moonie ☽

and the world is one big melting pot of life

[moonshadowsx]

hi, i am moonie ꉂ(˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵) mid 20s !! she/her

i am new here, just looking for some moots or anything tbh

my interest are mostly bowie, gaga and michael.

i also enjoy kpop, kdramas, superhero stuff, and a lot of actors/singers, and tv shows or random movies out there

i am was an avid fanfic reader in other fandoms before, so uh if you are a mj or bowie writer tag me or something <3

[ pfp by @/emolander ]

[luvsinstatic]

I've completely lost count of all the inaccuracies in that documentary...

[snapdraqons]

you've heard of "he would not fucking say that" now get ready for "he would not be that comfortable with his own sexuality"

[cndybliss]

the jacksons in switzerland, 1975 ❤︎ ̥˚

[inmoscow]

you want it? come get it.

Pairing: Michael Jackson/Original Male Character

Summary: Elias has a past with Michael, it’s evident. So, of course, he’s stumbling back to that bar to see him again. Typical.

Tags: Alternate Universe, Vampire Michael, Mature Era, Blood Drinking, Sub/Bottom Michael, Suggestive Themes

First time ever posting a fic from my ao3 to tumblr, be gentle. Let me know if you’d like a part 2. Enjoy ❤️

It’s carnal; like the beginnings of a snarl. It’s too hot—Elias is already slipping off his coat, uncaring of the rain that seems to soak him immediately. Summer rolls in with passion, with fierce warmth that’s neither welcoming or pleasant and while Elias, at one point, would’ve struck up conversation with the nearest passerby about it, he’s not in his right mind. Clearly. But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what’s ‘right’ or ‘wrong’, the lines are blurred. All he craves is that bar—where was it again?

If he closes his eyes, holding on to the brick wall adjacent to him for dear life, he can see him. Among the sea of red, he stands out. He blooms—a black orchid in a garden of roses. There’s a certain innocence to him and what Elias wouldn’t give to rip it out of him, to see it crumble into dust between his fingers.

But that’s the thing.

It’s not typical innocence.

Benevolence? Maybe. Most likely. It’s all part of the allure. For fucks sake, Elias doesn’t even know his name. All he remembers is getting thrown out of a club and somehow stumbling into that bar and meeting him. There’s a charm to him, a glint, a flicker of something in those deep brown eyes of his. Elias reaches out then quickly reels his arm back to his side.

He stops at a flight of stairs going down and if Elias dies tonight from stumbling somewhere he’s not welcome, then so be it. But he needs this. He needs this chance.

One foot in front of the other. He nearly trips over his own feet a couple times but soon Elias is leaning his forehead against the metal door before he’s turning the handle and stepping inside.

Oh. Yeah, it’s the same one as last time.

Elias tries to ignore the blossom of excitement that starts to unfurl in his chest.

No one pays him any mind, as if they can all seemingly read his mind. Whatever. It’s better that way, actually.

“Eli?”

And then there’s that voice—like honey molasses and sugar and moonlight. Elias snaps his head, staring at him, swallowing at how beautiful he looks. It’s the same; a black orchid in a garden of roses.

Elias sobers up quickly. He can’t remember if he was even drunk or just completely out of his mind. He opens his mouth, then shuts it. The man giggles, taking his hand and leading him towards the bar. There’s already a glass sitting at the table.

“Your name,” Elias blurts out. The man tilts his head and oh god, the way his hair falls into his eyes. “Can I have your name? Please?”

The man looks embarrassed—horrified. He covers his face, desperately mumbling apologies. “How very rude of me! Please,” the man gently takes his hand. His smile is sweet.

There’s something sinister to it.

“Call me Michael.”

Elias rolls the name on his tongue, tasting it. It’s pretty.

“Let me order you a drink.” Elias feels stupid. Michael laughs, picking up his glass.

“I don’t drink.” Michael hums.

Elias blinks. “But,”

Michael shifts in his seat, leaning forward, smiling like Elias is simply the most amusing thing on the planet. He’s thinking something over. “Hmm. Sit with me for a moment, then you can have your way with me.”

Elias is going to pass out.

“But!” Michael grins. “After I get my fill.”

Elias is nodding, letting Michael lead him along like he’s a stray puppy.

He soon comes to find out Michael is drinking blood orange juice. Elias can only stare down at his drink, watching the ice slowly melt.

He can practically hear Michael’s pout. “Oh, you’re simply no fun.”

