#{ so uhhhh here's your uhhhhh side of angst over here too while we're at it dfughudfh }

[aaetherius]

@shiningstages​ asked: 

“ i am alive and some days i think that must be enough for me ” ( from prunella, because feeling things is very nice but also potentially angst )

Poetry Prompts || Accepting (feel free to turn into threads)!

                                                             ★ ☆ ✮ ✯ ―☼ ― ★ ☆ ✮ ✯

   He tilts his chin downwards, gazing at the flawless, scab-free skin of his palms as he inhales against the scent of warm coffee, fresh tea, and columbines. His chest expands softly with the motion behind the armor he wears, and the pearly plumes that cover his wings dip against the stone and soil nestled around the quiet bench where they’re seated. The hustle and bustle of the town sings in the distance - the sound of calm footsteps and idle chatter as Skydwellers go about their day; the crew amongst them as they tackle the shopping list the Singularity had written up for them, or enjoy this brief moment of rest between missions by visiting local attractions. The two of them among the group, though having parted from them for the time being - the crowded nature of the marketplace a bit much for the both of them with Sandalphon and Amethyst both away on errands of their own. The cafe they’ve found themselves at is a small, family-owned one that is quiet, and with only a handful of other customers sat at the other outdoor tables around them. The polished wood beneath his knuckles is worn, and shows its age - there is water damage on the sides where the cream colored parasol bolted upright to the center fails to cover the entire thing. The legs of the chairs they sit on are uneven, and if his wings shift too much they screech, but the cafe itself has a peaceful air to it. It feels lived in, and well-loved. The sign on the door is covered in paint that has chipped with age, and the wooden panels of the building have speckles of moss growing on them. It suits the elderly woman who runs it - her cheeks filled with wrinkles from the countless smiles she’s given in her life, and she shuffles about with a soft hum as she unhurriedly serves those who cam in after them. Her gray hair pulled up into a bun with a flower sticking out of it, and her dress is much too long for her stature - the hem drags on the ground, but she never manages to stumble over it. He can tell the coffee and tea she had made for them was filled with passion for the art of brewing, and it had a delightful taste, even if he had only had about half of it thus far.  

      It’s not unlike the one he had pictured running or helping to run in his selfish dreams of the future. A wish he’s hold onto for thousands of years, and only just recently expressed. One day, perhaps, he might be like her - someone filled with a deep love for everything they do; someone capable of wearing a smile on their face through the many years they’ve endured, and someone living the life they’ve been given to its fullest. He admires her, strange as it might be for someone such as himself. He has little doubt she’s faced her own set of hardships in this life, but she’s content now; she radiates happiness in a manner that’s rare, even amongst Skydwellers. Right now, he’s not certain he’ll ever be like her. There are days when he believes he can be. When the sun is bright within the crystal blue skies he had watched over for millennia, and he’s woken up to the gentle sway of the ship with his wings folded nearly over Sandalphon; when he takes too long to get up in the morning because he doesn’t want to leave the comfort of the bed, and gives nonsensical excuses as to why he can’t move. When the night before is peaceful and quiet, and he’s slept more in a single day than he had in his entire existence until then. When the only thing that drags them out of that bed is the Singularity thrusting open the door, and pestering them until they’re making coffee in the cafe or he’s running mundane, household chores for them. Days when the world seems still, and nothing aches. There are other days, like today, where he doesn’t believe he can be anything like the elderly cafe owner who greets everyone with a sincere smile, and sits with the customers who come in alone to offer them compassionate words along with some company. When he had awaken in the middle of the night to the sound of banging windows and long shadows dancing across the walls. Where he had not slept, and the rims of his eyes are red from distress and concern. Days when he steps out of bed with a pained wince that he hides well from years of keeping his emotions caged within his heart, because the aches from wounds that no longer paint this new body of him are still there. He can hardly turn his head to the side - his neck resists the motion, and it feels stiff. His back aches where his wings meet flesh, and his side burns horribly where a blade had once pierced it. Days where it takes every once of willpower he harbors to simply smile softly at those he meets, and when his voice isn’t as strong or sturdy as he would like it to be when he tries to reassure both himself, and Sandalphon that he’s fine. Where this new body doesn’t feel quite right because it’s devoid of the scars and callouses and imperfections that had once composed him. Days like these where the world is spinning, and everything stings.   

     Days like these where he finds himself wondering if Lucilius would still be capable of looking at him with just how much he’s spiraled from grace. And her words strike a cord, his hands flexing gently where they rest against the table. Before the other archangels, before the numerous labs, and the countless buildings. Before the council had gotten involved, and before his dear friend had lost his way - it had just been the two of them, and Belial in that garden. One still wild and untamed with flowers and weeds and grass that spilled over every inch of the island - vines often tangling about Lucilius’s feet, and grass getting caught in his robes. He recalls the moments when he would have to help his creator up or wash his hair after he had managed to get himself covered in dirt after crawling around looking for a specific specimen to study as he would curiously loom over the other; absorbing everything there was to learn. Back then, being alive had been more than enough for him. Each day he had embraced with great ease, and a feverish desire to study everything and everyone. He had smiled often as he listened to Lucilius speak about complex theories and convoluted projects, and he had moved about the garden with little care to his appearance and mannerisms - the sky had not seemed so vast, and the purpose for which he had been created had not felt so heavy. At some point; however, he had forgotten that being alive had always been, and would always be enough. Now, slowly, it was a lesson he was relearning each day he spent with the crew, grateful for the second chance he had been given, and everything that had come with it. Even on the days when it was painful and difficult. “Yes, you are right,” he admits slowly; voice soft.

      He curls and uncurls his fingers one last before he looks over at her with a melancholic smile staining his smooth lips. Silver lashes flutter faintly against the bags beneath his eyes, and pearly locks sway gently in the breeze. They lack their typical luster - duller from the lack of sleep the night before. He had never needed such a thing prior to his revival, but this new body came with a handful of setbacks - that being one of them. “I had somehow managed to forget something so very simple somewhere along the line.” His gaze briefly turns to the elderly cafe owner where she’s now sat at one of the tables with a young woman, her expression warm as she listens to the stranger speak. When she catches his attention on her, she turns her head slightly to meet him with a comforting smile that he does his best to return before looking back over at Prunella. The motion alone is enough to make his neck feel sore, but he ignores it to the best of his ability. His hands moving, instead, to wrap about the delicate mug to allow the heat of the coffee within to warm his palms, and soothe his rampant thoughts. “Though I have trouble admitting admit...that might have been the first lesson he had ever taught to me.” There’s sorrow in his tone, one that brings his voice down a pitch lower than it usually is - a rarity for him. His feelings regarding his own creator remain conflicted, and he remains unaware of the horrors the Astral had put many of the other archangels through. Yet, even without that knowledge, what he feels is complicated, and he can’t scarcely begin to understand it when he’s only just allowed himself to express his emotions openly recently - or rather, he’s just beginning to learn how to from watching and interacting with the rest of the crew, as well as from his own desire to understand Sandalphon better this time around. “You have my thanks, Prunella, for reminding me of that.”