blu

𝘩𝘪! 𝘪𝘮 𝘣𝘭𝘶⊹ ࣪ ˖🫐ᝰ.ᐟ #𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘢𝘤

𓂃🖊𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨: 𝘔𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘭 𝘑𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮 𝘖𝘊

𝙍𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙣!

(ㅅ´ ˘ `) 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥! 𝘈𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘸!⌯⌲

wattpad acc

todays hear me out- Michael and Wife!Reader voicing Jessica and Roger Rabbit

( 𝘫5! 𝘔𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘭 𝘹 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳! 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘣𝘴𝘧!𝘖𝘊 𝘍𝘦𝘮) 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘉𝘢𝘳𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘪𝘨 𝘈𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘌𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦. 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘑*𝘦 𝘑𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘤𝘯𝘦-𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘱𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘖𝘊/𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬. ( 𝘸 𝘤 ): 3200+ 𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦

HAYVENHURST, ENCINO 1973

For fifteen-year-old Michael, the change of scenery had been a bit of a struggle, especially due to California’s constant, dry heat.

The move had been more complicated than expected; from the very start, the neighbors, mostly, if not entirely, white nuclear families, made it clear that the Jacksons were unwelcome because of their skin color. Michael found this utterly absurd and foolish, the irrational hatred directed at someone over something as trivial as skin tone seemed unreal to him.

On top of that, the beautiful, amenity-filled house they now called home was the result of working around the clock alongside his brothers and enduring his father’s beatings. There were also the insults regarding his acne, as if it were abnormal for a teenager to experience hormonal changes, or grounds for relentless teasing that drove him to avoid bathroom mirrors and remove the ones from his own bedroom.

Setting aside all the recent downsides, the move to the new house in the 71’ and the fact that all his brothers finally had their own privacy had brought them a little closer in a way, they no longer fought over beds, the cold, or who got to use the bathroom first. Jackie, Jermaine, Marlon, and even Randy now trusted each other enough to talk about their romantic conquests or the girls who caught their eye. Tito had already settled down, and although he wasn't an active participant in the dating scene, he still listened to his brothers. Jermaine was also thinking about getting married at the end of the year, which made Michael wonder who the unlucky girl might be for him, not necessarily marriage right away, though that would be nice eventually, but at fifteen, he was just thinking about taking a girl out, watching movies, and playing board games. 

"Hey, Mike... So, what happened with that girl from New York? Did she keep writing back?"

That’s right; after a couple of years and crossing paths at other amateur competitions, and thanks to Michael’s persistence and the trust built up over that time, he and Barbara became pen pals, until she stopped replying in February of ’73. Prompted by Tito’s question, the other siblings turned their gaze toward the skinniest Jackson brother.

"Uh... No, she... I think she moved," he admitted sheepishly, searching for an excuse that wasn't a lie.

It turned out that, once she let her guard down, Barbara was a total goofball, Michael would end up with a stomach ache from laughing at Barbie’s antics. He was amazed by the shift in her demeanor once you earned her trust, something achieved simply by talking about Cher, rom com movies, and The Beatles.

"No way! I read one of her letters; I thought they were friends!"

"Oh, give it a rest..." Marlon said seriously. "The whole thing with Mike and his friend Tinkerbell is a touchy subject." Marlon burst out laughing; the nosy guy had read Michael’s letters before they were sent, and the nickname he’d given the young woman had stuck.

"It’s not funny." Michael stood up from the living room sofa where the siblings had gathered; he glanced toward the kitchen, where his mother and sisters were chatting while preparing lunch. He stepped out the front door for a walk around the neighborhood, partly to clear his head after the earlier conversation, and partly to see if anyone might want to talk to him without making fun of him.

Leaving the house, he headed up the street. When he reached the avenue, he walked along looking at the houses, imagining what might be happening inside, a surprise party, kids playing in the yard, and so on. He was struck by the sight of a small but lovely house, one that hadn't seemed to be there until that very day, as people began moving in.

He watched as a tall, powerfully built African American man stepped out of a Ford Maverick alongside a tall, rather slender young woman who looked much younger than her companion, together, they opened the back doors and the trunk to start unloading boxes of their belongings.

It wasn't until he stopped in the street and locked eyes with a pair of green ones that he realized who his new neighbors were.

HAYVENHURST AVENUE, ENCINO, 1973

Barbara was stunned by the size of the houses in California, she wondered what people did with so much space. By New York standards, a house's limited width was usually compensated for by having up to four stories, plus, the heat was stifling.

