rhys

[mvsticmoony]

⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ mvsticmoony’s house 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

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i’m rhys, nice to meet ya!

22 | she/her | latin-american | scorpio | certified fangirl ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

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[apqlehead]

james brown invites michael jackson on stage, 1983

————

ik yall can hear james brown screaming “MIKA JACKSA MIKA JACKSA” from the gifs alone😭

[mvsticmoony]

just painted and polka dotted all ten of my nails as if harry styles will come off that stage and photograph them himself 🫩

[mvsticmoony]

💔

[mvsticmoony]

ALLOVA ALLOVA ALLOVA

[mvsticmoony]

they gonna get me for this but the remember the time kiss is awkward as hell!!

personally, i would’ve love if michael wanted me so bad he actually followed me down instead of breaking the kiss 😔

but maybe that’s just me 🧍‍♀️

[mvsticmoony]

issue #2: web of secrets

issue #1

summary: A routine story sends Y/N and Michael to a bank robbery scene. By the end of the day, Spider-Man has saved her life, Michael has vanished without a trace, and one small detail refuses to let go of her mind.

content: spider-man!michael jackson x f!reader. journalist!reader. au. fluff. violence. guns. fluff. a little angst. no proofreading we die like men.

word count: 5.3k

The office smelled of strong, freshly made coffee, cigarets and newly printed newspaper. Phones rang every two minutes, typewriters clicked frantically and people walked around without looking where they were going as they read their new drafts.

Y/N could feel it before she even heard it. She simply massaged her temples and threw Michael, who sat in the office table across her, a ‘please, save me’ look.He snickered at her.

“L/N!” J. Jonah’s voice rang throughout the Daily Bugle office. “How’s the Spider-Man piece going?” His head popped out of his office door, a frenetic expression on his face.

Michael stifled a laugh as he watched the scene unfold before him, and that earned him a glare from his girlfriend. He looked down at his camera and bit his bottom lip, trying to hide another smile.

“It’s done, Jonah. I left it at your table this morning.” Y/N replied with a tense smile, pointing towards his office.

“Did you, now?” He mumbled, wandering back into his office. Y/N just stared after him.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a brief moment, counting to three in order to get it together. Her boss had the tendency of making her lose her temper a little bit.

After a few seconds of counting, she opened her eyes and was met by the most beautiful pair of big brown eyes she had ever seen: her boyfriend’s. Michael stood in front of her desk with a tiny smile on his face, as he usually did. He wore s pair of capri cream pants and a maroon sweater. Y/N felt as is she could take a bite out of him right on the spot. So, obviously, she said the first thing that popped int her mind:

“What’s up, Bambi?”

“Bambi?” He questioned, looking actually confused.

“Mhm,” She got up from her chair, pressing her palms flat against the desk and leaning towards him. “With those pretty brown eyes.” She glanced briefly to see if anyone was watching and stole a little kiss from him. Michael felt blood rushing into his cheeks, a warm feeling taking over him. He held his breath for a split second before looking at Y/N, shaking his head negatively with a grin.

“Are you ready for lunch? I heard Mr Delmar has the good stuff today.” Michael finally asked, grabbing Y/N’s coat from her desk and motioning to the exit with his head. “Turkey sandwich heaven. Your favorite!” He extended the coat, motioning for her to pass her arms through it as he held it open.

Y/N put one of her arms through the sleeve, a content sight escaping her. “Thank goodness. After everything Jonah put me through today, I could use a big, fat—“

“Jackson! L/N!” A loud, authority voice cut her off mid-sentence. The couple exchanged a glance before turning around to where J. Jonah stood, a cigar between his fingers and that usual look of chaos on his face. “Bank robbery! Need both of you covering.” He pointed the cigar at them. “With any luck Spider-Man will show up.” He didn’t even wait for a response, just walked back into his office blabbering some nonsense and slammed the door shut.

‘Oh, no.’ Michael gulped.

Y/N looked up at him. “Well, so much for lunch, huh?”

Michael let out a nervous little laugh and nodded, eyes wide. He needed a plan ASAP.

“I, uh— I just need to make a phone call.” He blurted out. “Meet downstairs in five?”

“Uh huh.” Y/N nodded. “I’m gonna grab my bag and some notepads.” She added, already making her way to the supply room. Michael gave her one last nervous smiled and sprinted to his desk.

He grabbed the phone and dialed in the number in a rush. The line rang a few times (the longest three rings of his entire life, Michael would later say) before Bill picked up.

“Hello—“

“Bill, I need a favor!”

🕸️ྀི

Michael felt his palms getting sweaty as he walked side by side with Y/N. Lucky for him, she had her hands tucked inside her pockets due to the cold weather. He took a look around, trying to get it together. Failed.

His senses left him completely overwhelmed.

Every conversation bled into the next. Sirens wailed somewhere across New York. A taxi horn blared three blocks away. The sweet scent of fresh flowers drifted from a nearby florist, only to be swallowed by cigarette smoke and the warm smell of fresh bread from the bakery across the street. He could hear hurried footsteps, racing heartbeats, distant crying. He could almost feel it all, too: the anxiety, the grief, the anger clinging to strangers as they brushed past him. Every sight, every sound, every smell crashed into him at once, his heightened senses refusing to filter any of it. His senses refused to let anything go unnoticed.

By the time Y/N finished speaking, he realized he hadn’t heard a single word she’d said.

“Earth to Mike.” Y/N stood in front of him while shaking her hand in front of his face, trying to grab his attention. He snapped out of it and gulped before offering her a nervous smile. She stared at him. “Hey, you okay?”

He nodded slightly and tried to offer her another smile. “Yeah, ma.”

She threw an accusatory look at him. “You sure, Mike?”

“Yeah, don’t worry.” He brushed it off and threw one arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer. “What were you just saying, hm?”

“I was just saying we’re almost there. Just one more block, I think.” She enlaced her fingers with his as his hand hung off her shoulder.

Michael took a quick look around, searching for Bill. “Yeah, right.”

Y/N looked up at him for a second. “Do you think he’ll show up?” She couldn’t help but asking, her mind wandering to Spider-Man. She hoped he would.

“Bill? Oh, I'm not sure...” He answered with a shrug.

Y/N frowned. “What does Bill have to do with anything I just said?” Confused laced her voice. She shook her head. “I am obviously talking about Spider-Man!”

Michael finally looked at her at that sentence. “Spider-Man?” He blurted out. “Oh, I don’t know I—“

He got cut off by two cops that sprinted past them.

The couple stared after at them, Michael focusing on what one was saying over the radio.

“Yeah, we’re on our way. Hostages negotiations have already began and they’re armed to the teeth—”

“Hostages...” Michael mumbled under his breath. He needed to hurry up. “Uh, baby?”

“Mhm?”

“I need to uh, set up the camera.” He motioned to the device hanging from his neck from the leather belt.

“Oh, right.” She shook her head slightly. “Yeah, I figured. I have to go interview civilians and authorities in the perimeter, too.”

Michael allowed himself a moment to look down at her.

To anyone nearby, it looked life a boyfriend staring lovingly at his girlfriend. Which, in some level, was. But also it was so much more than that. It was Michael about to go risk his life and silently praying for the universe to not take her from him while he was doing what he was meant to do. It was Spider-Man pleading for any higher force to not take away his anchor.

“Promise to stay safe?” He asked in a quiet voice, eyes locked on Y/N’s. He tried to memorize every single detail in her.

She smiled. “Always.” She said, nodding. “Stay safe too, okay?

