As promised, and as part of our art trade, I drew @laberinto-perdido's favorite oc ship, Santaúd. This drawing beat my ass for a week (literally.. my ass is now a pancake after this.) Please enjoy..!
Since Bunny also requested a writing, and has been so kind as to provide writings of her own, I will add something here... for fun!
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Slight glimpses in between hallways or brief sightings from lancet windows were the shreds of evidence he was granted confirming the existence of Santiel. The man was busier than anyone else in the temple, constantly brisking from one assignment to the next with a small book in his hands and, despite his never-ending task list, a new pristine uniform that cloaked his tall stature. He vanished as quickly as he came, almost like a ghost in Ataúd’s peripheral vision.
The temple, and the realm of Cielo for that matter, was nothing more to Santiel than a short rest stop. His real work, and where the bulk of his time was spent, was in the lower realms. Those who noticed his absence, usually sighed in relief, allowing their shoulders to ease. Ataúd, however, felt a slight tinge of disappointment each time he received a visit from a familiar butterfly in the early morning, relaying him a message from its owner. His body was still aching from last night’s intense training, yet he sat up from his bed and offered his gloved hand to the butterfly to use as a perch.
‘Ataúd, I will be gone for the next few weeks. I hope your lessons are helpful, it seems they have you going through the training of a guardsman, afterall. Until we may meet again. - Santiel.’
The message was brief and to the point, devoid of the warmth that Santiel’s conversational tone would carry. Unfortunately, even a simple message like this was a risk, especially if the wrong person were to somehow intercept it. Still, Santiel took the risk anyway, insisting on sending Ataúd these messengers his way each time he was asked to leave.
Ataúd carefully walked towards his small window in his room and gently guided the butterfly towards a blooming flower he had been nursing. He looked out the window, hoping to catch sight of Santiel.
Since that fateful night Santiel dragged him out of that eternal fire, a quiet calmness had settled over Ataúd. The emotions which coiled and scorched through him, the ire Ataúd cultivated for what might have been an eternity, silently died without announcing their exit since their hands interlaced. Now, however, they were replaced by an even more intense and devastating emotion, one unfamiliar to Ataúd entirely.
He turned his back to the window and gathered his training uniform from the hanger. In his old burial, he relied primarily on his spiritual and metaphysical stamina to survive, yet since carving a place for himself in the foreign lands of Cielo, he had to rely on his physical prowess. Any evidence of the delicate, bubbling maña had to be concealed away. Truthfully, he despised his guardsman lessons, and wanted nothing more than to give up the act entirely.
The hope of one day being assigned to protect and stay near Santiel’s side, however, fueled his resolve to get on with the day.
