When Adam starts coughing, he figures it's only fair. He's been on a streak lately; getting Michael to show him the oceans when the first spinosaurus swam through them, beating the angel at draughts for the first time in a couple of years, building a decent tolerance for Lovecraftian matters so that when Michael's true form flashes before him his awe is more fond than terrified, the works. His shoulders shake with it and it's right as he realises he shouldn't be ill at all in the cage that it lands on his open palm. A small, golden petal the exact shade of Michael's wings.
When Adam starts coughing, he figures it's only fair. He's been on a streak lately; getting Michael to show him the oceans when the first spinosaurus swam through them, beating the angel at draughts for the first time in a couple of years, building a decent tolerance for Lovecraftian matters so that when Michael's true form flashes before him his awe is more fond than terrified, the works. For a man who went from ghoul dinner to undead orphan to angel hostage to permanent resident of Lucifer's cage, it's not bad, raelly. The cough persists, though, his shoulders shake with it and it's right as he realises he shouldn't be ill at all in the cage that he feels it land on his open palm.
When he uncovers his mouth to look at the offending object, his heart misses a beat. A small, golden petal the exact shade of Michael's wings. Son of a bitch. Motherfucker. Michael's taught him a few swearwords in enochian he could invoke as well, but it wouldn't change anything. Putting his book down with more calm than he feels, he slowly walks out of the house Michael built for him from his memories, through the garden and into the fantastic oldgrowth forest that expands interminably, or as long as Michael wants it. As he wants it. - He walks in light steps among a menagerie of wonders the archangel has created for him; a patch of magnolias that attract insects long extinct in the real world, a diminutive meadow inhabited only by a dozen glow worms flying in perfect spirals, termite mounds made of translucent soil, a salt water river with a stream that changes colour depending on which mineral he's decided to have bleed into it and now runs lilac. He stops at its banks with a sigh, lets the petal fall into the current and be dragged away. While that doesn't solve his problem, he feels better once it's disappeared into the rapids.
He also misses it immediately. It's as much a death sentence as tangible proof of his feelings. He toes off his shoes, rolls the cuffs of his jeans up and walks upstream in the water, ruminating his calamity until his heart aches and his brain goes numb, until he coughs up another golden petal. Suddenly angry at his own fate, he shoves it back in his mouth and tries to swallow. He regrets this in an instant, as his body seizes with nausea and he's spitting iit out a second time, followed by a coughing fit and three more petals. Great. As dejected as he feels, he's reached a decision. The only possible decision, really. He's not going to tell Michael. In the cage, he's not likely to die, and he's confident in his abiliity to hide it as long as he needs to.
Michael is as shocked by his cough as he was at first, and offers to 'take a look', but doesn't push once Adam turns him down. He knows the archangel still feels guilty about him being in the cage at all, about what Zachariah did to him, about many things Adam doesn't think he had much hand in, if he's honest. But that might just be his crush talking. He continues to pocket the petals and play the whole matter down, and as much as the worry in Michael's face weighs on him, it's something he can live with. He has an easier time with it once it's replaced by curiosity a few years later, as his cough doesn't get any worse or better. He knows Michael has questions but he also knows he won't press it. He realises it's not only not killing him, but also advancing rather slowly. After a decade, the petals have only grown in size, sometimes coming in pairs, when he shouldn't have made it past a year or two alive. By now, Michael has just accepted it as another human quirk of his, going as far as to tell him he thinks it's winsome in the way it reminds him of the human's mortality. He replays the comment in his mind a thousand times a day, and it cheers him up when he gets too miserable about his condition.
It all ends the first time he spits a flower out. They're examining Caravaggio's Death of the Virgin, and as he tells Michael about his art elective in college he starts hacking again. And doesn't stop. The angel's affectionate curiosity changes into concern as he moves closer to straighten him up and lay a hand on his chest. A shiver runs through his body, and then a pale gold aster bud lands on Michael's shirt and he can breath again, but he cannot bring himself to look at the angel. He looks instead at the flower hatefully as he normalises his breath. When Michael asks him to let him check him over, he's torn between guilt at refusing and gratefulness the angel doesn't understand what's happening. He smiles, fishes a handful of petals out of his pocket like it's the most natural thing and explains he was expecting it but isn't really worried. The puzzled look Michael gives him is so rueful he almost confesses everything, but instead turns back to the painting, asks something smart about Myriam.
