his name, squeezed her eyes shut, sceamed at herself in her mind not to struggle; he was lusting; it was predatory; try to bring him back; just don't struggle!

This entire scene has the characters acting out how PTDB wishes her blind dates would end.

Alucard stopped suddenly, hearing the torrents of commands being shouted in his master's mind, the shrieks and demands to "stop!". He was suddenly back in the kitchen again, a thunder storm rolling on outside, the kitchen's cool tiles beneath his knees as he kneeled on the floor over...over his Master...over Integra...a very scared Integra.

Alucard: Hold on, you're not a pile of snakes... Jesus, what was IN that PCP I took? Oh, right. PCP.

She was staring wide-eyed up at him. He had ripped a couple shirt buttons off of her top. His hand was under her skirt, resting on her inner thigh. He looked at her for a long time, slowly beginning to comprehend what had happened.

For as many times as I've seen it now, it never gets any easier to watch when the characters come to the horrible realization that they're trapped in a fanfic that makes no damn sense whatsoever.

He released her shirt and let her down gently, standing up and, at the same time, backing away a few steps from her, giving her room. She stood up quickly, covering herself, pulling her skirt down, and staring at him. The look of shock she had had dissipated and turned into something else.

Most people would scramble to get the hell away after almost being killed by an immortal predator not completely in control of his actions, but not Integra. She responds by making herself the punch line to a Tim Allen standup routine and firing back The Look.

Not anger, though. It was sort of like realization. He just stood there, disbelieving what he had almost done to her. He was ashamed, he was angry, he was mostly ashamed.

The mixture of shame and anger was somewhere in the 60-40 range. Maybe not quite that much shame... For the sake of argument, let's just put it at a 3.5/2.2 ratio.

Integra didn't know what to say. She didn't say anything in the end, just walked out of the kitchen quickly. What a mess this had turned into.

Integra: Ugh, this is even worse than the time that mummy kept trying to kill me because I had a yeast infection.

She knew she had to do something. It was only the second day of her period, for crying out loud! She walked quickly, almost jogged to her father's (her) office. She closed the door and sat herself down in the chair before the computer, clicking on the icon to access the internet; she remembered Walter doing this; it couldn't be that hard.

Yeah, I don't know if Yahoo! Answers is the best source to consult regarding this kind of matter...

Back down in the kitchen, Alucard was holding his head in his hands.

Alucard: Up yours, Patrick Stewart!

He couldn't believe he had almost lost control. He almost hurt her. Wait. He opened his eyes wide. Did I hurt her, he wondered. He'd never be able to forgive himself if he had.

My hat goes off to PTDB for singling out one of the most badass, vicious protagonists known to the anime fandom and rewriting him as an enormous pussy. That really takes a lot of anger at yourself and the people who support your work.

He wasn't himself; he could remember her crying out when she hit the floor. Did she hit her head? Did I throw her down? He knew how strong he was; it wasn't at all a matter of not knowing his own strength. He was strong. He was a deadly force.

That'll make a sweet tagline for the poster promoting Alucard's upcoming action flick where he plays a renegade cop who doesn't play by the rules. But I feel like we're kind of getting sidetracked from the point of this story, which is apparently Alucard wallowing in self-pity forever.

What if she's hurt? He wanted to check on her, but he knew that if she was alright, he was the last person she wanted to see. He could only imagine how the events would play out if he were to force his way into her quarters.

Alucard: It's Goofy Time!

Integra: No, Alucard! No!

He thought about the way she looked at him and then...she ran out of the kitchen. She looked alright, he thought. She didn't act dizzy or confused. The only blood he smelled was that other kind of blood.

Way to rule out the possibility of a bone fracture or internal hemorrhaging, Professor.

His hands flew to his head again. No! Don't think about it! He was furious with himself; how did he let a little thing like menstrual blood take over him like that?

Oh, you'd be surprised just how many men's lives have been utterly destroyed thanks to a little menstrual blood...