Michael let out a breathy laugh and nodded. “Will try my best.” He kissed her forehead. “I love you, okay?”

“I love you more, Mike.” She closed the space between them with a quick peck on the lips. When they pulled away though, Michael pulled her closer again by their still enlaced finger and gave her a proper kiss.

Y/N thought his lips felt like heaven. Soft and warm and sweet. He caressed her lips with his tongue before deepening the kiss. Y/N sighed into his mouth and took her free hand to the nape of his neck, fingers running through his curls.

The kiss ended with a couple of lighter kisses over each other’s lips. “I love you.” Michael repeated one more time before stepping back, Y/N still holding his hand.

Well, at least he thought she was holding his hand.

Y/N frowned. She could’ve sworn she had just released her grasp over his fingers in order for them to go their separate ways. But when she glanced down at their hands, the sight made her very confused: Michael’s palm placed flat against hers. No finger enlaced. No hand holding the other. It almost looked like they were… stuck?

Michael followed her gaze down, eyes widening a bit at the sight.

‘Dang it!’, he thought.

Sometines, whenever he got nervous, his spider abilities went through the roof. At times it was the webs—he couldn’t move his hands too harshly or they would start shooting at every and any thing. Sometimes it was the super strength—he still recalled breaking Y/N’s handle, lamp and bed frame the first time they had been together. At other times it was this—he got stuck. It wasn’t a secret to anyone that knew about Spider-Man that he could walk on vertical surfaces, hang from buildings and moving vehicles, among other things. And, when he got nervous, he got sticky. Which led up to this precise moment where he physically couldn’t move his hand away.

“Mike?” Y/N looked up at him with confusion.

Michael let out a nervous laugh before shaking their hands together slightly. “Static electricity , huh?”

Y/N looked very unimpressed, but at the same time very confused. “I guess…” She mumbled with a small shrug.

‘Get it together, man.’ Michael told himself as he reached for their joint hands with his free one, peeling one finger from hers at the time. When he reached the last finger—pinky, to be precise—it came off with a pop. He let out a tiny laugh.

“That was weird.” She mumbled, gazing at her palm while holding her own wrist . “Well, gotta go.” She blurted out after a few moments, placed a quick kiss on Michael’s cheek and made her way into the crowd before them. “Stay out of trouble!” She shouted without looking back.

Michael ran his hands through his pants in nervousness, eyes not leaving Y/N as she walked away. That was until he spotted another familiar face already making its way into the crowd after her. Bill.

Michael felt his shoulder loosening up a little. He let out a shaky breath and offered Bill a nod. “Thank you.” He silently mouthed.

Bill just nodded back at him.

Michael immediately ducked into an alley just across from where he previously stood. He looked around in a rush, just to make sure no one was watching and dropped his bag on the ground, beginning to wiggle out of his sweater.

He changed so fast he almost walked out with the mask facing backwards.

He looked back to the chaos that waited for him, took a deep breath and a few quick jumps, warming up and trying to ease up his nerves.

“Alright.” He reached out for the fabric hanging on his forehead and pulled the mask down.

Spider-Man was on his way.

🕸️ྀི

“AWO!” Spider-Man’s voice echoed through the buildings of Manhattan as he swung above the streets.

Y/N smiled up at the sight, shielding her eyes from the sunlight with a hand. She turned her attention back to the civilians, searching for her next interview or for someone in need lf help.

“Y/N!” Bill’s voice rang in her ears, grabbing her attention.

“Bill? What are you doing here?” She frowned before giving him a quick hug. She absolutely loved Bill. Couldn’t possibly know why he was there at that precise moment, but she was grateful for it nonetheless.

Bill had worked at the Daily Bugle longer than anyone could remember. He'd reported on everything from blackouts to mayoral elections, and whenever Jonah wasn't breathing down her neck, he was usually the one slipping her advice over bad coffee and stale donuts. He also was some sort of father figure for Michael, always being there when and wherever he needed. Y/N was very grateful.

"Thought I'd rescue you from another terrible angry cop interview.”

Y/N laughed. “Oh, so you’ve been reading the Bugle?"

"I've been reading you ask all the wrong questions."

She gasped dramatically, a hand flying and clutching her chest. "I do not ask the wrong questions."

“Oh, sweetie, you do."

"I absolutely do not!”

Bill pointed toward a shaken bank employee sitting on the curb.

"Come on."

He started walking, Y/N trailing behind him.

"Watch and learn, kiddo.”

They stopped in front of the woman and Bill crouched slightly.

"I'm Bill, with the Daily Bugle."

Y/N rolled her eyes, but starting taking notes nevertheless.

🕸️ྀི

When Michael crashed through the skylight of the bank the crime scene was set. His eyes swept across the room.

Four men armed to the teeth wearing balaclavas stood separately while about fifteen civilians sat on the ground with their writs bound. Bank workers were tied up on the other corner. Children and elders were placed behind a wood counter.

Still, he tilted his head to the side with unnerving calm. He raised both his hands. The men just stared at him while pointing their guns at him. The closest one held a riffle up to Michael’s eye level.

“Now hold on, you guys. No one needs to get hurt here today.” He began.

“Spider-thing, we’re gonna need you to leave. Or else…” Riffle man threatened, getting the barrel closer to Michael’s face.

Michael, bless him, let the sass get the best out of him. “Spider-thing? Oh, you wound me…” He simply raised a hand a lowered the gun, a cocky grin spreading across his masked face. “AWO!”

With that, he fired a web at two guns at the same time; the one being held closer to him and the other across from where he stood. He jumped and flipped back, while firing another web.

He crouched on top of a marble pilar in the center of the bank, civilians staring in awe at their savior. But before he was able to take down another armed guy, one of them fired, the bullet grazing his left arm. “Ouch!” He yelled. “Okay, that hurt a little.” He mumbled, checking his bicep. Only a scratch, but it managed to draw some blood and rip his suit.

One of the men swung a metal pipe onto him, hitting him in the ribs. Michael let out a huff of breath before launching himself into the wall across the room, taking the man down with a quick on the face. “Sorry!” He yelled after at the sight of the man’s bloody nose. “Well, not really.” He mumbled under his breath.

He turned to the scene unfolding before him, throwing himself gracefully onto the ground. Two guys came for him at the same time, and the fight resumed.

Punches, scratches, webs. Michael managed to swing away from their gunshots.

“HEE HEE!” He shriked before landing smoothly on the ground.

His eyes traveled to a little boy who had his bottom lip trembling. One of the criminals was making his way to him with a gun in hand and a nasty look on his face. Michael threw himself between them and tackled the man to the ground, webbing him so he wouldn’t be able to move.

He looked down at the boy and crouched until they were at eye level. “Hey, buddy.” The boy sniffled. “You were really brave, you know that, right?” Michael brushed one of his tears away with the back of his hand.

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Y-yeah, mister Spider-Man!” He said with the bravery of a determined six year old.

Michael chuckled. “Stay right here with your mom until the police tell you it’s okay.”

The boy nodded.

Michael held out his hand for him to shake. “Deal?”

The little boy managed the tiniest, toothless smile before reaching out and shaking Spider-Man’s hand.

“Deal!”

Finally, it seemed that he managed to stop all of the bad men. He felt sore, bloody and tired. But also relieved. He placed both hands on his waist and took a look around just as policemen started to enter the perimeter. He was just starting to breathe.

That was until he felt the hair at the nape of his neck standing up. A cold feeling rushed through him and he felt every muscle in his body tensing up. His heartbeat lurched. There was only one thing and one thing only that had that effect on him.

The certainty that she was in danger took over him. He had to get to her.