He told Michael he'd just learn to cough around it when the angel didn't look like he was going to let go as easy this time, and he does. The archangel looked horrified at the perspective, crestfallen that he wouldn't accept his help or worried sick, but Adam manages. Even as the florets grow steadily in size and development, faster than he expected. It's one evening as they walk on the sea that Adam begins to cough, breaking the surface tension and losing his footing. With a stoic face,Michael holds him up above the waters, touches his fingers to his chest and has a perfect tatarian aster blossom land on his shoulder for his trouble. He doesn't ask Adam to let him help this time, and that makes it all the worse.
The archangel makes sure to stay by his side as much as he possibly can, as coughing up the flowers becomes more difficult and angelic intervention is required more often than not. A selfish, ugly part of Adam rejoices this, even as he hurts at the silent lament in his expression, but he cannot bring himself to do anything but try and hold onto the status quo. Until the soft golden petals come up tinted red with his blood. Michael reaches for his hand, knocking over half their go stones off the board. 'I know I don't deserve you trusting me with your body again, but this cannot continue.' His voice is low, tremulous and he swallows dry before continuing. 'You're hurting, Adam. Please, please let me help you.'
Adam squeezes his hand in his at that. The archangel doesn't believe he trusts him? Everything he's doing is for Michael, but he cannot bear to hear him this way, to think he'll go on feeling this way. 'Of course. Of course I trust you it's just- I don't trust my own body.'
Michael reaches into his jacket, pulls a golden flower out. Adam didn't know he was keeping them, but to be fair he's had plenty to distract him. 'It's not your body that's hurting you. It's this, whatever it is. Will you let me help?' Nodding yes is the easiest thing Adam's done in what feels like an eternity. The archangel's hands are light on his chest, the grace thrumming through them strong. His irises gleam with his grace and his expression is baffled. When he speaks, his voice is reverent. 'Your lungs. They're growing flowers. I think- I know I can uproot them...'
'No!' Uproot them? And lose every precious memory he has of the angel? Never. He'd rather die. If the thought was impossible when he started spitting petals, it's even worse now. They've grown so much closer since, he doesn't know losing all that wouldn't kill him either way. But Michael doesn't get this, he doesn't know. He looks ready to protest, but Adam threads on. 'You cannot, Michael, you don't know... We don't know what they are! They're pretty, besides.'
'They're harming you, that's what I know.' He takes his hands away to toy with the flower. 'I know humans aren't meant to have flowers in their lungs and you do, and matter how pretty, they're choking you.'
'But I don't mind. I like them because... I just like the way they remind me of you.' Michael's face fills with sorrow at this, but Adam is undeterred. 'Can you just- can you maybe, prune them instead?'
As put off as Michael is at the idea, he does. And it works, somewhat. His memories are intact and, if the price is coughing up petals and the occasional aster bud, that's just about the best deal he could have got, considering. He wishes he'd managed to come up with a different reason every time Michael's face clouds with guilt whenever he has to repeat the process, or when the blooms are stained with blood. At least he's better, he thinks, at least Michael knows he trusts him. They've managed to return to something similar to normalcy when the cage opens.
It's worse, back on earth. So much worse. Michael's fright rings through his head, and why is he still with him instead of in heaven? If he has to die, he'd rather the angel didn't have to see it. He's always loathed upsetting him. It's late at night, and he's on his knees in a deserted beach and Michael is with him, forcing an avalanche of flowers out in a mess of petals and blood at his knees. His throat is raw only a second before the angel fixes that, and the gesture has him crawling back, body shaken with sobs he cannot contain nor explain. Adam. Michael's voice sounds even more true inside his head. Inside his head, with his thoughts scrambled all over. Quickly, he puts everything behind a wall he knows Michael won't try to break down, and hopes he was fast enough, but why would he start getting lucky now. You're ill. You know this, you've known-
'Known I'm going to die if I don't get my love requited. No reason to make you sad.'
We're out of hell, Adam. Whoever it is, I can get us there in-
'You can't-' Michael rises one of his hands to wipe at his tears but he uses the other one to bat it away angrily. 'You can't because he is- because he won't- because...'
I'm an angel, and though I get no pride from it I believe you know how convincing angels are. He takes control of the vessel, and his words sound sadder in his own voice. 'Adam, I cannot save you, you know vessels can be destroyed, if you don't let me help you you will die!'
Adam's breath catches at the dread in his voice, the hopelessness, and he decides he's not going to die letting the angel think he owes him. He's not going to have him with him when he dies. He retakes control of his body. 'It's my choice, Michael, you don't-' he hacks and retches, heaves as more flowers begin falling off his mouth getting in the way of his words, of all his noble intentions, of everything he thought to say before casting the angel out. It gets in the way of his will to cast him out even, and when he manages to stop, he can only rasp out the words he's been dying trying to hold in. 'I love you Michael.'