Growling in shame, Alucard sank through the floor and into his room below where he sat down in his high-backed chair and cradled his head in his hands.

Alucard: Damn! Crashing through the floor gave me SUCH a headache!

Up stairs, in her office, Integra completed the order and sat back, relieved. In just a couple of hours, she won't have to worry about accidentally enticing Alucard.

Once the used fursuit arrives, he won't touch her for a year of free blood sandwiches and blood milkshakes.

Thinking about him, about his expression in the kitchen after it happened, she wondered if he wa alright. She understood that it wasn't his fault. Not entirely, anyways.

Looking back on her decisions, using the blood as war paint for her Princess Mononoke cosplay probably wasn't the best idea under the circumstances.

She wanted to talk to him, but, then again, she was scared. Not scared of Alucard.

Scared of circus music played slower than normal.

He wasn't Alucard now; he wasn't himself at all. She nodded; yeah, that was a good way to look at it. If she told herself that it wasn't the Alucard she knew, then leaving him alone was easy. She just hoped he wasn't beating himself up about it.

But what if...what if he hadn't snapped back to reality like that? What if he completely lost it?


Come on now, fic, you had your chance to be even angstier and you passed it by. No fair going back and retroactively upping the drama with what-if scenarios.

She knew the answers, of course. She'd be dead. Period. That's that. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Jeez, I only have to deal with this...ugh...like for a whole week every month.

I swear the author wrote that in there just to fuck with me. I didn't want to look like a noob by calling bullshit on that without all the facts, so I did some research to see if periods lasting up to a full week were normal (turns out they are, although they're rare). The Wikipedia pages I read will haunt my nightmares forever.

She rocked forwards and laid her head on her arms. As her eyelids half closed, her mind wandered back into the past. She recalled memories of herself and Alucard; memories of experiences they'd shared together.

Like that one time they got totally baked and met Neil Patrick Harris on their way to a White Castle.

Her mind wandered further back to a much stranger time, shortly after she had first met the vampire.

So, what, all this was just a really weird frame story for a fanfiction clip show?

What on earth had she done to deserve such a fate? Her father died, her own uncle tried to kill her and she was forced into hiding, then she found the ultimate undead monster in the dungeons, had to shoot her uncle, lead that undead filth back up into her house, forever guaranteeing that her life will never be normal again.

I stand corrected. Looks like PTDB did, in fact, read a summary of the first couple chapters of the Hellsing manga, therefore doing at least 600% more research for this story than I originally estimated.

She was only twelve years old; stuff like this is not supposed to happen.

She hasn't even hit her teens and already she's going through packs of tampons like Don Draper goes through packs of Lucky Strikes.

Now, to top it all off, she couldn't sleep. There was a lightning show going on right outside her window, accompanied by an earsplitting orchestra of booming thunder and howling wind. She groaned.

It seems Integra is just as frustrated by all these hackneyed similes as I am. PTDB couldn't write a damn grocery list unless she saw someone else do it first.

Usually she would go down to the library and read a book on sleepless nights like this. Now that he (Alucard was it?) was awake and walking around, she didn't feel comfortable leaving her room.

Alucard had immediately started leaving dirty socks and empty bags of Fritos in practically every room of the house.

It took a direct order to actually get him from spying on her while she was in it. She sighed and pulled back the covers. It is my house, she thought. Besides, it's not like he's going to move out anytime soon...or ever.

Integra: "I'm just gonna crash here while I finish up the semester, then get a job!" Pssh, what a load of shit.

She padded out of her room in her white pajama pants and matching, quarter sleeve top. Once in the hallway outside, she looked both ways, crossing her arms across her abdomen tightly, getting goosebumps from the chilly air. She thought about crawling back in bed under the warm covers, but decided against it; she was already up and wide awake. Why go back to bed when you're awake?

I'm always awake when I get into bed. Otherwise I'd collapse on the floor somewhere and sleep there.

She continued to the stairs and descended down to the first floor with out ever noticing the tall figure leaning against the balcony railing in the shadows. She looked around her as she stepped down, replaying-in her mind-childish nightmares about these stairs in the dark.

