#santana • hellsing s/i

[tex-treasure-chamber]

Morning After, Post Shower

[duhragonball]

Battle Tendency Liveblog: JJBA Ch. 65-66

This is the start of the “Ultimate Warriors from Ancient Times” arc, but I want to focus on these two chapters because they feature Mark.   I’ve got a lot to say about Mark under the cut, but the short version is that he’s a lousy Nazi and he deserves everything that happens to him.

A large chunk of Chapter 65 is just Caesar hanging out in Joseph and Speedwagon’s hotel room.   They try to play cards, but they’re both cheats.  This wouldn’t bother me at all until Speedwagon points out that he’s been here for eight hours, and never bothered to explain why.   You’d think Joseph would have demanded an answer a long time ago, since he’s not known for patience.  

As it turns out, Caesar’s been waiting for Mark, a buddy of his in the German Army.   Stroheim was in the German Army too, and he told Joseph that the Nazis had discovered three other Pillar Men in Rome.   That’s why he and Speedwagon came here, after all.    Well, Caesar’s an Italian, and Italy and Germany are allies, so Caesar managed to persuade the Germans (through Mark) to let him take a look at the Pillar Men.    So in this chapter, Mark rolls up in a car and drives them over to the site. 

But we already know what happened at the site in Chapter 64.   The Pillar Men have already reawakened, and all the Nazi soldiers stationed there have been slaughtered.   When Mark leads our heroes into the catacombs, they find the remains of the Germans, while Mark bumps into the Pillar Men themselves.  (Note: the above image is not to scale).

The thing is, bumping into the Pillar Men is hazardous to your health.    We saw that vampire grab Santana and large chunks of his body were completely absorbed.   The same thing happens to Mark, only faster, because Wamuu doesn’t even slow down as he walks past him.    He just walks right through Mark and half of his body is gone.  

So when I first watched the JoJo anime, it was right after I watched the Hellsing Ultimate anime, and I got a kick out of seeing two completely different anime takes on vampire lore.   Let’s face it, the Pillar Men are presented as something beyond mere vampires, but they’re basically just super-vampires, not so different from Alucard in Hellsing.    And both make use of the Nazis, except in Hellsing, the Nazis are the villains, while in Battle Tendency, they’re kinda sorta allies.  Stroheim is clearly a bad guy, because he killed his prisoners and tormented Speedwagon, but Mark is presented as a completely sympathetic person.   He’s got a sweetheart back home, Caesar’s the one who introduced them, and he’s planning to get married the next time he goes back to Germany.   And for his very brief appearance in JJBA, he’s completely friendly and helpful to the heroes.   We’re supposed to feel very sorry for him when he gets killed here.  

Part 2 is my favorite, but I think this stands out as it’s biggest flaw.   I get the idea.    Hellsing was dealing with a lot of dark themes, and the protagonists were horrifying in their own right.   So Kouta Hirano used the Nazis as villains to humanize his vampire characters.    By contrast, Hirohiko Araki seems to be using the Nazis to dehumanize the Pillar Men.   They’re so evil that even the Nazis look halfway decent by comparison.   At least the Nazis are human, with human loves and fears and honor.    The Pillar Men kill Mark without even noticing him, and Speedwagon likens this to a human stepping on an ant.     I get what Araki is trying to do here, but it rings hollow.    Fuck Mark, and fuck his Nazi fiance.  The first time we see him, we get a close up of his Iron Cross medal, with the damn swastika in the middle of it.    We’re supposed to buy into the idea that he’s “one of the good Germans”, and it’s 1938, so World War II hasn’t officially started yet, so somehow Mark is supposed to be cool.   But no, I don’t buy it.

Let me go off on a little sidebar and try to explain how we got here.   Battle Tendency was published in 1988.   Back then, Hitler had been dead for decades, and Germany had been partitioned into two countries, East and West Germany.   The Nazis seemed to have been consigned to the dustbin of history, and as time passed, pop culture grew more comfortable using the Nazis as historical villains in stories like this one.    There was a sense that yeah, the Nazis were really bad, but they were gone now, and they would never come back.   I think there was a similar mentality surrounding the Soviet Union after the U.S.S.R. dissolved.    By the 2000′s there were all sorts of internet memes about Nazi stuff and Soviet stuff and it was rationalized as harmless envelope-pushing. 

The problem is, it doesn’t seem so harmless in 2021, when Russia is a autocracy that meddles in U.S. elections, emboldening white nationalists in the process.   The “alt-right” fanatics who marched in Charlottesville in 2017?   The rioters who stormed the Capitol building this past January?   Those assholes probably wouldn’t call themselves Nazis, but neither did the Nazis.   They called themselves “National Socialists”, because they were trying to make their ugly policies sound more legitimate.   The same holds true for “alt-right”, “economic nationalist”, “Qanon”, “truther”, and so on.   They’re just new labels for the same old horseshit.  

I don’t want to judge Battle Tendency too harshly, because it’s the product of a different time, an era when people could at least pretend that Nazism was one of the few problems that we didn’t have to worry about any more.   The same mentality can be found in Hellsing.   The Nazis in Hellsing are definitely villains, but the conceit is that they’re all immortal vampires or werewolves, because that’s the only way the Nazi menace could possibly exist in 1999.    Otherwise, they’d all be dead of old age.   Battle Tendency is set in 1938, so it takes the liberty of presenting sympathetic Nazis, because we already know they’ll be defeated in the end, right?   We might as well see what makes them tick.  

Araki may have thought that using Nazis in a story set in the 1930s would be no different than using Napoleonic French soldiers in a story set in the 1800s.  And in the long run, that might be true, but I don’t think we’re there yet.   In the here and now, it’s aged rather poorly.  

Of course, just because Caesar and Joseph feel bad for Mark doesn’t mean I have to.   And Araki may have been more self-aware than I’m giving him credit for.    Nazi Germany wanted to set itself up as the Master Race, and in this fictional world, the Pillar Men have come to do the same thing, only they’re much, much further ahead of the game.   I think part of the point of Stroheim and Mark was to contrast the Nazis’ supreamcist attitudes with Kars’ ambitions.   For all of Stroheim’s boasting, he’s helpless against Kars’ might.   But at the same time, for all of Kars’ power and brilliance, he’s ultimately chasing the same pipe dream as Hilter and his followers.  

Let’s get back on track.    While the good guys react in horror at what happened to Mark, the Pillar Men just stand around nearby and discuss their situation.   They completely ignore our heroes, just like they ignored Mark.   Kars wants to locate the Red Stone of Aja, because it’s the secret ingredient to the mask he designed that will make them immune to sunlight.   Esidisi doesn’t understand how the stone helps their plan, but he’s totally on board.    But as they head out, Wamuu suddenly attacks Kars, because Kars stepped in his shadow, and apparently Wamuu just lashes out at anyone who does this, friend or foe.   

Wamuu is deeply sorry for this, and begs to be punished, but Kars apologizes instead, because he knows about Wamuu’s whole shadow thing and he feels that he’s the one who made the mistake here.  I really love this exchange, because it defines the Pillar Men so well.    As indifferent as they are to human lives, they respect one another a great deal.   Kars is the leader, but he still treats the other two guys like close associates.    He needs Wamuu’s sharp senses and keen warrior instincts.   Meanwhile, Wamuu and Eisidisi practically worship Kars like a god.   They’ve literally followed him around the world and across thousands of years in pursuit of his vision. 