Elias is so dizzy, he doesn’t process Michael leading him from the bar into a sort of VIP area. It’s red, beaded curtains shielding them surprisingly well.

“Michael-“

His breath is stolen from him as Michael climbs into his lap, cupping the sides of his face as if he’s his lover. The thought shouldn’t excite him this much.

“Eli,” Michael purrs, eyes hooded, pupils dilated. “Remember my deal?”

Elias lets his head fall back against the cushions, letting Michael nose at his neck, tongue peeking out to lap at the sensitive skin. And then pain. Searing, shooting pain as Michael fucking bites him. And Elias is on cloud nine, hands finding his waist to steady him.

Michael whines. His hips start to grind down against his crotch and suddenly the world is clear. His vision isn’t so clouded, the cotton in his mind starts to melt away. He looks down, seeing Michael’s eyebrows knitted in focus. A small stream of blood escapes from the side of his face… and then he’s pulling away. Elias can see the tips of his canines.

Oh.

And Elias is a weak, weak man as he pushes Michael down flush against the couch, slotting himself between his legs. His hair is fanned out around him, eyes wide in surprise, chest rising and falling.

“Eli-“ Michael gasps.

Elias smirks. “Remember the deal ?”

[moonshadowsx]

Michael shifts in his seat, leaning forward, smiling like Elias is simply the most amusing thing on the planet. He’s thinking something over. “Hmm. Sit with me for a moment, then you can have your way with me.”

I GAGGED!!!! OMG SO GOOD

[bowieography]

[its-a-seikret]

Tbh I don't understand anyone who denies their favorite character's flaws and acts like they've never done anything wrong when that is like consistently the most interesting part of any character ever

[gothicmj]

The media continues to capitalize on an innocent black man, while all the true criminals are white men in power. Pointing their fingers at everyone but the actual guilty people while profiting off of innuendo and dramatiziced lies. All they have is speculation and controversy, no hard evidence…and they continue to use that for views. The “Michael being a child abuser” allegations have become a business in it itself and I’ll never stop defending him from the greedy systems that just want a paycheck. And FUCK Netflix.

[rlm-11]

Just a reminder, do NOT watch that fuckass dumbass documentary coming out today,

Even if you’re curious. Don’t watch it, do not allow Netflix to profit off your curiosity

[moonshadowsx]

i'd like to add if anyone would like to watch it for whatever reason like debunking guilters, then DO IT ILEGALLY, PIRACY IS THE ONLY WAY !!!

[hopelessbrain]

MEDIA TRAINING

wordcount: 1196 summary: Fresh out the lab and into his new superhero persona, Homelander needed more than a little help getting his social queues in line. warnings: fluff/crack, gn!reader, young homelander, (might be ooc for him because i love a goofy young homelander instead of the batshit version of him) he's a bit oblivious to social queues, could be implied as an eventual homelander x reader, basically training him like a dog– think that’s it !!!

The first thing Homelander said to you was: “Are you here to replace the crying woman?”

You blinked. “The… crying woman?”

“The last publicist” He tilted his head like he was genuinely trying to remember her name, simple and unbothered. “She cried in the elevator” An awkward pause. “They said it was because I yelled” He said it casually– thoughtfully, even, like someone recalling the weather.

You looked down at the folder tucked under your arm. HOMELANDER — IMAGE REHABILITATION ASSIGNMENT. Temporary– six weeks they said. Hazard pay included. (You were starting to understand why) You looked back up at him carefully.

Homelander looked… younger than you expected. Not softer– no, definitely not softer. There was something unsettling about the way he stood too still, too perfect, watching you with an intensity that felt borderline invasive in those steel blue eyes. But younger– like someone had taken the all-American poster boy and forgotten to teach him how to behave around actual people.

A sigh escapes you as you set down the folder. “Okay” You flip the files open. “Ground rules”

His eyebrows lifted. “You have rules?” A pause. “For me?”

“Yes”

“Interesting” That somehow felt vaguely threatening but you decided to ignore it.

“Rule one: we don’t yell at employees”

“I wasn’t yelling”

“The woman cried” You retorted, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow– clearly not buying his half-assed excuse for a single second.

“She cried after, there’s no proof it was related to my yelling”

You stared at him. He stared back– completely serious, like he genuinely believed his argument made sense to anybody else that wasn’t him. You pinched the bridge of your nose while taking a deep breath. “Rule two: we don’t say things that make normal people uncomfortable”

He frowned. “How am I supposed to know what makes people uncomfortable?”

Oh.

Oh, this was so much worse than you thought.