Michael didn’t think. Before he could even process what was happening, he was already swinging through the same skylight he came.

🕸️ྀི

Meanwhile, Bill and Y/N had managed to interview a few more people. The latest was a cop who was giving Y/N a piece of his mind on his thoughts on Spider-Man.

“Well, but shouldn’t you be a little more grateful to, you know… have some help?”

The cop shook his head and ran his fingers through his thick mustache. “You hear me, young lady, eh? That guy is a punk! He runs around wearing that ridiculous costume of his doin’ our job, thinking he has ANY right to—”

Y/N and Bill exchanged a tired glance, silently telling each other to wrap it up with that guy. But before either of them could say anything a sound of tires screeching and a worrying BANG cut them off.

Steel groaned. The ground shook. A veil of dust blurred everyone’s vision. People started to scream. The cop fell over the crosswalk. Y/N was already reaching down to help him when Bill looked up. His complexion immediately changed. His eyes traveled back to the journalist before him.

“Y/N!”

She only had time to look up and realized the sun had disappeared over her. Her body froze and her eyes widened: a massive piece of steel came crashing down to exactly where she stood.

She closed her eyes shut, waiting for the impact. But it never came.

Next thing she knew, air was knocked out of her lungs and she swung thought the Manhattan skyline. A strong arm was wrapped her waist, keeping her close and secure. “I got you.”

When Y/N opened her eyes and was met by no other than your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

He swung them through the buildings with his free hand, dogging the collapsing building remains.

Somehow, through all that, Y/N noticed his arm had a bloody wound. Sharp, straight and precise. “Y-Your arm is bleeding.” She pointed out bluntly, like she hadn’t been almost turned into pancakes a few seconds ago.

Spider-Man looked down at her. He scoffed. “You almost got crushed by a steel beam and this is your first thought?”

Y/N didn’t reply. Just kept staring at his blue mask. She noticed the right eye lens of it had a crack.

Michael felt her body shaking against his. He felt his heart sinking into his chest.

‘She’s okay. She’s okay. She’s okay’, he kept telling himself over and over again. He was breathing so hard Y/N could hear it through the mask.

“You okay?” He finally managed to ask as they approached the ground where it was safe. He lowered them down with gentleness, arm not leaving the grip on her waist.

Y/N hesitated, but nodded after a moment. “I—uh,” She shook her head, feeling her mind hazy. She hadn’t really processed what just happened in the last minute. “My boyfriend. I gotta find him.” She started to wander away without further explanation, looking at some point behind of Spider-Man.

Michael felt his heart sinking even further into his chest. ‘I’m right here, mama.’ He wanted to say. God, how he wanted to say. All he wanted was to hold her and tell her she was okay. He clenched his jaw.

Y/N stopped on her tracks after a few steps, turning back to Spider-Man. “T-Thank you, for—“ She motioned to nowhere in particular. “You know.” She nodded. “Thank you, Spider-Man.”

Michael bit his bottom lip. He felt his eyes stinging a little bit as he stared at her. She was in shock. “No problem, ma’am.” He tried to keep his tone lower than usual, so she wouldn’t recognize it. “I’m sure your boyfriend is okay.”

Y/N simply nodded and turned around again, proceeding to walk away from him.

Michael watched her go. And when she was finally out of his sight, he let out a huff of air and grabbed a streetlight that stood tall next to him.

He leaned on it and closed his eyes. His breath was uneven and one gloved hand traveled to his tight chest. He felt like he couldn’t breath properly.

‘She’s okay. She’s okay. She’s okay.’

🕸️ྀི

Y/N’s eyes kept glancing everywhere, scanning around for Michael.

She asked a few firefighters if they’d seen him. Policemen. Paramedics.

“Have you seen a photographer? About this tall, curly hair, red sweater.” She had asked, desperately. “His name is Michael.”

Nobody had seen him.

At some point the sun started to go down and Y/N sat down on the crosswalk. Her heart was racing on her chest and her mind had a million thoughts rushing through. All about Michael.

“There you are!” A familiar voice rang through her ears, which broke her train thoughts.

Y/N looked up and saw Bill.

She let out a shaky breath and got up, throwing her arms around him.

“Have you seen—

“No, kiddo.” He answered before she finished. He pulled away from the hug, but kept and arm over her shoulder, starting to lead the way. “I’m sure Mike’s okay.” He nodded down at her. “Now let’s get you home, okay?” He ran his hand over her arm, trying to warm her up.

But Y/N didn’t want to go home. She wanted Michael.

🕸️ྀི

The drive was quiet. Y/N kept looking out of the window, hoping and praying to catch a glimpse of the face she was looking out for.

Bill kept gripping the steering wheel tighter than usual, guilt starting to eat him away. ‘If only Michael would tell her…’ He kept thinking.

When they reached her house, Bill made sure she was alright before leaving. Y/N assured him and he left after some insistence.

An hour passed. Almost two, now. Y/N felt as if she could feel every second passing.

She sat on the couch with a comforter draped over her shoulders, her eyes fixed on the static dancing across the television screen.

Shock had a funny way of delaying itself.

At the time, she’d been too busy looking for Michael to process what had almost happened. But now, in the silence of her apartment, it finally caught up with her.

She could’ve died today.

The realization settled somewhere deep inside her, quiet but suffocating. Life wasn’t something you could plan or bargain with. Sometimes it changed in the space of a heartbeat.

Y/N started to reach for the remote, needing to distract her mind, when she noticed her hands were shaking. She clasped them together took them to her lips, blowing hot air at it. The remained in that position for a few seconds.

A soft knock on her window snapped her out of her thoughts. She frowned and turned slowly toward her fire escape.

“Oh my god.” She mumbled under her breath, the comforter slipping from her shoulders as she scrambled off the couch, nearly tripping over it in her rush to reach the window.

Michael stood outside, one shoulder slumped against the brick wall, barely keeping himself upright. His curls were damp and disheveled, one eye already beginning to swell beneath a bruise. His split lip curled into a small, sheepish smile the moment their eyes met.

Y/N’s hands trembled badly as she struggled to open the window, and when she finally she fell angry for about two seconds as she stared at him. How dare he disappear on her like that?

“You—” But then, at the sight of a bruised eye, upper lip split with dried blood over it and his torn maroon sweater, the anger went away as quickly as it came.

She opened her arms.

Michael let out the smallest breath of relief before collapsing into her. The impact nearly knocked Y/N off balance, her feet stumbling backwards as she wrapped both arms around Michael tightly.

She held him as though letting go might make him disappear again and guided them back to the couch. He dropped onto it with a groan and pulled her to him, holding her closer and burying his face on her shoulder

“You have no idea how happy I am that you’re okay.” She mumbled, her voice muffled by his arm as he held her. “I thought…” Her voice broke and she stopped mid sentence.

Michael felt awful. His eyes fluttered shut. “I’m here,” He whispered. “I’m here, ma.” He placed a kiss the top of her head and hold her tighter. “You’re okay.” He whispered. Another kiss. “I’m right here with you.” He kissed her forehead one more time, his eyes getting glossy again.

Y/N sniffled and leaned back to look at him, taking in the sight of her bruised boyfriend. She shook her head faintly and cupped his cheeks gently, careful not to touch the bloody mess. She examined his face for a second longer before closing the gap between them with a kiss.

Michael kissed her back immediately. Relief washed over him so completely he almost melted into her. He deepened the kiss just enough to linger, letting out a quiet breath he had been holding all day long against her lips.

She’s okay. She’s okay. She’s okay.