So yeah, if the goal here was to use Mark’s suffering to make me hate the Pillar Men, it doesn’t work.  The Pillar Men are evil, sure, but they’re pretty cool bad guys.   On the other hand, Mark looks ridiculous here, with Caesar holding and talking to half of his body.   This looks like something out of a Tex Avery cartoon.   

I mean, let’s set aside the whole Nazi thing for a moment.   Why should I feel sorry for Mark?  Because he’s in pain?   He got cut in half!   He should have died instantly!    Because he was going to get married?   We only met this guy one chapter ago!   Because he’s Caesar’s friend?  Well Caesar’s kind of a jerk too.  

Anyway, Mark begs Caesar to kill him and end his suffering, so Caesar uses the Ripple to stop his heart.    Or the half of it that’s still there, I guess.   

Okay, so the whole point of Mark’s death is to really get the good guys fired up to battle the Pillar Men, right?    Okay, Caesar tries to take them on, and he opens with the Bubble Launcher, the same move he talked about earlier.   It didn’t beat Joseph, but Caesar’s Hamon power does hurt Wamuu’s skin, which is more than Joseph managed to do against Santana.  

The Bubble Launcher is supposed to surround the opponent with dozens of soap bubbles charged with Hamon energy.  Wamuu can’t escape without touching them and getting hurt.   But Wamuu just sprouts all these long braids from his head and clothes, and swings them around with superhuman precision to know the bubbles away without hurting himself.  

As it turns out, these Pillar Men are familiar with Hamon.   Santana was surprised to encounter Joseph Joestar’s powers, but Wamuu and the others have fought Ripple users in the past.    And Wamuu’s more intrigued than worried...

Oh, as one final aside, on the car ride to the catacombs, Speedwagon asked Caesar if he tried to use the Ripple to destroy the Pillar Men before they woke up, and Caesar explains that it didn’t work while they were in their dormant state.   Remember, at the very start of this story, Speedwagon called Straizo because he wanted someone to use the Ripple to destroy Santana before he could wake up.   Now we see that even if Straizo had agreed to his request, it wouldn’t have done any good.   Sunlight doesn’t seem to kill the Pillar Men so much as it makes them turn to stone, and the Ripple only hurts them while they’re flesh and blood.   So the only way to kill them seems to be by using Hamon in a direct confrontation, and that’s a tall order...

[kosmokhaos]

1-20 for three sims of your choice. 83

EDIT: Ok I just noticed the questionnaire isn’t actually 20 questions long. Its only 17 lol. It literally skips 3 numbers at 13 and jumps to 17 at the next question and number 20 is asking a question yourself lmao

I’m adding Trinity to this list of 3 ^_^ 

Sims Asks

Trinity Jo

1. Trinity is 18 going on 19

2. No middle name but she does have one of those Southern “double first names” so the “Jo” after Trinity stands for Josefine. 

3. Black or dark colored tops (usually with some kind of hood or scarf) and bottoms/jeans with some kinda sneakers or boots. She usually goes for form fitting clothing but not because she thinks its sexy its becasue she hates “flowy loose shit” that gets in the way when she’s fighting/running/whipping out a weapon. 

4. Trinity has several full blooded demon siblings who either dislike her for being half human, want her dead for being half human or just like to fuck something up of her’s for kicks because that’s just what demonic siblings do :D

5. ….I really need to think of birthdays for my sims lmao But I was leaning toward Sagittarius for her..maybe??

6. Trinity didn’t stay in school for very long and she started late she made it to about middle school before dropping out. Her favorite subject was gym/recess and surprisingly she liked history lessons but she hated everything else lol.

7. Her favorite is the movie Blade starring Wesley Snipes xD But she likes anything with supernatural beings/creature features with action and adventure. Bonus points for gore and blood.

8. Trinity’s latest google search: “Can you break your dick?”

9. Trinity is inspired by people who let their actions speak louder than their words. If Alucard from the Hellsing Abridged Series was real, He would be Trinity’s role model.

10. Favorite book? Trinity!??? HAHAHAHAHAHA ! Any book heavy enough to break someone’s face when she throws it at them is her favorite kind of book lmao

11. Motorcycles, fast cars…and weapons. Guns especially. Anything that makes a big bang is her hobby. Explosions??? Yup. Sharp blades? Yup. Canons? Oh yes. Bitches love canons.

12. I don’t watch or read Harry Potter so idk.

13. I’m not sure how one does the enneagram thing but if anyone can explain it I can maybe choose something.

17. Trinity usually likes all foods as long as its savory and filling. As a half-demon she has a very high metabolism so she eats a lot very frequently. Since she and the Reaper currently reside near the New Mexican/Arizona desert(s) border. They frequent the diners and pizza joints there a lot. Trinity likes the burgers and pizza…as long as it doesn’t have pineapple on it. Pineapple pizza is a sin even for a half-demon.

18. Coffee? Ehhh she’ll drink it occasionally. Tea? Well she’s originally from Louisiana so she likes her southern sweet teas. Cocoa? Yup. Its sweet and warm when its cold out.

19. Trinity’s handwriting is…pretty bad. She doesn’t spell, write or read very well because she was taught to read and write very late into her childhood so that means her punctuation and grammar are usually atrocious. She doesn’t even care so long as her point gets across but Reaper has been gradually getting her to use better grammar and punctuation when writing over time. She writes how she speaks so that means…curse words and slang with a Southern Louisiana drawl in person.

20. Since there’s no original ask here’s a Random Fact: Trinity’s hair length changes so frequently because it grows very fast. If she were to buzz it all off, it’d get back to its current neck/ear length in like a month or two.

D Santana

1. D is pretty old. He doesn’t remember his exact age but he is at least half a millennia. So about 500 years or more.

2. Nope lol He’s very secretive about what his actual name is. He’s had it legally changed it to “D” but if someone asks what it stands for he gives them the name Diego.

3. Almost exclusively Black or similarly dark colors. He’s known for looking like a “modern cowboy” sort of look. That means the black boots and the big black hat with a vest and t-shirt. But he also can go more casual street style with just jogging pants and a T-Shirt with house shoes (at home). He wears the most clothing during the day, of course and usually at night (or at home) you can catch him working topless/sleeveless at his shop.

4. He did have siblings as human. As for vampire siblings, he considers the crew that works at his shop as his nestmates of sorts and therefore they call one another “brother” and “sister”. He also has a lovingly hateful friendship with TrinityJo and The Reaper.

5. ….again with the birthdays that I haven’t given XD Then again I have excuse since D is an older vampire.

6. N/A

7. His favorite movies are “F. W. Murnau’s Nosferatu” (because he finds it amusing) and “¡Vamonos con Pancho Villa!”

8. D’s Last Google Search: “EL1016��SS: Classic Tube Brake Lines“

9. D is rarely inspired by anyone or anything but he does find people with lots of tenacity and will to never give up can coax him to do things he normally wouldn’t. Which is why he usually tolerates Trinity’s obnoxiousness.

10. He doesn’t read much but he does like TV lol Usually old cowboy shows. He watches “Bat Masterson” and yes he’ll watch the old “Zoro” series sometimes too.

11. D’s hobbies include: tattooing/body art, leatherwork, vintage cars (something he and Trinity “bond” over), supernatural inkwork and bonding.