“How am I supposed to know what makes people uncomfortable?” You slowly closed the file– then reopened it, then closed it again. Meanwhile, Homelander continued staring at you, patiently– disturbingly patiently, like this was a perfectly reasonable thing to admit out loud.

“You seriously don’t know?”

“No one tells me” He shrugged. “Usually they just look concerned”

You blinked. “That sentence alone is concerning”

“You do look concerned” He pointed out in a simple hum.

“I am concerned” You inhaled sharply through your nose. Six weeks– you could survive six weeks. (Probably) “Okay” You finally said, dragging a chair out from the conference table and taking a seat. “We’re starting over” His eyes flicked toward the chair. “Sit”

His eyebrows raised. “You’re giving me orders?”

“Yes”

Another pause. Then, to your surprise– he sat. Immediately. Perfect posture, hands folded, looking entirely too pleased with himself for someone currently being treated like a national threat.

You narrowed your eyes. “That was… weirdly easy”

“You sounded confident” He hummed simply, but that… somehow explained absolutely nothing.

“Right” You muttered. “New method” Grabbing a scrap piece of paper from inside the file and scribbling a couple things across the top of it.

Homelander leaned forward, trying to take a peek. “You’re making me a list?”

“Yes again”

“I’ve never been given a list before” He hummed with a hint of satisfied surprise. Something about the way he said it almost sounded– No. You were not feeling sympathy for America’s most awkward social experiment after merely ten minutes of knowing him.

“Question one” You said, slipping into what you hoped resembled professionalism. “If someone says they’re tired, what’s an appropriate answer?”

He answered instantly, truly sure of himself as he nods. “You look weak”

You stared– he stared back. “…No” His forehead creased as you carefully continued explaining as best as you could. “Because that’s rude”

“Oh” He actually looked surprised.

You blinked. Was this man being serious right now? You reached into your bag, pulled out a sheet of gold star stickers left over from your niece’s birthday party, and placed one dramatically onto the table. Homelander looked at it– then at you, then back at the stickers.

“What’s that?”

“A reward system”

“For what?”

“For normal-ish behaviour” Silence, just a couple of icy eyes staring deeply at him. “You get a star every time you answer correctly” His expression did something strange– not offended, not amused. Interested. Yes– you managed to peak his interest, that was progress. Slow progress– but progress nonetheless. “Anyways, next question” You slid a mock interview card across the table. “What do you say if someone tells you they’re nervous to meet you?”

He thought about it. Longer this time, he almost got you excited thinking he was going to make it normal and reasonable. Then… “I don’t plan to hurt you” You slowly lowered your head into your hands.

“No star?”

“No star”

Three weeks later, against all known odds, Homelander was improving. Marginally, questionably, concerningly– but improving nonetheless. The first major sign had been when he stopped telling nervous civilians things like: “Statistically, you’ll probably survive this” The second had been when he somehow– somehow, managed an entire interview without threatening anyone, insulting humanity, or describing people as ‘fragile’ in comparison to him. Vought nearly threw a party, you even got an email titled: INCREDIBLE PROGRESS. Nobody believed the change was real at first– which honestly? Fair. Because if someone had told you three weeks ago that America’s strongest supe responded positively to gold star stickers, you probably would’ve laughed in their face.

And yet–

“There” You hummed, dramatically peeling another shiny gold star from the sheet in your hand. Homelander stood beside you in the elevator, still in costume after an interview that had gone suspiciously well given who he was. “No threatening reporters– ” You counted off. “ –no weird comments about mortality, no calling the mayor ‘genetically disappointing’...”

“He was…” Homelander muttered, still holding out his hand for you to place the sticker on it.

“John” You call his name in a calm warning.

A pause.

“…I didn’t say it out loud” He replies– a hint of childish defense to his voice. You narrowed your eyes but still placed the gold star onto the back of his hand. His expression immediately shifted. Subtle, yet unmistakably pleased. Like a dog that had just been told he was the smartest, goodest boy alive. A smile reluctantly tugs at your lips despite your better judgement. The elevator doors opened, interrupting the moment as three Vought employees stepped in. They stopped, stared, slowly looked down at the glittering gold star stuck to Homelander’s glove– then back at you, then back at him.

Homelander looked at them. Then, oddly enough– smiled. A normal smile, practiced. The kind you’d spent actual hours teaching him. “Good afternoon” He nodded politely.

The employees looked seconds away from fainting– too scared to show their genuine shock but also too scared to reply as if nothing happened. You stared as Homelander looked at you expectantly. “…What?” He asked.