“You scared me, Mike” Y/N admitted when they pulled away, their foreheads resting against each other’s. She pulled further away after she didn’t get an reply from him. “I looked everywhere for you.”

Michael felt his blood running cold. He froze.

“Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

Silence. His mouth parted, but the answer never came.

Silence settled heavily between them.

Y/N searched his face for something. An explanation. An excuse. A reassurance. Anything. Instead, all she found were tired brown eyes that looked just as shaken as she felt.

She let out a humorless laugh, blinking back fresh tears.

“That’s it?”

The hurt in her voice cut deeper than any bruise he’d earned that day.

But Michael didn’t know what to say. He only felt his heart beating on his chest and his mind racing at the possibilities of what could’ve happened on that day. He could still feel the weight of her in his arms. The terror in her voice when she’d thanked him. The way she’d walked away searching for him while he’d stood there unable to tell her she had already found him.

Every apology he wanted to give died behind his teeth.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered at last.

She let out a sigh and placed a hand on his chin, gently turning his face toward the light so she could inspect his injuries. Michael let her.

“Come.” She said quietly, getting up from the couch and making her way to the bathroom where her first aid kit was. He obeyed immediately and followed after, groaning in pain as he got up.

Michael set on the sink, Y/N standing between his spread knees with a wet cloth as she cleaned his face. He winced and hissed through his teeth at the contact with his busted lip.

Y/N didn’t apologize. As he stared at her mending him up he thought she looked upset. She had every right to be.

He kept observing her every tiny movement. The way she furrowed her brows when she was on edge. How she bit her lip in concentration, the same way she did whenever she was writing.

Michael turned his face and placed a small kiss on the inside of her wrist. “I love you.” He murmured, quietly.

His lips lingered there for a second before he looked back up at her through impossibly large brown eyes.

“Keep still.”

“Sorry.”

Five seconds later he kissed her nuckles.

“Mike,”

“Sorry. I’ll behave.”

He didn’t.

Y/N let out an exasperated sigh that sounded suspiciously close to a laugh as he placed another kiss on her wrist.

“Well, you’re impossible, but I’m done with your face.” She stated while peeling the last adhesive strip from its packaging and smoothing it carefully over the cut on his cheek. She stated at him for a few moments before locking eyes with his injured arm. She could see a bloodstain forming at the sleeve of his sweater.

“Let’s see…” She lifted the sleeve and tilted her head in confusion. Her fingertips gently hovered over the skin around the injury, a strange look on her face. “Huh…” Something about it tugged at the back of her mind. She couldn’t place her finger on what it was, though.

A weird wound rested bloody on his bicep. It wasn’t a scrape, no. A perfect clean line sliced across his upper arm. She brushed her thumb over it gently, still concentrated.

Michael watched her, his eyes traveling from the wound to her a couple of times. “What?” He asked casually.

Y/N looked up. “Where did you get this?”

'Why is she such a journalist?’ Michael pleaded on his mind.

“I d-don’t know.” He shrugged—which made him wince instantly. “I probably bumped into something in all that mess,” He forced a laugh. “Didn’t even noticed.”

Y/N kept staring at the wound.

Michael reached out and cupping her cheek, which finally stirred her attention back. “I don’t remember, baby.” He let out another nervous laugh. “D-did the beam hit you?” He tried to deflect.

Y/N’s eyes turned to him, a small crease forming between her brows. She blinked. “What beam?”

Michael’s hand slipped from her cheeks. “You said—”

“I didn’t say anything about a beam.” She cut him off. Michael felt his mouth getting dry. “I only said the building colapsed.” She pointed out. Not accusing, just… curious.

Michael felt his heart pounding loud enough that he could heart it. So loud even Y/N could probably hear it

‘You absolute idiot!’ Michael cursed himself internally.

“Bill!” He blurted out the first lame explanation that came into his mind. “Bill told me.” Y/N just stared, looking unconvinced. “He called and I— you know.” He nodded. “Just to make sure everything was alright.”

Y/N felt her mind racing everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Her eyes traveled back to the wound on the left arm. Then to his bruised right eye.

She definitely wasn’t convinced. But she wasn’t convinced he was lying, either. Something tugged at the edge of her memory.

Spider-Man clutching his left arm.

A streak of red blood against the deep blue of his suit.

The image flashed through her mind before disappearing just as quickly.

Nothing clicked fully on her mind. Just… something.

Michael could practically see the wheels turning beginning to turn on her head. His stomach twisted.

He reached for her hand again, pressing another absentminded kiss to her knuckles. “I love you, mama.”

Y/N didn’t answer. She simply kept looking at him.

And slowly, she lifted a hand to the nape of his neck, her fingers absentmindedly combing through his curls as her eyes searched his face for something.

Where were you today, Mike?

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[plumppies]

A Star in His Orbit ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀☆ Michael Jackson

Synopsis: Michael kept his word about seeing you again. Things take a soft turn and you spend a quiet night with him. ────❥ Prev part

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Fluff and a touch of angst

Note: I'm taking a little break from here. I have assignment and a new job so I need more time off the site. I'm making this a mini series so I hope you like it. Thank you for 1k followers! I love each and every one of you. Thank you so much. Bye for now.

You spent the weekend working on new tracks for your upcoming album, writing and rewriting lyrics to a song you’ve been stuck on for the past month. Your eyes strained as you fiddled with the home tape recorder you used for demos, laser-focused on finding the best rhyme scheme for the second verse.

Two months had gone by since the award show. Two months since Michael Jackson stared at you intensely as you performed. Two months since he indirectly promised to visit.

‘I’ll come by and get it another time.’

You never stopped thinking about it; the way his eyes never left yours, the way he admired your work and the way his cologne hugged you in the cool LA night when you both stood near the parking lot away from wandering eyes.

Kyle noticed you sniffing the collar of Mike’s jacket as the car drove off that night. He snickered to himself every time you pressed it to your nose and inhaled deeply.

“Oh, you’re gone.” Kyle laughed, running a hand through his hair.

“Shut up, I’m not.” You dropped Michael’s jacket on your lap and crossed your arms defiantly, but you knew he was right.

You were absolutely gone. Utterly gone.

Your doorbell rang, snapping you out of thought in your silent home. 8pm. Who could that possibly be?

You stood up from the carpet, striding barefoot on the cool tiles. When you reached the door, you looked through the peephole and your heart hammered.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god!” You squealed and ran away from the door, hopping around the open space between your kitchen and living room to get as much excitement out of your system.

The doorbell rang again, its sound echoing softly through the house. You finally got a grip over yourself, hands flattening your silk dress and then your hair before tiptoeing to the door. When you opened it, Michael stood on the other side in black pants, loafers and a jacket so unmistakably him. He looks gorgeous, eyes shimmering from the light inside your home and hair cascading over his shoulder so effortlessly it felt like an insult to your barely laid lace front.

“Hi.” Michael broke the silence after a beat, shifting on his feet when he noticed you staring at the bouquet in his hands. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

You shook your head frantically, stepping aside to let him in before closing and locking the door. He handed you the bouquet of deep red roses and took his loafers off as he followed you to the living room. “No, not at all.”

Michael’s gaze scanned the cream carpet, noticing the open notebook and pen discarded on the coffee table and the glass of red wine almost empty a few inches away from it.

“How have you been?” He asked sheepishly as he took a seat on the couch, tilting his head to watch you fill up a vase and plop the flowers in it.

You rounded the kitchen island and sat on the floor by the notebook, feeling more comfortable on the carpet than on the couch. “Busy.”

“Yeah? With what?” Michael instinctively shifted to the floor too, sitting adjacent to you by the coffee table.