12. I don’t watch/read Harry Potter lol

13. I’m not sure how one does the enneagram thing but if anyone can explain it I can maybe choose something.

17. D’s “food” is blood but he does consume alcohol because he likes the taste and drinking a lot enough might give him a slight buzz for a while. His favorite blood type is B Negative.

18. Coffee? Tea? Cocoa?? Do you mean TEAquila

19. D has terribly sloppy handwriting. But its slop in those “What the hell does this actually say?” kinda ways and not one of those “Are these actual letters of the alphabet?” kinda ways lol

20. Since there’s no original ask here’s a Random Fact: Sometimes he forgets to English and will start speaking his Native tongue (Nahuatl) or Spanish.

The First Son (Osiris)

1. Osiris is very old. Created before humans. But his “human age” is 29.

2.  No middle name lol

3. Osiris has a very formal, clean style. He’s a businessman so you usually catch him in a very clean and precise cut suit and tie his casual wear is “business casual” meaning he’ll do button ups and comfortable slacks and if he doesn’t have a suit jacket of some sort he usually has a vest on. He keeps his hair in a close-cut ceasar style or a fade. He might wear glasses or something but he’s presumed by humans to be blind.

4. “The Second Son” is currently his only known sibling.

5. (Finally a sim with a presumed birthday XD) Osiris is a Capricorn, “born” on January 7th 1988 for human records. From what I see about Capricorns, it seems to fit him. Ambitious, intelligent and calculating, Osiris is very well organized and disciplined. He is reserved and patient and extremely hard-working but can be very cold, brutal and unforgiving when angered. He’s also something of a perfectionist and expects the best of anyone who he works with (and those who work for him). He does not like being disappointed when expectations are set high and has the confidence and cleverness of an attractive, successful, businessman.

6. Osiris has studied at various universities and schools over the years. His favorite subjects are math and science. Like the hardcore stuff. Advanced Calculus, Physics, Biology, Chemistry and of course Alchemy and Magics of all kinds.

7. …..Hmmm not sure how into movies he would be. He’s more of a book reader.

8. Google? He IS google xD. A living dictionary of world history lol But I’d say maybe all he’s googled recently is something like “What is spongebob?” because of all these new dumbass Spongebob memes xD

9. Osiris is inspired by his need to further and surpass the boundaries of human science and physical limitations. He’s always looking for a way to make things better. He feels like since he has to share this planet with lower beings he might as well try to make it tolerable.

10. The Bible is a favorite book of his. Not because believes in it but because he finds it an amusing read. Like “Lol I was there when they crucified Jesus and that’s not how the story went.”

11. His hobbies consist of studying to further the progress of Nilotic Energy (his company), reading in general, collecting historical relics for preservation, creating and cataloging new magic and spells. He also likes cooking. Even though he doesn’t have to eat, he enjoys the art and skill that goes along with cooking and does it often.

13. I’m not sure how one does the enneagram thing but if anyone can explain it I can maybe choose something.

17. Well he doesn’t have to eat to sustain himself but usually he goes for the more homecooked or highclass meal kinda foods. He likes foods that people put actual work and skill into. He can literally taste the difference if you’ve put effort into your food or if you just warmed up some precooked stuff in a microwave. So in other words you probably won’t catch him eating at a greasy fast food place.

18. Does he prefer coffee, tea or cocoa? Surprisingly he likes them all. But teas are his favorite. He likes his coffees and teas in a very specific way.

19. Osiris’s handwriting is very neat and precise. The only time it looks off is when he’s just jotting down quicknotes for something but even then its always legible. He also almost exclusively writes in cursive.

20. Since there’s no original ask here’s a Random Fact: Smoking cigars is a bad habit he adopted during the 1800s. He’s adapted ingredients to suit his own, more non-human, preferences but he still likes certain human brands as well.

[tex-treasure-chamber]

F. Anderson & a vampire reader that kept their faith (this is Christian oriented, mind, for maximum angst)

G!n reader and relationship unclear; I used humour throughout because some of this can feel a bit well hurtful reading, even for me writing it jdjdjd

@tokoyamisstuff here is the post I said I'd make! I hope it helps satisfy those asking for this sort of HC post!

At first, you are an enigma.

No, not an enigma- you're not real to Alexander in the beginning; to him, you simply shouldn't exist (and not just because you're an 'abomination').

You defy his core belief system so succinctly, so precisely, that the moment you mention that you're a Christian (or heaven forbid, Catholic-- he'd prefer it if you were some 'dirty Protestant' than Catholic) he automatically thinks you're lying just to upset him.

I'm so sorry honey but he becomes a total neckbeard about religion toward you for a while :/

I'm talking, "Oh really? Name five parables, explain their meanings, tell me which books they're in, and recite them verse by verse then if you're a PROPER TRUE Christian...... Go on. I'm waiting." about Christianity toward you because you can't be a Christian, you're a bloody vampire! Act like it, damn it!

When you rightly call him out on his awful gaslight girlboss gatekeep behaviour he gets hellllllllllllllla defensive about it. Shuts down and just starts trying to (unsuccessfully) kill you again until taking his leave with a scowl. (Why are you so hard to kill anyway?)

He doesn't care if you didn't choose to be a vampire or if you did- not at this time, anyway. You're damned as far as he's concerned and he doesn't care (yet)

Each time you meet afterwards for the longest time, he calls you a false worshipper either to your face or inside his mind.

Also, each time you just smile that close lipped smile, politely hiding your fangs, telling him you forgive him for his hostility in that genteel tone, each time you 'turn the other cheek' and don't rise to the bait he tries to ensare you with to argue with you, the sight of it eats him up inside that much more.

He wants you to get angry-- no. He NEEDS you to get angry at him, needs you to lash out, to prove to him that you aren't as saintly as he thinks you're pretending to be. When you don't, when you just escape him, it leaves him feeling so hollow and confused inside.

'What's real? Surely Y/N isn't a real believer- how can they be?' He thinks when he should be sleeping, 'It's impossible- vampires are beyond salvation, aren't they? God has no love for creatures such as these, isn't that right? Surely I'm right, surely God--'

Wait. Is he ....? Trying to speak for God?

He closes his eyes. Goes to sleep.

It's not until you've managed to earn his respect just by being the you that you are that he even begins to consider that MAYBE.... you're telling the truth.

The implications that you even might be telling the truth only send Alexander deeper into a spiral of confusion as your very existence forces him to reevaluate what he knows of his own God vs what Iscariot has drilled into his head for years.

When he catches you praying on his behalf, praying to God and asking that He 'forgive Father Anderson' for his behaviour toward you..... that's when the change in his heart begins to start.

How could he cling onto the doubt fueled by his innate hatred of vampires when he's heard you ask God to forgive him?

It slips out of his hands slowly but surely like sand from the beach.

The next time you see him, he's... he's quieter. He doesn't stand as tall; he hunches in just a little as though trying to get a better look at you.

"Why do you still believe in a God who has forsaken you?" He asks, the usual contempt and arrogance in his voice snuffed out, replaced with only meek wonder.

There are so many ways to answer that; whatever way you do answer, it only leaves Alexander a little awestruck by you.

He asks for forgiveness. Truly asks. "Y/N, I... I'm sorry. Sorry for the way I treated you. Sorry for what I've said, what I've called you." he says, and it's clear from the slow, careful way he speaks that this is all a bit rusty on his tongue but he means every syllable.