Seeing four maids, two butlers, a plumber, and her younger sister all fall and break their necks on these very stairs due to inadequate lighting had given her an irrational fear of walking down them at night.

Her feet touched the cool tile briefly as she quickly walked towards the library. The house was extremely dark. Walter wasn't at home; he was on a trip,

Damn, Walter leaves home more often than the boring workaholic husband character in a porno flick. If Integra suddenly notices the well-endowed pool boy is working late, I might have to bail...

so without him here to be up until various hours of the night, all of the house's lights were off by the time Integra went to bed. The lack of illumination did not spook the head strong 14 year old, of course.

Wait, Integra was twelve years old a few paragraphs ago. How long did it take her to walk down that staircase!?

She knew the mansion like the back of her hand. She lithely dodged tables and lamps, grandfather clocks and statues.

Walter's taste in interior decorating essentially boils down to "KEEP BUYING SHIT UNTIL WE CAN'T SEE THE FLOOR."

She entered the library and expertly slid her hand along the same seam of wallpaper as always, until her fingers found the plastic light switch. Flick!

Nothing. No lights, not even a flicker. Integra groaned and unnecessarily flipped the switch several more times.


Integra operates light switches the same way old people operate CD players. That's right Grandpa, if pressing one button doesn't work, then press it seventy more times just in case.

Still nothing. She groaned and cursed the weather. There was no telling how long the power would be out for. Searching the dark room, absently, she concluded that there wasn't much else to do except to go back to bed.

PTDB forgot to mention this story takes place in an alternate universe where candles were never invented. It's like steampunk, but in reverse.

She pivoted on her heel and was about to walk back towards the stairs when, all of a sudden, a gust of noise erupted behind her in the library.

"Sorry about that. That broccoli casserole and the spicy pork sausage aren't gettin' along too well..."

She stopped and listened. It wasn't her imagination; there was definately something there now in the library that wasn't there before. She listened to it closely before turning around. She recognized the tiny popping sounds, and the crackling and whispering of burning wood and floating gases.

It takes a special kind of anti-talent to describe something as familiar as a fire and make it sound so utterly alien. Next, maybe Integra can go into the kitchen and pour herself a glass of "a heated, faintly opaque mixture of fluid molecules extracted from the mammary glands of the species Bos taurus".

Turning fully around, she saw-over the tables and chairs that occupied the vast room- on the far wall, between two facing, high-backed chairs, a fire burned and glowed within the large hearth. She stared at the phenomenon for several moments before slowly stepping into the room.

Upon seeing the flames, something awoke deep within Integra. Her gaping mouth slowly turned upwards into a crazed, twisted smile as she envisioned the beautiful destruction...

"Is this better, Master?" The voice came from one of the chairs before the fire. She could see him now. His hair was still white, but he was wearing something different; it was difficult to see what exactly from where she stood.

Alucard: Oh, by the way, hope it's okay I borrowed your bathrobe. It's a little drafty, but hey. We're all family here, right?

"It is still a little dim to read, but perhaps a quiet chat would be fine?"

She was nearer to him now, staring at him and the fire alternately from behind a long table littered with papers and books.


Integra rolled her eyes as she listened to Alucard's story about warming up. Little did he know this wasn't the first time she'd walked in on someone burning incriminating documents.

"Alucard." It was just a statement; she was surprised that it came out of her mouth as quietly as it did.

"H'WHAT!?"

"Alucard."

"H'WHAT!?"

"Alucard."

"H'WHAT!?"

"Alucard."

"OKAY!"

The figure sitting in the chair just feet away was far different from the one she had met just a couple of nights ago. He had fed well, was calmer, and he kept a more dignified posture. He looked almost noble. But...he was a monster.

Now Alec Baldwin comes into the fic out of nowhere. Man, this story is getting hard to follow.

She heard him chuckle and was shaken from her thoughts. "What? What's so funny?"

"You." He said.