Your breath hitched quietly as the closeness, that unmistakable feeling in your stomach, bubbled warmly. Get it together, woman.

“I’m uh…I’m writing a song for my new album.” You explained, tapping a finger on the notebook.

The page sat blank, waiting patiently to be filled with a new verse for the track. A couple of ink dots scattered over the margins from you poking the page with your black pen — a habit you’ve had since you could remember. Michael hummed in response when he gently pulled the notebook towards him.

“’Acknowledge Me’?” He read the title, skimming through a few lines before looking up at you with curious but cautious eyes.

“Yeah,” You giggled awkwardly, making short eye contact with him.

You watched him read the first two verses, seemingly dissecting each line with furrowed brows. The room fell quiet, a hushed buzz of your refrigerator filling the quiet space between you two.

“Who’s this about?” The question came out more rushed than he wanted it. “I mean—if you don't mind me asking.”

You huffed out a soft laugh and straightened your posture, eyes darting to the kitchen before finding his. “My ex-boyfriend…”

Michael blinked a few times, each one slow and controlled. He read over the verse again, crossing one leg over the other.

“This is good stuff.” Michael complimented your work. His eyes lit up when he noticed your smile. “You’re really innovative, you know?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, not a lot of women aren’t this open in their music right now,” Michael responds right away, his tone passionate and endearing. “I hardly hear women cuss niggas out like that on a track. Not even I can do that.”

“Dirty Diana.” You quipped.

Michael’s eyes popped out for a split second before they relaxed and chuckled. “That’s not the same.”

“You cussed her out in the nicest way possible.” You laughed, standing up to grab a wine glass and a half-empty bottle of wine. The cork opened with a pop, rolling on the kitchen island as burgundy liquid poured into the glass you held.

“It’s about groupies.” Michael corrected you, his gaze still fixed on the notebook. You made your way back to the carpet and handed the drink to him.

“Right…and these groupies are coincidentally named ‘Diana’.” You raise your brow, sipping from your own glass.

Michael took a sip from his, peaking at you over the rim with mischievous eyes. It was a pretty stupid, really. He doubts anyone with more than two functioning brain cells believed him when he told the press that ‘Dirty Diana’ was about groupies.

“Ok, fine,” Michael laughed, gently setting the glass down on a coaster, “It is about her, but I didn’t get to say everything I wanted. Quincy made me ‘water it down’ out of fear of public backlash.”

“Fuck public backlash.” Your eyes rolled, and you leaned forward. Michael’s face seemingly faltered for a moment. “You okay?”

He brought the glass to his lips again but didn’t drink. The room fell silent, not tense but definitely shifted. The air between you no longer felt casual. Michael’s shoulders stiffened, and he looked away. You fiddled with the carpet fluff beside your leg, waiting for him to break the quiet.

“Can you promise not to tell anyone what I’m about to say?” His voice was smaller now, his humorous demeanour replaced with vulnerability.

“Of course.” You nodded immediately, placing one hand on the coffee table between you.

Michael inhaled before he spoke. He flashed you a weak smile. “I wanted to be more specific in the track. I mean, it is about Diana Ross.” He shrugged.

“How much more specific?” You pried gently, not pushing too hard for information he didn’t want to disclose.

“About everything.” He started. “Her lies, how she used me, how she manipulated me, how much time I wasted waiting for her, all for it to mean nothing because she got married behind my back.”

“You—” Your voice cracked, taken aback. You smoothed your hair down in shock, closing your eyes to get your thoughts together. “You waited for her?”

“Yeah. Stupid ain’t it?” A laugh escaped him, sheepish and self-loathing.

You shook your head to disagree, scrunching the carpet to calm yourself down.

“That bi—lady made you wait for her?”

“Yeah.” Michael cringed, gulping a huge sip of wine.

“Wow, that's…wow.” You exhaled and did the same, alcohol running down your throat. You knew a thing or two about their history, maybe not everything, but enough to make you distrustful of her intentions whenever you shared the same rooms.

“I saw her watching your performance that night we met. Her face was all—” He mimicked her envious expression.

“What a bitch—” You covered your mouth. Michael chuckled, shoulders easing up at your eventual slip-up.

“No, you’re right. She is a bitch. I wanted to flat-out call her that in the song, but—”

“Media outrage, right.” You finished his sentence, pouring another glass of wine for you both.

“But you…” Michael taps a finger over your now-closed notebook. “You don’t care, do you?”

“Damn straight I don’t!” You scoff, rolling your eyes obnoxiously with a giggle. Michael laughed too, harder this time. His joy echoed through the house, his shoulders shaking with every sound he made.

“Oh Lord, you’re hilarious.” He wipes a tear from under his eye, taking another sip of wine. “Your label’s ok with it?”

“They gave me creative freedom. Have you heard my other songs? I suffered the press with ‘Hot Pink’. ‘Planet Her’ was better received—I suppose it’s because it sounded more in line with what’s mainstream, but I didn’t like it.”

“You didn’t? You won a Grammy for it, though.” Michael tilted his head, eyes focused on you.

God, he’s beautiful—

“Uh, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I liked it.”You blinked back into focus. “I’m a rapper. I want to make rap music, not pop junk with generic lyrics and melodies.”

“You want to push barriers—stand out.”

“Yes, exactly! Like you!” You blurted.

Michael's eyes widened again, like your words hit a soft spot in his heart. He rubbed his neck, pursing his lips to hide the smile forcing itself onto his face. You felt your cheeks heat up, a tingling sensation washing over your neck as you both looked at each other.

He looked down at your feet, then his own, noticing how you somehow mimicked each other’s posture while talking. You looked at him, gaze focused on the one curl that fell right between his beautiful brown eyes. Your clock ticked in the background, gently guiding your attention to it.

10:3Opm.

“You should probably get going.” You whispered, as if saying it stung. You didn’t want him to leave, of course not. There’s so much more you wanted to talk about.

Michael looked at the clock as well, his expression going solemn. He didn’t want to leave either. The thought of being alone right now felt like a curse, especially after being so vulnerable with you.

“Or…” You began. His expression immediately softened with quiet anticipation of what you’ll say next. “I have an extra room if…if you wanna stay the night.”

“Really?” Michael blinked, eyes glistening as if he were about to cry. “I don't want to overstay.”

You placed your hand on his lap, warm palm against his toned leg. “Stay.”

Michael’s muscles stiffened for a second before easing up under your hold. His hand slowly covered yours, large and slightly calloused. He turned your hand over and squeezed it with a grateful grin.

The moment felt like it lasted a lifetime; Michael holding your hand as if you meant the world to him, as if your offer was the best thing anyone had ever given him.

“Thank you,” Michael whispered, hand still wrapped around yours. He exhaled as if he’d been holding his breath for hours.

“C’mon. I’ll show you the room.” You stood up slowly, keeping your fingers intertwined. You weren’t sure why, but you knew he needed the physical contact.

“Ok.” He stood too, following behind you as you both walked upstairs. You felt his warmth behind you, protective but vulnerable. He breathed slowly as you passed one locked door before reaching the guest bedroom.

You stepped inside, turning on the lights to reveal a cosy earth-toned room. A queen-sized bed sat in the middle of the room, a large headboard separating the bedroom from the bathroom. Michael’s hand on yours loosened, shoulders relaxing but with a raised brow.

“Yeah, I know it’s weirdly oriented,” you giggle, opening a cupboard to grab pyjamas big enough for him, “But the bed’s super comfortable, I sleep here sometimes rather than in my main bedroom.”