Your forgiveness feels like a stifling blanket- it's too much; he doesn't deserve it. He knows he doesn't. He's already gotten to the point of thinking about how if the roles were reversed, he wouldn't handle the behaviour he had shown you with such kindness, such... grace.

From that moment on, he's there for you. He can't imagine the psychological stress of being a vampire and a person of faith might do to you, can't imagine the struggle you face daily with knowing what you are vs knowing what you believe in.

He knows what it's like to struggle with being oneself.

If you didn't choose to be a vampire, he reminds you gently that it's not your fault that you crave blood; it's who you are now, but it isn't who you have to always be.

If you did choose to be a vampire, you must have your reasons. He may not agree or accept them, but he quietly respects them because at the end of the day, your salvation or damnation isn't up to him and he understands that now.

When you express doubt that you'll ever get to Heaven, or that you'll ever see God's face because of your vampirism, he just reminds you that the fact you keep trying every day to be good and do good despite your vampiric condition should be enough to earn yourself sainthood.

It's not easy for you.

But it makes it easier now that he knows and supports you.

[tex-treasure-chamber]

During the Blitzkrieg

Pairing: Santana Sangreal x Alexander Anderson

Words: ~1,761

Summary: a little teasing on Santana's end just after F. Anderson & co. rescue Sir Integra before the show's events pick back up again

Sir Integra shrunk back in equal parts fear and self preservation as she looked up into the shadowy, smiling face of Father Alexander Anderson, his eyes unseen behind the round, reflective glasses he wore, shining like sharp curved edges of scythes. Despite the fact he had saved her, looking at him felt like looking at two glowing warning signs- make a single wrong move and she was sure he'd strike. Even the nazi vampires, armed as they were with their assault rifles, remained frozen in horror-struck recognition at the mere sight of him.

She half-listened to him as he defended his actions to the protests coming of the fabled Section XIII, his words of only wanting to preserve Hellsing to "inevitably destroy it" because "it was for Iscariot alone to destroy" feeling like a trillion little needles embedding into her skin and while she normally wouldn't care, the bombings had left her feeling just… a tad shaken but it only took a second for her cool, unbothered mask to slip back onto her face. She'd spent years facing men bigger, older, and sometimes more politically powerful than herself, always coming out as the winner in the games and wars they waged with her and Maxwell would be no different- Father Anderson was just his crazed Knight on the board. If he wanted to protect her, so be it- it only served her in the long run.

As he babbled on, Sir Integra paid notice in just how many iscariot priests were in attendance- there wasn't a doubt in her mind that she'd survive this ordeal and when she did, this knowledge would come in quite handy. It was while she was scanning the crowd when she spotted a familiar face emerge undetected from the shadows upon one of the roofs adjacent to the one where the army of iscariot priests stood.

She smirked.

"What do you have to be smirkin' about?" Father Anderson demanded sharply, cutting himself off from his own monologuing to glare down at her like she were a bug that was just a wee bit too close to his shoes for him not to stomp on.

Sir Integra smirked a bit more. "It's just so nice to see an old mate." She replied calmly.

Father Anderson sneered. "I'm not your bloody mate, you Protes-"

"Nosiree y'ain't, but I am! C'mon 'n' catch me, tall blond and handsome! Yeeeeehaaaw!" A sweet southern voice called out from behind him, way up high.

Father Anderson whirled around at the all too familiar, haunting voice and before he could think better of it he held his arms out just in time for Santana to fall into his arms princess bridal style and wrap hers around his neck.

"Muchísimas gracias, Handsome," Santana cooed with a dimpled grin on her tanned face. Before he could say or do anything, she swiftly leaned in and nuzzled his scarred cheek with her nose before jumping out of his arms to do a cartwheel and land just beside Sir Integra with a big smile for such a small person.

Pregnant silence enveloped the attentive crowd and standing in the middle of it was Father Anderson, statue still, his lips twitching in a stuttering hesitation between what looked to be a grimace and a grin, blushing from his neck to the roots of hair.

"Right," Father Anderson said and that was all he apparently had to say before he promptly turned to his team. "Okay you lot; now answer me this! Who are we?"

Finally, someone from the iscariot organization blurted, "Wait, wasn't that a vampire?"

Another one fired back indignantly, "Si! That is!"

One made a grab at their sword. "Don't worry! I'll destroy her for defiling you with her vile touch, Father Anderson!"

"NO!" Father Anderson bellowed, glaring at his crew with an almost wicked stare, "She's mine! I'll take care of that one, alright?" He pointed a large gloved finger at the crowd, "Don't any of yous try to fight her!"

Santana leaned over to Sir Integra, eyes upturned, her lips stretched into a fangless grin. "Did you hear that? He said I'm his!" She drawled loudly, loud enough for Father Anderson and his squadron as well as even the nazi vampires to hear if Father Anderson's flinch was anything to go by, "That he was going to take care of little ol' me!"

Sir Integra scoffed softly. "He meant you're his target to kill, Santana." She deadpanned but there was a twinkle of amusement in her eyes nonetheless.

Santana shook her head, hand grabbing her cross like clutching at pearls, too busy having fun with this game to quit just yet.

"What an honor." She sighed wistfully with a small dimpled smirk, "Alucard will be sooooooo jealous when he hears about it. When do you think he'll be back?"

Sir Integra sighed. "Who knows…"

"You traitor! How could you take their side? You should be fighting alongside us! Your own kind!" Cried a voice from behind them.

Santana turned to narrow her eyes at the group of nazi vampires and in a second, she released one of her favorite guns from its holster and aimed it at the forehead of the leader of the group, the one who had spoken. From his vantage point, Father Anderson could read the inscription on the barrel:

Matthew 5:9

Instantly, the verse came to Father Anderson's mind: 'Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.' He would have laughed at the beautiful, poetic irony of it but held his tongue as he saw the unadulterated look of rage on her normally sweet face and tried not to think about how much he liked it.

"I and I alone choose who I'm loyal to," Santana hissed, her voice cutting through the air like a sudden all-encompassing frost, "and I ain't never nor will I ever side with delusional, racist trash like y'all. Have fun rotting in Hell." She then squeezed the trigger and in a flash, the soldier's head exploded and he turned into nothing more than white ash as the holy bullet ripped through him and sliced through the person behind him, too.

After that, the battle began. Sir Integra ducked away into the safety of the car with gritted teeth as she watched Father Anderson call out to his reinforcements with a series of back and forth chanting and like a wave, they descended on the Nazis in flashes of swords and other deadly weapons. After the members of section XIII came into the fray, Santana switched from offense to defense, hopping along at inhuman speeds to redirect and reflect otherwise fatal gunfire from the enemy and all the while, she laughed and yeehawd like a drunken cowboy much to Sir Integra's amusement. Sir Integra, watching her protect not just herself but the members of the organization that wanted to destroy her own, couldn't help but smile- Santana had told her long ago that she would protect humans in her own way and now, here she was, doing just that.

Father Anderson didn't pay her or Santana much attention, his focus understandably elsewhere altogether as he sliced and stabbed his way through vampire after vampire but when he happened to see Santana catch a bullet meant for one of his comrades between two fingers and viciously fling it back like a dart at the vampire that had shot it, slicing clean through the abomination's neck, he couldn't help but make a mental note of it before refocusing his attention on the next body to dismember. As much as Iscariot taught him about these killings being nothing short of a sacred, holy act of righteous purging, a serious act of divine intervention, he couldn't help but… well. Have f u n.