Ice burn!

"The way you are warring with yourself." She tilted her head. She usually would have been a little miffed by that comment, but now she was just too confused.

She's wondering how Alucard knew about her uncertainty whether or not she should sever the Hellsing Organization's ties with Al-Qaeda.

He sensed as much and gestured to the chair across from him, on the other side of the fireplace. She looked and made her way over to it. She tried to appear as confident as she could as she bent and sat in the much larger chair, just feet away from a monster she was taught to believe was her very worst enemy.

When was it established that Integra loathed vampires at that age? She didn't even know what Alucard was when he first— Oh, right. This creates more drama. Carry on, then.

She did want to know one thing, though, before she thought about anything else."How did you-" she paused, trying to find her words. "...Can you read minds?"

He nodded. "When I want to."


Alucard: Speaking of which, I notice you've memorized a suspiciously large number of passages from the Book of Mormon. Anything you want to tell me?

"Well, it bothers me. Could you please not read mine?"

"Of course," he smiled. "My apologies. It's just that...you're so intriguing."


Her head is full of way, way too many cocktail recipes for a twelve-or-fourteen-year-old girl.

She was silent for a moment, taking in what he said. "Were you listening to my thoughts when I was coming down the stairs?"

He grinned wider, amused. He chuckled and nodded.


Integra was thinking about a Funky Winkerbean strip she'd read earlier that evening.

In the present, Integra caught herself smiling as she remembered that grin.
 

3 Hours later


Integra met the delivery man at the door before he could ring the bell so as not to alert Alucard that someone was there.


Alucard: *jumps in* Do I smell Papa John's?

Integra: Oh my god, FUCK this night!

She handed the man the money and took the bag he gave her. She said thank you and shut the door as the man jogged back to his van. She peeked inside the plastic grocery bag and smiled in sweet relief. She ran all the way to her room, shut the door, and ran again into her bathroom.

"At least these 'Mega Mover' laxatives will solve one of my problems..." mumbled Integra as she rolled up a towel to scream into.

Down in the basement, Alucard was still punishing himself mentally, throwing up explitives to his mind, pulling at his hair and beating at his legs whenever he became angry.

PTDB's characterization of Alucard was heavily influenced by that time she saw her six-year-old brother throwing a tantrum after he got put in time-out for saying "damn" in front of their mom.

Still, most of what he felt was shame. The Great No Life King succumbing to low-life vampire scum instincts.

He was no better than that sparkly son of a bitch on the posters plastered all over every wall in Integra's room. How he reviled that little sellout whore...

He couldn't have that. He was better than- suddenly, there was a knock on his door. He was shocked to say the least. He sat up straight and fixed his disheveled appearance. "Come in." He called. As soon as he did, the handle turned and the door swung open, revealing his little master, moonbeam hair and enchanting, icy eyes.

Ah, so that's what she looks like. Well thanks a lot for waiting until now to tell us that, PTDB! Up to this point, I've been imagining her with red hair. And Chinese.

Her expression was a calm one. She wasn't angry. She wasn't scared either. Timid a little. Concerned, even.

Perhaps even pants-soakingly terrified. Not so much straightforwardly "scared" though.

Still, she was nothing he expected. She stepped into the dim room, letting the heavy door close all the way behind her.

Alucard's room also doubles as the Hellsing Mansion's S&M dungeon. Its other S&M dungeon, I mean.

Alucard stood up for her and motioned to a chair near him. She walked up to him and then took the seat he offered. As she sat down, so did Alucard. He stared at her, impressed. But she didn't look up at him. She was thinking of what to say; she hadn't come the least bit prepared...well, okay she was a little more prepared than before. She wondered if he would notice.

"Well." Alucard intently studied his young master.

"Well." Her eyes remained fixed on the floor in front of her.


All we need is for Alucard to take a sip of a mojito and make a remark about how inexpensive Integra's shoes look and this will be exactly like two gay men having an argument in public.

Alucard sat back and pondered over why she would come down here to his room after the way he acted toward her earlier. That was when he noticed it.