“All because of a bed?” He chuckled and took hold of the pyjamas, running his hands over the cotton fabric.

“Trust me, that thing…” You pointed to the bed, “…will have you knocked out in seconds.”

“We’ll see about that.” He laughed softly, motioning for the bathroom. You nodded and turned to leave, giving him privacy to change. Before you could close the door, he called out for you, voice just above a whisper.

“Yeah?” You tilted your head, body still facing the door.

“Sleep well, and…” he took a deep breath, biting his lower lip, “and thanks for letting me stay the night.”

You huffed out a little laugh, a soft smile on your face as you stepped out of the room. “Goodnight, Michael.”

@pyt03 @lov3lylxvender @nobleumbrashrine @zerosugarcherrydrpepper @angeleface @beberock375 @michaeljacksonsleftnipple @xxhoneymo0n @kordulka @iiovey0u @michaeljacksonsbae @mikesbian @kneelarmhstrung @mikejacksbabymommaaaaa @nunusmoll @istayuptoolateonthisapp15 @funkaoverwar @khxna @uconnwbbloversworld1 @plan3tch1ld @theyluvchanel @18lkpeters @0-n-1-x @myhobari @lilitheebaddest @tojiswifeforlife @butt3rfleye @lover-of-games-horror-music17 @cloverjeanmj @star-gurl4life @michaelkisskissgirl @zero820 @justglennreading @peachypeanut @1andonlytashae @thebabykashmere @ghostlycrestcurse @delictezz @heyitsconysstuff @calicina @fruitysoulorg @ilikyo @likewf @sebbysbaby @blacclotusss @whimsicalangel07 @cunty000 @froggyreadsss @mjsbiggestlover @iimsopretty

[plumppies]

A Star in His Orbit

 Michael Jackson

Context: Based off of this request. Thank you for sending it in, my love!

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Di*ana Ross

Drea's Note: If you're not a Doja Cat fan, are you real? Anywho, 'Been Like This' is definitely on loop rn.

Cameras pan side to side, following you as you strut slowly to the instrumental of your latest song. You hold your microphone close to your lips, practically kissing it as your rich vocal tone sways through the many bodies in the theatre. Red and white light illuminate your stature as you dance, your body painted in an array of warm hues; it captures every lift of your arms, every body roll, and every leg lift.

“Since you've been like this.” You look to your left, singing softly. The camera pans to you, focusing on your eyes. “Baby, I don't really wanna be in like this.”

You strut slowly across the stage, like a cat stalking its prey. Every word you sing comes out with a smooth, silky and rich tone. You can’t quite see the audience, but you feel their eyes on you with every move you make

“Said I can do this all night, baby” You crouch at the edge of the stage. “Said I was actin' out of line, maybe.”

Slowly, you slide down to the floor with your back on the cold stage. When you lift your legs in the air and circle the microphone cord around your arm, a camera near you travels over your form, stopping near the mic to capture your concentrated expression.

You blink slowly, smiling while you rap the last line of the verse. “Thank God I ain't been like this, yeah!” An applause erupts from the sound of your gorgeous voice punching that line out to the crowd. You continue singing, getting up from the floor and taking a few steps backwards in your heels. The crowd continues to cheer, enjoying your last verse.

“I, bless your heart,” The lights turn a soft shade of pink, capturing your curves in a rosy haze, “But I, I can't take no more.”

When the music dies down, the crowd cheers. The main lights go on, and you can finally see your audience. They all stand and clap their hands together, some men whistling in the back while others hoot and squeal. You stand and take it all in, absorbing praise from your peers.

This performance is different from others you’ve done. As a rising star, you had only performed for fans in small venues and festivals, but tonight you’re in a room filled with other artists. Producers, singers, songwriters and even actors are standing and cheering for you, never mind the millions of people watching you from the comfort of their homes.

You take a deep breath and smile, blowing kisses throughout the theatre as you make your way backstage. When you’re out of the camera’s sight, your manager places his hands on your shoulder and shakes you with an excited gaze.

“That…that was amazing!” He whisper-shouts. Diana Ross walks past you bitterly as she steps on stage to announce the next award winner in the ‘Best Music Video” category. You and your manager, Kyle, don’t pay her much mind.

“You think so? I was so nervous.” You walk further backstage and sit in a quiet room with Kyle. “I couldn’t even see the crowd. The lights were in my face and everything.”

Kyle nods enthusiastically while handing you a bottle of water, “You did great! Michael Jackson couldn’t peel his eyes away from you when you started dancing. That's why that witch’s got a stank face on.”

A soft laugh escapes from you, and you shake your head in disbelief. “You’re saying the Michael Jackson was watching my performance?”

Kyle chuckles beside you. He takes a deep breath and stretches his arms, “Honest to god, he was watching you from backstage, then he rushed back to his seat when you finished. I think the next award is his.”

Your heart skips a beat at the explanation. Was Michael Jackson actually watching you? As in the king of pop? No way, nope, nope—

“I’m serious, woman,” Kyle reassures you. He stands and calls in your stylist for some touch-ups before the final red carpet walk at the end of the show. The middle-aged woman enters and sets her makeup kit to the side before packing in extra foundation on your forehead and nose.

“I overheard him speaking with his manager about your performance,” your MAU speaks softly, packing in some more highlighter on your eyes’ inner corner, “he said you looked good up there, then asked one crew member for your name.”

You take a deep breath and giggle nervously. The mere thought of someone as great as MJ being interested in you is scarily exciting.

90 minutes pass. The award show finally comes to an end. You can hear cheering in the main room as the cameras pan around familiar faces for the closing credits. Kyle makes sure your outfit is properly worn, holding up a Polaroid camera to snap a picture of you — he’d later give you the photo titled ‘1st Award Show Performance’.

“Okay! Ready for the red carpet?” Kyle asks excitedly, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Yup,” you giggle and head out with him, making your way outside, “I’ll see you in the car.” Kyle waves goodbye, protectively watching you disappear into the flashing camera lights.

Cameras flash violently with your appearance, press and cameramen asking you multiple questions all at once. The hype around your performance tonight is palpable. You’re certain tomorrow’s pop culture papers will be about you, and you alone. Every movement you make is accompanied by a camera flash. It’s ridiculous, really. The obsession the press has with new, hot stars makes you nauseated, but you keep a steady smile on your face, letting the press get all the photos they need.

When you reach the end of the red carpet, the cameras flash harsher than they did for you, almost as if someone has simply turned on a large flashlight. You gracefully step off the carpet and get a glimpse of who’s suddenly taken the attention off of you.

Michael Jackson

He walks confidently, flashing the cameramen a gorgeous smile. God, he’s beautiful. He seems to have his attention on something else…Someone else. Your heart thumps in your chest when you realise who his eyes are on.

He’s. Looking. At. You.

Michael carefully strides across the red carpet, giving short nods and barely-there smiles before he reaches you. When he does, he motions for you to walk with him to a more secluded area near the many expensive cars.

“H-hi.” You stutter and try to act as calm as possible.

“Hi,” his smile is warm and inviting. He keeps a respectful distance from you, somehow noticing your nervousness, “Your performance was…really something.”

You hesitate to answer. This moment feels unreal, as if just a dream. Michael Jackson is speaking to you, talking about your performance.

“Oh, I…I hope that means something good.” You laugh nervously, and he nods reassuringly.

“Of course. I’ve never seen anything like it before,” Michael’s eyes travel down your outfit, skintight shimmery leggings and deep maroon spandex one-piece. He wants to compliment your figure, but decides against it. He bites his lip instead, holding your gaze for a second longer.