Santana moved like a gymnast and dancer all in one as she dodged, weaved, cartwheeled, and shot in deadly precision, her crème shirt blooming more and more with blood that was probably hers but mainly the enemy's. She didn't flinch as she felt a bullet rip through her upper arm and turned around on a dime to thrust her hand, suddenly adorned with thick, sharp claws, straight into the chest of a Nazi soldier and rip his bloody heart out of his chest. She didn't look at it; she simply threw it to the ground and stomped on it with the heel of her steel toed cowboy boot before moving on to the next enemy, her normally heavy lidded eyes wide and searching, her lips parted in a sadistic, gleefully serrated smile. Her hand, slick with blood, remained as a claw as she scanned the crowd to find yet another beating heart to rip out, her other hand outstretched and holding one of her precious revolvers to continue to defend the humans she could.

At some point, she morphed her clawed hand back to normal and wiped her hands with a handkerchief. Not five minutes later she ran out of bullets and couldn't be bothered to reload nor did she particularly feel like pulling out her other gun, at least not yet. Inspired by the swords and spears she saw many of the members of Section XIII using, she secured her gun in its holster and from the inside of her trench coat she retrieved a long, solid black baseball bat made of polypropylene- a material strong enough to withstand the force she used to bash in heads and also allow her to grip it snugly in her small hands. On its side was the word "FINIS" in big, bold letters and it didn't take long before she began bashing in kneecaps and skulls.

"Hey batter, batter, swING!" Santana exclaimed giddily before swinging hard and slamming it against the back of the head of a distracted soldier. His helmet gave way like tissue paper under the extreme force and his skull exploded on impact, scattering brain matter everywhere as what little remained of his head flopped pitifully where it still connected ever so slightly to his now exposed spinal column. As he dropped to the floor, Santana whirled around and slammed the front of her bat into another soldier's stomach with a satisfying crunch before quickly pulling it back in to deliver an uppercut blow while he was bent over in pain. The man's baby vampire teeth shattered and crumbled like chalk in an instant, along with his jaw. Santana watched his eyes bulge out of their sockets with detached interest before slamming the bat into the side of his face, crushing whatever remained.

Well. One more down, who knows how many more to go. Maybe she'd aim lower next time, just around the neck, to try and hit a home run- it would make a funny sight, and probably scare a few of their enemies to boot. Santana glanced around with a crooked, fanged smile- now then...

Who else wanted to play?

[tex-treasure-chamber]

Santana Sangreal & Seras Victoria

Similarities

[tex-treasure-chamber]

🦇~ ♱ ACT II ♱ ~🦇

FT. Santana Sangreal & F. Alexander Anderson

⚔ CONVERGENCE ⚔

SEE ALSO:

ACT I: FIRST CONTACT

ACT III: SURRENDER

[tex-treasure-chamber]

Title: At the Art Gallery

Pairing: Santana x Alexander

Words: 4,371

Summary: Santana, visiting the London art museum, unexpectedly comes across a lost child and ends up stumbling across a piece of art not listed in the museum's directory.

At The Art Gallery

Santana gazed at the giant painting of an impressionist landscape hung on the gallery wall, her unnerving lack of blinking concealed from behind a pair of sunglasses. She stood leaning just slightly back, her arms folded across her chest as she quietly marveled over the minute brush strokes still raised ever so slightly from the extremely old canvas. She didn't need to stand so close to see all the minute details- she could've easily stood ten, fifteen, even twenty feet away and still see everything just as crisply but there was something about standing in front of a giant, looming masterpiece, right in front of it, that made Santana feel close to God.

She had just closed her eyes to pray when the sound of a small, rapid heartbeat and quiet whimpers of distress immediately snapped her out of her worshipful reverie and with narrowed, searching eyes she turned and scanned the room quickly before zeroing in on the tiny figure of a teary-faced dark haired boy, no older than perhaps four years old, if that. He was wearing a deep green shirt with a dinosaur on it, denim shorts, and yellow sneakers. His olive complexion was ruddy and blotchy around his chubby cheeks as he stood still, wringing his hands and looking around. Santana paused for a second but when a cursory sweep of the other adults in the gallery proved nobody was paying attention to the child, she quickly made her way over and, after pushing her shades up onto the top of her head, knelt down on one knee in front of him with a small smile.

"Howdy there pardner," she drawled softly, "are you lost?"

The little boy pulled his hands away from his face, revealing red-rimmed, verdant eyes. He nodded.

"I'm so sorry," Santana offered softly. "My name is Santana; I can help. What's your name?"

"um, Matteo." He mumbled as he wiped away yet another tear.

Santana cocked her head at the italian accent and resolved to speak slower since she didn't really know any Italian and wasn't sure how much English he knew. "Who did you come with, Matteo?"

Matteo's bottom lip quivered. "The Fahser. Broshers and sisters."

Santana nodded although she couldn't help but notice the way he said "the father" and not "my father"- it was probably a translation thing. She was just grateful he spoke coherent enough English. "Okay, your father. What does he look like?"

For a moment, a sunny disposition overtook the little boy's gloomy demeanor. He smiled up at her, green eyes twinkling. "The Fahser big! Soooooo big!" He said proudly, "And! And strong!" He grabbed the front of his shirt, "Like dino!"

"Like dino?" Santana indulged, "Can you show me what dino is like? What does dino say?"

Matteo held his hands up in front of him like claws and offered a little "rawr" that nearly sent her to her knees with how cute it was.

Santana grinned a fangless grin. "Woooow! Your father is so strong!" She drawled, and Matteo, now thoroughly distracted from his fear of being lost by this kind stranger willing to listen to him talk about who was clearly his favorite person, nodded and beamed at her, his tear streaks drying slowly but surely.

"Mhm! And! And ah–um, kind!" Matteo added eagerly. "So nice! He reads to me! I colour picture for him and he loves it! He puts on the wall!"

"How lovely! Matteo, what colour is his hair?" She asked, taking a lock of her own hair and pointing at his hair before pointing at the lock of hair in her hand, "Is it like yours and mine? Dark?"

Matteo shook his head.

Santana pointed to his yellow sneakers. "What about like this? Light?"

The little boy blinked and looked down at his shoes and after a second, nodded with a smile. "Yes! Yellow!"

Relieved to get a solid answer, Santana stood up and offered her hand.

"Would you like to hold hands while we find your father?" She asked. She was wearing gloves, which she knew may either be a fun or awful sensory experience for the child- she really hoped for the former since her hands were cold.

Matteo took her hand after a moment of staring at it before tilting his head up to gaze at her fondly. "The Fahser wears these, too!" He said as he shook her hand in his before pointing at her head, "and those! But…" he squinted, "not those. Not…" he squinted some more before a light switched on in his green eyes as he proudly said, "not dark."

Santana touched her sunglasses. She wore them out of habit more than disguise- her eyes had been very dark when she was human and now, as a vampire, they looked like dark wine or dried blood, easily passable to most humans as "normal enough" not to really notice unless they got close enough and nobody ever did.

"Oh? Really? He wears glasses? To see?" Santana clarified, pointing at her own eyes with her free hand.

Matteo nodded before saying severely, "He um, he no eat his carrots."

Santana withheld a laugh. "Oh no…" she said, "but you eat your carrots, right Matteo?"

"Yes! The Fahser says I need to and I do and I like them!" Matteo puffed his chest out.