Integra was so doped up she could barely sit up straight in her chair.

The lack of urges, the sated feeling. He couldn't smell blood anymore. Well, a trace maybe, but it wasn't enough to make him crave it.

There were now other smells coming from the girl that violently killed his appetite.

"Master? Is...is something different?"

She looked at him, questioningly. "You...do you smell it? My blood, I mean."

"Nothing like before. Why?"


Alucard: Wait a second... Did you replace your blood with ranch dressing?

She smiled. Alucard was shocked. "I ordered some...things I needed from an online grocery store. They delivered them here just a little while ago."

"Things?"

"Personal...things."

Alucard nodded. She could tell he didn't understand.


Alucard has apparently never heard of jar corks.

"Just be glad. They are the reasons you aren't lusting anymore."

"Yes...I wanted to talk to you about that. Did I hurt you?" She shook her head. "Good. I know that from this day forward, you won't ever be able to really trust me. I'm a monster.


If this fic had been penned by a more competent writer, I'd swear this apology was meant to be sarcastic. Holy shit, how overboard can you go. This is like accidentally spilling a drink on somebody's carpet and attempting to make up for it by carving "MISERABLE FAILURE" into your chest with a jagged shard of glass.

That much is clear now, I'm sure. But, my Master, my Integra, I would never hurt you.

[Roll credits.]

I wouldn't even dream of it."

Integra smiled slowly as he lowered his head and slumped in his chair. Integra was touched by his words; they weren't necessary;


Not unlike this mile-long parade of semicolons.

she knew he hadn't meant to act that way; still, they affected her none the less.

Integra suddenly realized that she wasn't the only one in the room with a leaking vagina.

She stood up soundlessly and approached his chair, standing at his side. She brought a hand up and rested it on his perfect, soft, black hair. He raised his head slightly, she cupped his chin and stared down into eyes.

Lips quivering, Alucard began, "Awacard sowwy, Mas... Mas—" before breaking down into uncontrollable sobbing like the good bishy-ified bastardization he was.

She traced the side of his face softly as she said, "Alucard, I know you wouldn't hurt me. And I do very much trust you. I trust that you understand that even you are not perfect." She smirked. "Not far from it, though. You mean a lot to this organization. You are its strongest weapon.

He's like the proverbial iron cannon that, uh, falls into a deep, guilt-ridden depression whenever it almost shoots anyone...

You mean a lot to me, also. You're the only one I have around here to talk to most of the time. You've made me stronger, and more intelligent, you've helped me adjust to this new life I lead now.

If she breaks into song while a bunch of rabbits and deer prance into the room, I'm just going to start randomly smashing things in my house until I pass out from exhaustion.

Again, I know you would never hurt me; how could you? We're practically joined at the hip, aren't we?" She giggled, bent down, and gently kissed his forehead.

D'awwww...! That's so sweet, it's like someone coated a baseball bat in powdered sugar and then used it to bash my goddamn face in.

"Besides, I doubt something like this will ever happen again."

He looked up at her. "How do you know?"


Integra used a portion of her time online to sign up for a gymnastics class.

She smirked and started for the door, turning and walking backwards, saying, "Because you have a month to figure out how to prevent this from ever happening again." With that, she turned on her heel, opened the door, and left Alucard sitting in his chair, that famous grin of his cracking across his face.

If she thought Alucard was going to be seen buying tampons, she had another thing coming. Another thing involving the back of his hand striking her face.

"Master," he said to the empty room. "You are so damn cute." He shook his head. "And so damn right."

...Oh, okay. You sure you want to end that way, fanfic? Because I don't really feel like we actually resolved anything here... No, you know what, that's fine. This is not my story. I just need to walk away. Just put this behind me and walk away...
 