You slowly reached into your bag, pulled out another gold star.His eyes lit up. “Oh” He hummed quietly, a small spark fluttering inside him. “Oh, I’m getting another one” God that boyish grin was gonna ruin you.

[moonshadowsx]

i giggled too much when reader called him john oh god i love this

[french-vanilla-in-the-clouds]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐥, 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Being Ashley Barrett’s personal assistant may have bought you killer networking opportunities in Vought but it's also made you the fixation of the most dangerous man in the nation. Homelander receives you with stars in his eyes but you would never know it. You live in a constant state of minimal terror with the supe strutting around your workplace.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He's developed a pavlovian response to the scent of your perfume and pauses during meetings to inhale its remnants after you've left the room. He's left with a near orgasmic expression on his face every time. Once, while you were taking meeting minutes, Homelander stared at you blankly. You were certain he was contemplating snapping your neck but he was just mesmerized by the pulse of aroma fluttering at the base of your throat.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ You've never held a real conversation with him but he's stricken by the idea of you. He uses his super hearing to eavesdrop on your private conversations and gets irrationally jealous of anybody you mention with affection.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Homelander finds your fear of him both intoxicating and frustrating. He wants you to love him but he only inspires terror when he steps into your personal space.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He interprets your avoidance as a game. He doesn't realize you're simply trying to survive corporate day-to-day. He's only focused on his own agony and figuring out how to possess you without breaking you in the process.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Homelander finds himself on the roof most evenings to watch your car leave the parking garage. He tracks the sound of your heartbeat until you're miles away and he hates that he needs you. He also hates that you fear him. Most of all, he hates that he's never felt more alive than when he's scaring the hell out of you.

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

Grrrrr

[thedoggonegirl]

Talking to the Moon ⋆⭒˚.⋆

widow!reader x late husband!michael headcanons

warning: angst and lowercase intended

︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵

a/n: just some headcanons of what widow!reader would go through after husband!michael passes away😞 feeling angsty tonight, i'm sorry guys:((

++ i hope a writer actually writes a one-shot related to this. if you ever write one, please tag meee!!!

++ i'm not a writer and i will never claim myself as one💔 i have poor wordings n i solely rely on shit ive read before🫡 im incredibly stupid i might be wording things wronggg😭

︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵

⏾⋆.˚ - widow!reader who, late at night, sits on the same chair in their balcony, leaving one chair empty. the one that belonged to him. the balcony they used to spend hours together in—either talking, sharing intimate moments, argue, or just sit there. enjoying each other's presence.

⏾⋆.˚ - widow!reader who turns off all the lights inside their house, to let the moon's glow hit her skin perfectly. the skin michael used to caress and give soft kisses to. it's been so long, yet, they still linger.

⏾⋆.˚ - she looks at the moon with tears forming in her eyes which her late husband used to kiss whenever he notices tears start forming. she wishes he was here to do that, whispering, "baby, don't cry. i'm here.", as he continues to wipe her tears away and cupping her face with his soft hands. the same hands that would pull her closer to plant a warm, comforting kiss on her lips. the much needed warmth in this cold night.

⏾⋆.˚ - widow!reader who carries all the letters they used to send to each other back and forth, reading them all in the candlelight—searching for small details, messages, or codes she hasn't noticed before, just to feel something new. bringing them to her chest, being careful and trying not to crumple them, "why'd you have to leave, mike?", she sobbed. oh he'd hate to see her like this.

⏾⋆.˚ - widow!reader who talks to the moon, wishing it was just michael, updating him about what's been happening all while sniffling—trying not to make any loud sounds so their children wouldn't wake up. they may not have been her biological children, but she sure did love them like her own.

︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵

a/n: lowk wrote this w a heavy heart. missing mj so much😕😕yeah, that's all for now. i know this sucks🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ i warned yall im not a writer!! i just felt rlly angsty tonight, n i love angst sooo😓 i hope you guys liked this!

ps. im serious about begging writers to make a one-shot about this. i love angst so muhchchchc pls tag me if u make one

[moonshadowsx]

current state

[doinggreat]

Bad Bunny (+ Lady Gaga) - Super Bowl LX Halftime Show (February 8th, 2026)

[leahzepam]

iPod mini dress ✮⋆˙

[godsfavrib]

You can have my absence of faith, you can have my everything

You get me closer to god

[miseducationofmicheal]

Micheal Jackson Recording "Todo Mi Amor Eres Tu" In,1987

[chilewithcarnage]