"Very good, Matteo! Your father must be so proud of you!" She enthused sweetly.

Matteo, glancing around at all the pretty pictures, stopped in front of one as they passed by hand-in-hand and tugged gently. When Santana paused and looked down from her searching, he pointed to the picture.

Santana looked up to see a painting of a stormy sea, a schooner tossing about with billowing sails in the moody lighting. She glanced back down at Matteo as he tugged on her hand again.

"Yes?"

Matteo furrowed his brow. "San–ta?"

She melted, just a little. "Saint. Can you say 'Saint'?"

Matteo beamed. He knew that word! "Saint!"

Santana giggled, "Yes, Matteo?"

"Pick me up?" He asked, eyes wide.

Santana raised a brow. He sure was getting sidetracked from the mission here, wasn't he? Well, this was much better than him still crying. He was very little, even little for his age, so she could understand him getting distracted and anyway, perhaps if she picked him up they could more easily search for his father or better, his father could more easily see him.

Santana bent at the waist to look him in the eyes. "Can you say 'please pick me up'?"

He reached up toward her with arms outstretched. "Please pick me up?"

"Okay, since you said 'please'." Santana said. Once he was settled in her arms and against her hip, he seemed to understand he had better view of the paintings around them and began to babble about what he saw.

"Big boat!" He exclaimed, pointing at the painting, "Big!"

"Big like father?" Santana asked, determined to keep him on track.

"Mhm! But the Fahser bigger!"

She highly doubted that. Santana began to walk slowly. "Matteo, look at me, please." She said after walking a few feet. When he looked at her, she smiled and asked, "What colour is your father's shirt?"

Matteo, now looking down at her shirt and vest at the mention of shirts, zeroed in and picked up her bronze tinted cross necklace. He beamed as he held it before finally blurting, "The Fahser has this!"

"That's very nice, Matteo," she said patiently, "Now, what colour is your father's shirt?"

He pointed to her black vest. "Black!"

"Okay, very good! Black!" Santana said, "How about we look for your father now?"

At the mention of his father, Matteo looked up from her necklace but did not let go of it. Oh well- if it broke, Santana could always just fix it, she wasn't really worried. She carried him around, eyes sharp for a distressed bespectacled blond man in a black shirt. As they looked, or more accurately, as Santana looked, Matteo continued to look at the paintings and babble on about what he saw in them, Santana listening and even asking him questions about what he saw. His delicate pulse, still fast as was common for his age, sounded significantly calmer now that he was distracted and the sound of it echoed pleasantly in her mind with each and every step, her heart full in knowing that he was calm because of her.

It wasn't the meditative afternoon she had planned, not by a long shot, but even so, she took great joy and comfort in knowing she had been the one who found little Matteo and felt positive, based on the working description he'd given her, that she'd reunite the boy with his father. She could only imagine the amount of fear and stress the man must be feeling, not knowing where Matteo was, and although this wasn't originally in her plans she still found herself feeling close to God if not more so now with the babbling, calm boy in her arms than she had earlier in front of the paintings. As she walked, she said a silent prayer asking God to please help her reunite Matteo with his family and thanking Him for letting her be an instrument in His hands to return the child safely.

Nearly ten minutes into Matteo looking around and babbling, the boy looked around once again from the painting they were standing in front of to find another to steer Santana toward when he excitedly patted her shoulder and exclaimed, "The Fahser! The Fahser!"

Santana whirled around on the spot, relief flooding through her only for her to freeze, her eyes wide as she spotted Father Alexander Anderson, his massive shoulders heaving and hands shaking from what looked like clear exertion of self-control; evidently, he'd been running. He looked flushed with exertion underneath the somewhat fluorescent lights above, his verdant eyes wide and absolutely wild behind his round spectacles as he glanced jerkily around the room, clearly on a mission of some sort, before finally landing his attention on her.

Santana's heart skipped a beat as they locked eyes but for the life of her she couldn't tell if it was from fear or her flustered excitement to see the handsome vampire slayer so unexpectedly- either way, she involuntarily held Matteo just a bit tighter.

Matteo, blissfully ignorant, grinned and pointed at him. "The Fahser! The Fahser! Hi! Hi! Look!" He waved at Father Anderson, "My new friend! Hi! Come look! Hi!"

"Oh Matteo," she breathed as she watched the man who'd sworn to destroy her friends march up to her in smooth, long strides, his eyes unblinking and sharp, "so this is who you were talking about."

Alexander, standing well over 6 ft, easily loomed over Santana who only stood at a measly 5ft. She was a flea to him, and just as annoying. He clenched his jaw tightly as he offered a sweet smile to Matteo, both relieved and feeling mad with worry and confusion. He stiffly bent down at the waist a little to look the boy in the eyes and Santana, unafraid if not very flustered at his proximity, stared at him even as he forced his gaze away to regard the boy in her arms.

"So this is where you ran off to!" He exclaimed softly in that musical Scottish brogue of his, "You scared me half to death, Matteo; what did I tell you about-"

"This is Saint!" Matteo blurted, patting one hand on Santana's shoulder. "She helped me!"

Alexander cut his eyes up to stare into Santana's and then narrowed them into slits. He was so used to Alucard's unnatural pale red eyes that he'd forgotten exactly what hers had looked like. She stared back at him unflinchingly with a small curl of a smile, eyes wide and twinkling and swirling with a mix of emotions like two glasses of intoxicating, dark wine. Out of all the people who could've come along and found the wee tyke, it just had to be her, didn't it? Her and her dark eyes and devilishly sweet manners! What kind of nickname was 'Saint' for a creature like her? Oh, part of him knew, a very quiet part of him, one somewhat easy to ignore so he did just that, knowing it would haunt him later when he tried to sleep.

"Oh did she now?" He asked, his voice strained, eyes still locked on Santana.

"Mhm! We look at pictures and she ask questions about you like what color your hair is!" Matteo said before glancing up at Santana, "Right, Saint?"

Santana broke their staring contest to smile a warm yet closed-lipped smile down at him, still in her arms. She knew Father Anderson would want her to set him down at some point very soon but until then, she was just a teensy bit reluctant to let go- it would simply have to be up to Father Anderson or the boy, whichever asked first.

"That's…. nice," Alexander said slowly, stunned at the genuine look of warmth and tenderness in the crinkle of Santana's eyes and her smile as she looked down at Matteo. She looked at him like… like a moth–He felt a blush crawl up his neck and shook himself after a moment, resolved not to board that train of thought, at least not right now, and took yet another moment to look Matteo over. He looked… well. He looked perfectly fine, in all truth. Not a scratch on him. Not a hair out of place, thank God.

He lifted his hands up toward the boy. "C'mon then," he crooned, "why don't you come with me and we'll join your brothers and sisters, alright? They're all waiting for you with Father Michael. C'mon, away we go-"

Matteo leaned away and into Santana's embrace with a pout before resting his head under her chin. "Can Saint come?" He asked softly.

Alexander froze, his sweet smile cracking just a fraction. He pushed his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose and shook his head. "Ah- er, n…no, laddie-"

"Why?" Matteo demanded, dark brows furrowed.

Alexander locked eyes with Santana who at least had the decency to look sheepish. "Weeeeell," he drawled, clutching at straws, clutching for a way to word things, transfixed with the way she simply stared back at him, her and those damned dark eyes. "er, you… yous see…"

"Matteo, look at me, please." Santana said gently as she tilted her head to the side.