I'm glad that's over. Despite lacking any content capable of matching the sheer offensiveness present in some of the fics I've previously put on this site, that story made me feel more than a little uneasy, and not just because the characters were more irritating than mustard gas. I hate to indulge in stereotypes (much less act the part of one), but as a guy, a woman's "time of the month" is not a topic I enjoy reading about in any context, be it in pamphlets for young girls about their changing bodies or fanfiction based on an ultraviolent action/horror anime.

Before you judge me as being inconsiderate, though, be aware that I have a better excuse for my menstruation melancholy than some fellahs. Periods aren't simply icky to me or anything like that. No sir, I have a tragic personal experience to back up my irrational discomfort!

Back in high school, I was friends with a girl who I would now swear suffered from at least twenty-seven different forms of bipolar disorder. She was generally nice and upbeat, but occasional bouts of severe depression and frightening anger made her a very unpredictable person to be around. It kept things interesting, if nothing else.

One day, when the two of us were spending the afternoon at a mall, I noticed she was going through one of her "insane rage" phases. It was especially bad on this particular day, with her complaining about literally everything to have ever existed in the known universe and nearly murdering some poor son of a bitch who accidentally bumped into her when she charged into a group of people walking the opposite direction, presumably under the assumption that they would see her and swiftly disperse like when a shark swims into a school of fish. In a foolhardy attempt to lighten the mood, I jokingly asked her if she was on her period. I thought I was joking, at least; her screams claimed I was being a typical chauvinistic Neanderthal of a male, blaming feminine emotions I didn't understand on PMS as if I secretly thought she had conjured up a menstrual bleed on purpose.

Now feeling rather insulted myself, I responded with a biting counter: "You're right, I was being insensitive thinking you might be suffering from symptoms of a biological function you have no control over. Clearly, you're just acting like a crazy bitch for no good reason."

One of the reasons I would never hit a woman is because I harbor a passionate hatred for any act of violence against the opposite sex. The other reason I would never hit a woman is because there exists the possibility she might hit me back, and after having a 120-pound teenage girl sock me in the stomach hard enough to bring me to my knees, I fully believe that a grown woman could easily uppercut me into the next level of a parking garage if she was pissed off enough. As I held my sides and struggled to breath, my seething companion stood over me and angrily accused me of faking being in pain. I couldn't argue with her; all I could do was grimace as the taste of blood and stomach acid flooded into my mouth, and silently pray that someone carrying a hunting rifle loaded with tranquilizer darts had witnessed my assault and was feeling heroic.

The shocking twist ending to this harrowing tale came two days later, when my friend called me up to apologize. She admitted that she was, in fact, smack-dab in the middle of her period at the time, and that she regretted hitting me (though it was largely her uterus' fault). I said it was no big deal, we both laughed about it, then I hung up the phone and cried into my hands for an hour.

What's the moral of this story? God is truly a cruel genius for inflicting women with a physical ailment that would make both them and the men around them miserable for several days every four weeks. Way to take out two birds with one stone there, Lord. I can't blame women for getting a bit moody when that time of the month rolls around, though. You gals really do have a good excuse for being a little irritable on "those days" or whatever we should call them, and I'm well aware that most men would act far crazier than the average women if we had to deal with the same crap every single month. All joking aside, the majority of you girls handle it pretty damn well.

Back to hating on things, I sure do dislike people who vomit up mangled stories involving plot devices that are so preposterously out of place in such works that it feels like an unfunny practical joke. Not to mention making the characters within said stories so obscenely unfaithful to the original source material that the whole thing reads like a personal "fuck you" to their creator. I mean, can you really even call something fanfiction when the author displays no apparent signs of being a fan of the original work? Looking back at IWNHYM (even this fic's acronym looks ridiculous), it's obvious that this wasn't an homage or a loving tribute to Hellsing so much as it was an nine-page-long brain fart that hijacked the names of series' main characters to save the author the effort of having to establish an original setting.

For shame, ParttimeDumbblonde. There's no justification for writing something that shoddy, much less publishing it on the internet. And don't even try to pass it off as a temporary lapse in judgment resulting from some weird emotional crap from being on the rag, because I've suffered too much pain to buy that bullshit excuse again.