The moment between you makes your head fuzzy. Michael shifts on the balls of his feet, suddenly feeling nervous, too. It’s your turn to assess his outfit now. Your eyes travel over his lean legs, then his broad shoulders, landing on his large eyes. Unbeknownst to you both, a cameraman has been capturing every second of your interaction, snickering to himself about how much money he’ll make selling these photos.

“The song you were singing, ‘Been like this', right?” He breaks the thick silence. “Who’s it about? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“It’s uh, it’s about my ex-boyfriend. Bad breakup.” You nod, looking at your long nails.

Michael takes a step closer, a sudden urge he fails to restrain. He tilts his head to gaze down at you, licking his lips slowly. You look up at him and inhale his rich scent.

“It’s beautifully composed. I love the passion in the track, and you somehow made it more passionate on stage tonight.” Michael’s face lightens up, gaze relaxed now that he’s speaking about something he’s comfortable with.

“Wow, I hadn’t expected you to be into my sound.” Your laugh fills his chest. He laughs as well.

“Why not?” He questions you playfully.

“Well…I’ve been labelled as ‘promiscuous’ and ‘inappropriate’.”

Michael scoffs, shaking his head as if mentally dismissing the accusations against you. “You’re changing the game. Men sing about sex all the time. It’s about time women do the same.”

You’re taken aback by his words, having never expected him to be so open-minded. Men in the industry tend to be hypocritical about music. They sing about ‘slutty” women, but then ridicule women for embracing said slutty-ness. You hug yourself as a wisp of cold air blows past you.

“Wow…I—,” you’re at a loss for words, “I hadn't considered you’d have that mindset.

Michael instinctively takes his jacket off and hands it to you, motioning you to follow him to the cars. Coincidentally, your cars are parked next to each other. You can see Kyle in your car. A shit-eating grin is plastered on his face when he sees you wrapped in Michael’s large black jacket. Michael’s scent fills your senses with the jacket on you. You breathe deeply to savour the smell, wondering how long it’ll last.

“I have two older sisters. Pretty much grew up hearing them talk about boys and what they wanted to do with them,” Michael chuckles when he sees your manager in the car. “Keep it up. You have an amazing voice, and you rap like a pro. Maybe we can work together one day. Dance too?”

You freeze at the future offer. Your eyes pop open in shock, and you gasp softly. Kyle can’t quite hear what you two are saying, but he scoffs playfully in the car at your reaction. Another gust of wind passes you both, and you shiver, hugging Michael’s large jacket tightly around your smaller frame.

“I would love to work with you.” You shiver, shifting to make yourself smaller to avoid the cold. “I think our voices will mesh well together.”

Michael opens the passenger side door of your car, sensing you’re probably getting too cold to continue speaking. He gives you a charming “yeah, you’re right” and holds the door open for you. When you attempt to hand him his jacket, he stops you with a gentle hand.

“Keep it for tonight,” he winks (more like a blink) and waits for you to enter the car. “I’ll come by and get it another time.”

Your heart flutters, and your cheeks get warmer. Michael gently closes the door for you and waves goodbye before striding casually towards his own car.

@pyt03 @lov3lylxvender @nobleumbrashrine @zerosugarcherrydrpepper @angeleface @fanficreader33 @beberock375 @michaeljacksonsleftnipple @xxhoneymo0n @kordulka @iiovey0u @michaeljacksonsbae @ningizuo @tellybearyyy @kneelarmhstrung @mikejacksbabymommaaaaa

[mvsticmoony]

alcohol in my brain, the lady in my life on my headphones

[mvsticmoony]

Did you retire from the writing?🥴

im going through a major writer’s block rn 😔 BUT i’m almost done with part 2 of the spiderman series!!! hopefully i’ll be able to upload tomorrow night 🙏

[mvsticmoony]

wasn’t even gonna drink today, but michael reached 1B. cheers 🍻

[mikesbian]

Anyways, i wanna use this as an opportunity to lift up some of my favorite black writers bc we’re holding it down out here!! 🖤

@plumppies

@michaeldiary

@sweeterners

@multifandomposts-blog

@2222bad

@simp4eshal

@cinnamoncunt

@freakinme

@sgecat

@instinctprt2

@sugarcookiemj

And of course myself!!

[mvsticmoony]

i think i hallucinated a request. i barely recall waking up in the middle of the night, grabbing my phone and reading it. i thought it was so good and was like “oh, i definitely need to write this!” but i cannot remember for the life of me what it was about.

[mvsticmoony]

i think, I THINK, it had something to do with captain EO ☝️

[mvsticmoony]

yup, highest grossing biopic of all time.

17 years later he’s still making history.

after everything—the racism, prejudices, tabloids, endless attempts to tear him down—a black man who endured more scrutiny and cruelty than anyone ever should has a legacy that continues to speak for itself.

you made it to july, my love ⭐️

[plumppies]

I’m going to say this once and never again. If you don’t agree with me, you’re more than welcome to unfollow and block me. I’m also not a chicken and will be tagging exactly who I’m talking about because this is honestly ridiculous.

I’m going to preface this by saying this isn’t to cause drama or get likes. My account is garnering plenty of engagement from my writing and my personal posts already. This is merely for educational purposes and to shed light on an issue that’s infested the internet for years. This is also NOT just about the MJ fandom but I’m using it as an example because it’s happened here. Again, if you don’t agree with me, unfollow or block me!

I recently followed an account under the impression that they were a black owned blog. Their layout, use of AAVE and black oriented reaction pictures made me believe that I found another black writer to support. But I learned that the owner is a white women.

I want to follow more black writers here to uplift them in a space that is heavily biased against black fans. Situations surrounding belittling black writers in the MJ community have been rampant for a while now so I take it upon myself to support and follow fellow black writers who represent me and many black MJ fans who have felt underrepresented in the fandom.

Back to the issue. Finding out that this account is a white woman behind the scenes upset me quite a bit. I genuinely believed she was one of us and was combating the racial problem within the fandom. That being said, I’d like to point out why this is more than just a ‘I feel scammed’ situation and more about digital dishonesty.

Digital blackface is a massive issues in online communities across the internet. It’s a conversation that has been ongoing for years now, even before I was on the internet. Many people outside of the black diaspora have downplayed it as a problem, stating that free speech shouldn’t be considered black fishing or harmful towards black communities. However, I would like to point out that Digital Blackface is more than just using ‘black media’ to express yourself, it directly impacts how the world views black peoples as a whole.

Accounts on Tumblr and other platforms have popped up pretending to be black people since conception of social media. They use Ebonics and black reaction pictures/gifs as a means of communication which often time leads to real black-owned accounts believing that they are interacting with black people. In hindsight, one would merely say “well it’s not their fault you thought they were black,” and that is exactly the problem.

As I said before, I follow black blogs to uplift my people. The internet is riddled with racism directly impacting black communities. We get called the hard r, monkeys, ghetto, nasty, undesirable etc and platforms don’t bat an eye. Racism towards us is so normalised that it’s bled into every internet fandom. So you see why black people online gravitate towards each other? Because we want a safe space for ourselves. We want to appreciate each other, dote on each other, love, respect and support each other’s art.

How do black folk know that an account is black owned? We use Ebonics, black media and black phrases that only we would know. So you can imagine how disheartening it is to find out that an account using such media would be a white woman behind it.

Nonblack POC or white person reading this might not understand the gravity of this situation but I implore you to read up on it and take time to fully understand why it’s upsetting.