Matteo stopped scowling and picked his head up off her shoulder to do as she asked. Santana smiled softly as she gazed at his sweet face, his dark, curly hair and green eyes so endearing but as much as it pained her, he was not hers to adore.

"It was so nice to meet you but we found your caretaker and he was so worried about you," Santana said sweetly before nodding at Alexander, "just look- weren't you so worried, Father?"

Matteo swiveled his head around just in time to watch Alexander's massive shoulders drop and his smile soften and wobble a little. "I was… so worried." He murmured, "so, so worried, I was praying I'd find you."

Before Matteo could say anything, Santana shifted him slightly, her chest fluttering a bit too much at the paternal concern in Father Anderson's voice. "Whaddya say pardner?" She crooned in a low, sweet voice, her southern drawl like honey and sunshine in Matteo's and Alexander's minds, "Why don't you let the Father hold you? He missed you so much, will you do that? Or do you want to get down so you can hug him? Hmmm? You missed him too, didn't you? Why don't you show him?"

Finally, Matteo reconsidered and leaned toward him and with a grateful, relieved sigh Alexander picked him up out of Santana's arms and cradled him to his broad chest with ease.

'Stars above,' Santana thought idly as she studied the gentle way he cradled the boy to him and how he softly gazed at Matteo, 'how I wish that was me.' Even as she thought it, she couldn't help but simply melt at seeing Matteo so happy to have found "the Fahser".

Alexander pulled his attention away from the boy, now safe, to stare at the creature who had sheltered him despite every instinct she should have had to do the opposite, at least according to his vampiric lessons within the many classrooms of Iscariot. He was considering his next move when Matteo suddenly leaned forward again and, with an outstretched hand, reached over and picked up Santana's cross necklace.

Santana, feeling the chain tense and desperately not wanting it to break even though she knew she could simply have it fixed, stepped forward until her face was practically in Alexander's chest. "Ah- no, no, Matteo-" she chided in a somewhat squeaky, stuttering voice, "let go-"

"Please come with us?" Matteo entreated.

Santana tilted her head back and Alexander froze at the desperate, flustered look on her face and resolutely ignored the way it made his heart kick in his chest with urgency to do something about it.

"Pleaaaaaaase?" Matteo pressed, knowing that Santana liked that word.

Santana frowned apologetically. She thought about trying to gently pry his hand away but sincerely doubted Alexander would want her to touch Matteo now that he was in his arms so she kept her hands at her sides. "Matteo, the Father-"

Alexander sighed tiredly. "Alright, she can come with us," he relented before adding sternly, "but only to say goodbye to you, alright? We have a bus to catch. Alright? Now let go of the chain."

Pleased, Matteo immediately let go and smiled at Santana with an outstretched hand, his attention fully on her. Santana flicked her eyes up at Alexander and when she didn't see him shake his head or narrow his eyes, she accepted the boy's hand. It was a short walk but all the same, Matteo babbled about the paintings he and 'Saint' saw and all the while, Alexander cooed and nodded, not taking his eyes off Santana or her hand. Sure enough, as they rounded the corner, Santana saw a gaggle of children, approximately five between the ages of 7-10, all waiting with another Priest– obviously Father Michael.

Before Alexander could set him down, Matteo leaned forward once more toward Santana and hugged her.

"Thank you!" He said, "I had fun!"

Santana sighed, eyes closed as she savoured this last tender moment with the sweet child, her heart already aching at the thought of letting him go. "Please stay with the Father better from now on, okay?" She requested gently.

"Okay!" He chirped. Once Alexander set him down he took off running to reunite with the other children, all of them excited and bouncing around as Father Michael tried to calm them down.

Now alone and with Father Michael occupied and thus not a threat, Santana turned to Alexander with wide eyes.

"Aye? What is it?" Alexander asked warily.

"You were watching all of them with a companion and y'all still lost one?" Santana blurted.

Alexander sighed. He knew this question would come but it didn't make hearing it any easier. "Aye, but really, we had it all under control until-"

"Dadgum it, Alexander," Santana hissed softly, "it's a blessing I was there."

He worked his jaw as before snarking, "Will miracles never cease? The friend of my enemy, snatching up my wee boy." His expression turned murderous suddenly and he leaned in before adding in a low, challenging tone, "Tell me, and tell me the truth; did you like his pulse? Did his precious, pure blood sing to you? Was it music to your-"

"Don't," She whispered through clenched teeth, her voice hard and razor sharp like one of his many swords and spears, like her fangs begging for retaliation. She glared at him, eyes flashing unnaturally vibrant red in the overhead lights as her eyes widened in her vehemence. Before he could think to retort or even retreat, she stepped right into his space and stood up on her tiptoes, their faces close as he remained bent at the waist, her hands shaking but remaining at her sides as she continued in a low, dark hiss.

"Don't you dare speak to me that way about a child, Alexander Anderson, don't you ever dare again or I'll rip your lungs right out of your chest and wait till they regrow to do it again, do you hear me?" Her eyes flashed as she dared him to say something snarky, to dismiss her, "Do you? Tell me you do, right now."

Alexander didn't speak- he couldn't speak. He didn't move away, either. He stared and stared until he only saw the truth of the matter which was that he'd deeply offended her; she was genuinely angry with him and it struck him, quite forcefully, that until now, he'd never seen her that way before and he never wanted to either ever again.

"Aye, I do." He breathed.

"Listen well; I forgive you for wanting to destroy Hellsing, for wanting to kill my dear friends, for hating me, but know this: I will never forgive you for what you've said if you ever repeat something of the sort to me again," Santana growled, "now, you owe me a sincere apology if you'd like to remain as civil as we have been."

Her anger washed over him in heatwaves. It was astonishing, the depth and intensity of it, feeling it directed toward himself when he was so used to her flirtatious banter and southern, earnest manners. Comparing the two, he sorely missed the latter.

He took a subtly deep breath. "I'm— I'm sorry, Santana. Really, I am…" he uttered, staring deep into those troublesome eyes of hers, "Forgive me."

Santana squared him with a long, pointed look. "I forgive you, Alexander, once and only once. I know you don't want to hear it, but as much as you think I'm an abomination, you were so dadgum blessed it was me who found the boy and not a disgusting human predator." She said quietly and unapologetically, not stopping even as she saw him flinch slightly, "I advise you to travel with three Fathers next time you come into London. I'd offer my help but clearly, it wouldn't be wanted." Before he could say a word, Santana turned away and walked back into the gallery but not before waving goodbye at the children as Matteo called out to her and as she left, she left with a smile on her face for the children, her other hand hidden away from their view and clenched into a tight fist.

Alexander watched her leave, his head swimming. Her blunt allusion to what could've easily happened if she hadn't found Matteo had him tasting sharp, acrid bile in the back of his throat and it took him a second to reorient himself with reality, his stomach churning and lungs shuddering with a genuine fear he hadn't felt in quite a while. Matteo had been safe with Santana- Lord above, she could've easily snatched him herself if she had wanted to, if she were anything but the type of person she was and oh! He'd insulted her! And what's worse, he couldn't help but think of if the tables were turned, couldn't help but realize that if someone had accused him of something similar, something as vile, that he would've felt the same amount of indignation and rage- he probably would've even stabbed the accuser where they stood yet Santana took it and didn't raise a hand to him- Lord knew she had the right to! He ran a hand through his hair; for the first time since meeting Santana, he felt anxious to see her again, unsure of what to expect from her behaviour now that he'd made such a catastrophic blunder.