ADAM. It's like a flashbang's gone off inside his brain, it takes him away from the flowers, his trembling body, his tragedy. He's inside his mind now, Michael's face inches away from his, expression intense yet unreadable as his hands reach out to hold Adam's face with the strength of desperation. 'I need you to believe me now, more for my sake than yours. I love you.'
Adam's heart races at those words, hands coming up to cover Michael's- until he realises that cannot be true. Michael feels bound to him by duty, he's trying to save his life. He scoffs, trying to get away, but the angel just gives him a knowing look and then he's inside Michael's mind. He's staggered. It's all about him. Adam sees himself through the archangel's eyes, and it's so different from anything he could have expected. How truly lovestruck he was all along; when Adam spent a whole week making bad Satan jokes to cheer him up after Lucifer left the cage, when he insisted they had a waterfight after Michael made his first lake, when at Michael's request he'd tried to explain what it was to have a mother. And how desolate he'd been at his illness, his insistent refusal to accept any help, the reveal of the petals he'd been hiding from him. How guilty he felt when he choose to keep having the coughing fits because he liked the flowers.
'Michael-' The archangel doesn't let go, keeps his ideas -his feelings- pouring out, so blatant Adam has no option but to understand. Michael wants him to live. There's nothing Michael would not do for him. Because Michael loves him. With this, he's released, he's finally back on his body that's as welcoming as a wet jacket in winter. Michael hums in agreement and zaps them to a cosy suite where he leads him into a hot bath. There, under Michael's attentions, tired off from the accursed flowers and the revelations the day has brought, Adam sighs happily as he relaxes into the feeling of his love.
Where to begin? I'm not very good with words so this might be horribly messy omg
I remember how I joined the fandom and I have to thank taylordraws for that lol.
So, I've been in fandoms before, sure, some musicians, maybe one or two movies, y'know the usual; but I never felt that happiness, that feeling of being totally welcomed in a fandom until I became a #miraculer. This fandom gave me SO MUCH in this past year and a half, I feel like I've grown up (funny, because it's mainly a kids' show). I met my first tumblr-best friend, I met an amazing unknown artist, I read so much fan fiction it's insane, I met one of my bestest (is this a word? I'm making this a word) friends ever here and I've had the opportunity to write with her, I did my very first fanart EVER because I was so overjoyed with the fandom I feel the necessity to and now I can't stop drawing that goofy cat boy and that clumsy princess because they are just too precious to me! I've literally never felt something like this over a show or even over a musician before.
Anyways Steph! Back to what's important here! Over a year back (I guess) I saw this post looking for people for something called "Project: Miraculous Ladybug". I thought 'please, what would you possibly have to offer to them? your presence? haha no' but at the same time I said 'hey, what do I have to lose? I bet I'll be so regretting it if I don't even try' so I clicked on that link, sent my info and 'lol I'm not getting in but it was fun', because I'm a pro being pessimistic almost all the time. So you wouldn’t believe my surprise on one of the first days of April when I was mentioned by the P:ML tumblr account saying that SWEET HONEY ICED TEA I was in! I was ecstatic and just so shocked that I could not believe it at first.
Jumping to my first interactions with the group, I could immediately tell they were sweethearts, every one of them in their own weird ways. So in my first weeks of talk, and talk, and talk I met those funny, caring, artistic, charismatic, beautiful, sweet (I have so many more adjectives for you guys) people that made those amazing pieces of work and I just loved being part of them.
Now I translate their hard work para mi gente with our mom @neitheram and my girls @thenameionceknew @shippinggirl @luullaby @i-read-good-books @runningoutofink and @imatekuani *lots of hugs*
I’ve met my own Chat apparently! Yeah @ladybugandblackchat I’m talking about you
I didn’t even know someone from CR liked the show (before it aired here) until I met @sialuart!
I still cannot believe that I talked to @thelastpilot @panda013 @miraculousturtle @piikopoko @chebits @toriitorii because GUYS. I admired you SO MUCH even before joining the project!! (I didn’t even know they were part of the project lol) and now I can include @ferisae on this list too!! *cries rainbows*
Anyways, I would like to thank @emeralddrop because you are too pure for this world, your inniciative made all of this possible! All these people are now friends from all around the world because of you and our shared love for the show!
So thank you, Matt, and thank you P:ML scrubs. I’m just so happy to share so many memories and laughs with you and I hope you know I love you lots and you changed so many little things of me. Joyeux è anniversaire, Scrubs!