Terms like ‘the saxophones are getting louder” “goofy ahh” “I’m crine” “unc” “Deadass” are AAVE/Ebonics. Finding them on TikTok and incorporating them into your online vocabulary when you’re not apart of that community is a form of digital blackface and cultural appropriation. It’s not Gen Z slang or TikTok slang and it’s not a funny audio just for vibes. It’s BLSCK AMERICAN language.

I’m not BA and I do use Ebonics here and there but I avoid incorporating it into my speech when I don’t understand how to use it properly. And I don’t use much of it because, again, I’m NOT black American. Black Americans have been kind enough to even let black people outside of the United States use their language and I don’t even want them to think that I’m being irresponsible with that privilege.

Now in regards to this situation. I don’t want to hear things like “Michael was for everyone.” Although that was true, you would be really stupid to believe that Michael didn’t understand that black people were/are the most marginalised and racially abused people on the planet. This man grew up in undoubtedly the most racially divided time in USA history. He even spoke out about the industry steals from “especially black artists”. He was aware that black art is abused for white financial and political gain. Black media (whether it be music or simply reaction photos) is art.

So why position yourself in a way that make you appear to us as a black woman @michaelmuse ? Your entire aesthetic is based in a way that draws in a black audience. You use black faces as reaction pics and Ebonics but you draw the line at reblogging black fanfics when you know that this site favours reblogs over comments and likes.

Your previous username (ebonymuse) in itself is indicative of the issue I’m discussing here. ‘Ebony’ is a term primarily used to describe black people. Urban dictionary defines it as “the essence of dark skin that is enriched and plentiful with melanin. greatness. beauty”. It’s even a common term used to define a porn category for to black people. Now the term itself is constantly being critiqued for bordering on being a fetish term, however, you see how it’s for black people? Dark skin people to be exact?

So why is a white woman with white ass skin using that term in their username? I’m a black woman with albinism and even I wouldn’t use that term. Why? Because it isn’t not for my pasty self.

I’ve read some of your fics and this has nothing to do with me wanting diversity or inclusion from you, nor is it to hate on your work. You do use Ebonics in your work so I’m sure you knew that your fics would attract black readers to your blog. Your behaviour (whether you did it intentionally or not) was deceptive and potentially harmful to my community. You need to educate yourself on the contents of this conversation to fully understand how bad this situation actually is. There’s no way you’ve been on the internet and didn’t know that black Americans have been begging nonblack (especially white) folk to stop using their media as your own or as ‘a silly tend’ or to be relatable.

I’ve seen a few black British blogs come to your defence and I’m bewildered to see them pandering for a white woman about something that affects black people as a whole. I myself am not Black American but I will stand by them when their culture and language is diluted and turned into a ‘trend’ for everyone else to steal and appropriate. It’s wrong and it impacts us all. White people (even other POC) don’t separate us. They see one fake black account say stupid things and assume that’s how all of us feel/act. I understand that the UK is differently set up but your low racial self esteem is affecting us all. You let white Brits walk all over you and your culture and you just laugh along like it’s funny. This is why racism there will never end. You let white footballer wear braids, let white folk use AAVE and flat out call your Afros messy and you think it’s not that serious. Stand up. Immediately.

You guys really need to do better. Stop misconstruing Michael’s words to get away with disrespecting black people. You’re becoming just as bad as those who racially attacked him.

With love.

[whimsicalbambii]

pretty baby

Boyfriend j5/otw era!Michael x black!femreader a/n ˚₊ · »-♡→ finally a fluff! trying to make this longer than the fics I usually make :) hope you like it!

notes ˚₊ · »-♡→ no use of y/n, angst to fluff, use of “Baby” “ma”, insecurity, making out, j*e mentioned

Michael stood in front of his bathroom mirror, leaning over the sink slightly and touching his nose, all day he couldn’t stand his nose and acne, thinking to himself how ugly his nose was. You were laying on his bed, reading a magazine thinking he was just going to the bathroom…

You glance up at the door, it was shut. You sighed, standing up from the bed and tossing the magazine you were reading onto the nightstand, you made your way towards the door, leaning against it slightly and knocking. “Mickey?” You called out, quiet but loud enough for him to hear. Michael and you had always called each other Mickey and Minnie, since you were just 4 years old.

He quickly glances at the door, opening it, “Yes?” He opens the door all the way, you glance at him up and down and notice how red his forehead and nose is. “Michael!? Why is your face so red?” In a worried tone, you reach out for his face but he moves your hand away, you pout slightly. “Is somethin wrong love?” You say, watching him as he closes the door behind him and sighing. “There’s nothin wrong…” he mumbles under his breath, making his way towards his bed and plopping down onto it. You follow along, facing him in the bed. “Are you touching your face again? You gotta stop doin that Michael…” you whisper, hand rubbing up and down his arm, you sit up slightly.

“I was…” he glances at you, “I just… I don’t know, Joseph was talking about my nose to my brothers, they kept laughing about it and then he said it was too big and wide…” you can see his eyes glistening, like he’s about to cry, he looks away, trying to hide the tears. You gently turn his face towards you with your finger, “baby… Your nose is not big, nor wide it is beautiful. Don’t listen to Joseph, please Michael…”

“I try not to, but he’s always making fun of my looks and I never get to say anything about it…” he intertwines his hand in yours, “listen to me Michael, You are absolutely perfect. Literally everything about you, you are the most handsome man I’ve ever seen baby” you lean in slightly, kissing him softly on the lips.

“Thanks ma…” he whispers against your lips, deepening the kiss. His tongue slides into your mouth, hands reaching down to your waist as he continues to kiss you.

“I love you Mickey” you smile against his lips, he pulls away so he can look at you fully, “i love you more my Minnie…” he says with a smile back, leaning in to press another kiss on your forehead. While the two of you kiss, Tito is heading up the stairs to Michael’s bedroom. He opens the door as both of you are making out, Michael gets startled at the door opening, “I didn’t see nothin!” He laughs closing the door behind him, “Tito! Leave us alone!” Michael yells, loud enough for Tito to hear outside the door or wherever he was,

“Man all I wanted to ask you was if you wanted to come along with me and the guys while we head out in town with some girls!” He says, leaning against the door, Michael glances at you and helps you sit up. “Yeah yeah sure I’ll bring my girl with me if that’s alright Tito?” Grabbing your hand and heading towards the door, You grab your purse from the dresser as Michael opens the door, spotting Tito in the hallway. “Cmon they’re already heading out, slow pokes” he shakes his head, making his way downstairs.

Later that day, it was almost 11 o’clock, you were in the shower while Michael was in his bedroom, everybody else was either staying up or in bed.

You didn’t wash your hair, but you did a face mask and your skincare once you got out of the shower. You touched your hair up and slipped on a pair of white lace panties, along with a white satin set of pajamas. Michael was sprawled out on his bed, he immediately looked over at you closing the bathroom door behind you, “Hey pretty” he says, motioning for you to come lay with him on the bed. “Hii Mikey” you say with a grin, setting your slippers to the side of his bed and crawling next to him, laying down right beside him.

He leans over, tugging a piece of hair behind your ear and pressing a kiss to your forehead. Your stomach starts fluttering under his touch, he whispers near your earlobe, “thank you for making me feel better about my nose earlier ma” he pulls away slightly to look at you,

“Y’ welcome mickey” you tug face towards you again gently, pecking some kisses on his face. “My beautiful girl…” he whispers onto to ur lips as he captures you in another kiss, “my pretty boy…” you moan against his lips as he deepens it, tilting your heads to get a better angle.

This isn’t proofread so be aware my writing isn’t the best here lol…