There was a part of him that said it would be good if she grew to hate him, that it would make things easier, or that if she grew disinterested or indifferent to him that it would surely be a blessing but that same quiet, usually easily ignorable part of him that liked to fixate on her smile and eyes and kind, sweet demeanour was suddenly not so quiet anymore as he imagined her hatred, her indifference, and found to his surprise that the very thought of it felt like falling off a fifteen storey building and slamming into the concrete. He couldn't… He gazed at the children and shook his head– no time to speculate; he'd simply have to wait. He'd just have to let all thoughts of Santana haunt him when he tried to sleep; it wouldn't be the first time.

The children called out to him and gathered around him eagerly as he approached with a big, cheery smile on his face. With all accounted for, he and Father Michael herded them outside and into an awaiting bus to take them to the airport and on a private jet back to the Vatican. As soon as all the children were on the bus, Father Michael stopped him with an upraised hand.

"Who was that lady who found Matteo, Father Anderson?"

Father Anderson thought about telling the truth but when he opened his mouth, all he said was, "An angel, clearly." When Father Michael opened his mouth to inquire further, Alexander waved a hand at the bus and ignored the warmth in his chest as he said, "C'mon, Father Michael, get on the bus or we'll be late."

During the plane ride back, Matteo, sitting beside his beloved Father Anderson, asked, "Can Saint come visit?"

Alexander barely restrained himself from snorting. "Er, nooo, laddie; I think, uh, I think she's too busy."

Matteo pouted. "Ask her? Please?"

Like that would ever happen; even if Alexander wanted to, he knew his higher ups would shoot it down faster than a freshly spotted ghoul. "Eh… how about next time you go to London, you can see her? Hmmm?"

Matteo, satisfied and all too trusting with his tiny child logic, nodded and returned to his coloring book and Alexander, mentally exhausted, closed his eyes for a much needed power nap. If he dreamed of wine colored eyes and brass crosses, he didn't speak of it when he woke up.

[tex-treasure-chamber]

No thoughts-----Just when Alucard slips back into his original Vlad persona, lumbering and clad in armour, Santana appears, having slipped back into her original ancient form.

............ Gone are the lantern sleeves, the cowboy hat and boots, the coy bullet belts and six-shooters on both hips. Gone is Santana's 'closed eyes, cute smile' persona.

Now there is a creature here standing in a form fitting huipil tied with a sash, with heavy breast and waist armour, a cape, and a headdress adorned with brilliant turquoise quetzal feathers. She still only stands at 5ft 0in but somehow she feels taller than everyone. Her eyes are open, heavy-lidded and sensual, ever still that colour of intoxicating communion wine.

She has, strapped to one arm, a large round shield adorned with ancient symbols. In her other hand, she's holding what looks to be a long, formidable paddle, flanked on either side with thick, razor sharp rows of obsidian meant for shredding and ripping apart flesh from bone in one single blow.

Alexander, remembering his weapons training, recalls its name: macuahuitl. He's only seen them in books, but has never worked with one. Looking at it, he doesn't want to be on the wrong end of it either.

Seras Victoria, wide-eyed, stammers, "S-Santana? Is that you, mate?"

Anderson watches, too tongue-tied to say anything as this version of Santana, so different yet still the same face he's come to memorise in the most private of hours, looks up at Seras.

The severe, regal look on this ancient warrior's face softens. "Zyanya," this person who was once and is still Santana corrects softly. Gone is the southern drawl, replaced with something that sounds just as ancient as she looks. "My name... it was Zyanya first, before the colonisers bastardised it."

Seras blinks, eyes scanning Santana's---no, Zyanya's--- face. She can't help but realise this may very well be the first time she has spoken her own name in centuries to another soul. She smiles sweetly and offers a salute.

"Nice to finally make your acquaintance, Zyanya!" Seras greets cheerfully, all fanged dimpled grins and sparkling cherry red eyes.

Nobody sees Anderson flush- everyone is too busy focused on this new development. Seras is wrong. He knows this name- Santana had whispered it to him once before in places now sacred to him and since then, he'd whispered it back to her several times between acts of selfish indulgence too beautiful and raw to call sin. He knows this name... just not this side. Now that he's seeing it, he can't look away. She looks like one of those pagan goddesses he's supposed to want to destroy engraved images of but it's all he can do to stand up straight and not fall to his knees.

Zyanya smiles a slight if not sweet closed lipped smile at Seras............

[tex-treasure-chamber]

About Santana and Alexander

(Rediscovered this writing I did when explaining this ship to a friend and realised I never posted this here)

Really this ship is an existential crisis simulator game for Alexander and the prize is personal freedom ♡ (I wouldn't say he's shackled by Iscariot per say since he willfully serves them, but he is absolutely 100% shackled by his own bigotry and ignorance and Iscariot doesn't help).

Ugly laughing at Alexander pointing at his clerical collar, frustrated by Santana's flirtatious behaviour because of how much it affects him like "Does this not mean anything to you??????????"

and Santana just looks up into his eyes and answers, "Depends. What does it actually mean to you?"

Casual watchers will say that what Santana and Alexander have, it's a corruption storyline- demonic entity tempts priest and wins.

Boring.

Educated fans will say it is the opposite of corruption, that it is a redemption storyline.

Alexander may be a priest but he is already corrupted with bigotry, pride, bloodlust, and hatred in his heart. Santana doesn't corrupt him further---

even though yes, fans see him eventually take off the collar but it's not really a symbol of letting go of his faith!

--It's more a symbol of trust and removing barriers between himself and Santana in a very subtle yet obviously intimate way for he is not only removing it, he is also thus inherently baring his throat to her, this vampire, I'm going feral--

---Santana is the catalyst to Alexander seeking his own repentance.

In this essay I will

[tex-treasure-chamber]

🦇~ ♱ ACT I ♱ ~🦇

FT. Santana Sangreal & F. Alexander Anderson

⚔ FIRST CONTACT ⚔

See Also:

Act II: CONVERGENCE

Act III: SURRENDER

[tex-treasure-chamber]

Before bed doodle of Santana and Alucard having some *sibling bonding time 🥰

*in this case, it's killing other vampires. They also visit old folks homes together on their down time to volunteer to listen to old folks' stories and flirt with the old folks to make em' giggle and smile and feel as young as Santana and Alucard see them ♡

Definitely on my list to digitise someday ♡!

[tex-treasure-chamber]

[tex-treasure-chamber]

Alucard is the designated top shelf reacher that WILL put things up there ON PURPOSE just to piss off his little sister

[tex-treasure-chamber]

TEMPTATION

The priest can have a power trip. As a treat.

OG sketch below:

Really glad I went ahead and tweaked Anderson's grin more for the final, feels less stiff to me :> also so glad I remembered to add his crucifix although holy HECK why does the source material keep switching between silver and gold 😭

[tex-treasure-chamber]

🦇~ ♱ ACT III ♱ ~🦇

FT. Santana Sangreal & F. Alexander Anderson

⚔ SURRENDER ⚔

SEE ALSO:

ACT I: FIRST CONTACT

ACT II: CONVERGENCE

With Act Three now complete, this project comes to an end; the curtains close, the audience clears out, and these two star-crossed lovers are left to enjoy the respite...

Until next time, anyway.