"Wipe that look off your face, brat, the house has a pool!"

"A pool doesn't stop it from being hot outside, you idiot!"

They hadn't really changed a bit, aside from the fact that Connor now sported a short, well-groomed afro and both of them had shot up, developing long limbs.

They were just as insufferable as ever. So, when their parents decided Barbara should move from the East Coast to the West, aiming for a more independent life away from home but close to her older brother, Connor thought leaving the country entirely would be preferable than living with his sister.

"I can't even wrap my head around this house... Good grief. Are we rich or something?"

Barbara asked, her genuine uncertainty masked by irony, she felt like a fish out of water looking at her future neighbors' mansions.

"The people who gave me the scholarship are rich, we’re just going to act rich, Cher."

"Then let's put on a good show, Sonny." The Rossi siblings' house was somewhat modest by the standards of the mansions on Hayvenhurst Avenue, but for two people, it was more than spacious, featuring a lovely, large tree in the front yard and a well-manicured lawn.

"We're here... Time to unload the boxes, Barb!" 

"Ugh..." The dreamy little girl had grown into a teenager. While she had certainly changed and matured, city life forces you to grow up fast, deep down she still held onto the traits and childhood keepsakes she’d always had.

So, she couldn't really complain about unloading boxes, seeing as more than half of them were hers. She opened the passenger door just as Connor popped the trunk. She pulled out a box, but as she glanced toward the sidewalk across the street, her eyes locked onto a young man with dark skin and big, doe-like eyes.

"Cher? Hand me the house keys." Her brother snapped her out of her trance. She set the box down and walked up the path to the front door, unlocking it, as she turned back to retrieve what she’d left behind, she didn't notice the young man crossing the street.

"Hey."

"Shit!"

Barbara jumped, startled to find him leaning against the car right next to the open door where she had been crouching just moments before. 

"I'm sorry," he laughed softly. "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm your neighbor—I live just down the street."Michael started to extend his hand but quickly lowered it when he realized hers were full.

"Hey, you look a lot like someone I know." He said this while following her toward the house.

"I get that a lot."

"No, seriously!"

"And who do I look like, Michael?"

"Like you, Barbara!"

Barbara’s brain betrayed her, blurting out the name of the young man ruining her joke, someone impossible not to recognize. Caught up in the excitement of seeing his best friend, Michael hugged her without a thought for the box she was holding.  

"Mike! Give me a sec—I'll be right back."

Barbara ran into the house with the box in her arms, she was terrified when her brother headed to the yard to fetch more things to bring inside, it wasn't that she was afraid he would be mean to him, but rather that she was afraid he would embarrass her by telling silly stories about her.. 

When she stepped back out, she saw the two men talking.

"Sonny! Michael, this is my brother Connor." The two had already greeted each other before Barbara arrived. Even though Connor had warned him not to approach his little sister with the wrong intentions, and a football player’s threat was certainly intimidating, Michael seemed at ease around the Rossis.

"Yeah, he’s almost as funny as you are, Barbie."

He said, grinning from ear to ear. Connor immediately noticed that Michael wanted to talk to Barbara, so he nudged her toward the boy with the massive afro.

"Let Michael show you the neighborhood; I’m going to keep unpacking." Barbara nodded with a smile, Michael took her hand and jogged toward the street, pulling the long-legged girl along with him.

"It’s been a while... You’ve grown taller than me now." Barbara said this once Michael stopped tugging her and they were walking side by side along the sidewalk, around age ten, she had hit a growth spurt and towered over Michael, but now, at fourteen, she was a couple of centimeters shorter than he was.

"Haha, yeah... We haven't talked in a while."

"Yeah... About that..."

"It's okay; I understand why you didn't want to talk to me." Barbara stopped walking. Noticing her absence, Michael immediately looked back to see the confused expression on her face.

"Me? But I sent you a letter every week, Mickey..."

"What? I did too..." Barbara did the math in her head. In Michael’s recent letters, and during the festivals they’d attended together wich was about a year the last one, he had mentioned, and she had noticed, that Joseph kept her from distracting him while he worked, knowing that vile man, it wasn't hard to imagine the worst. 

"God, the mailman must have lost mine—I swear, the guy is crazy!" Michael laughed, finding the excuse believable thanks to his friend's annoyed tone.

Michael laughed at the excuse, which sounded convincing thanks to his friend's annoyed tone.

"I really missed you, Barbie; it’ll be fun having you nearby!" He kept laughing and shaking his head, he couldn't believe his friend had crossed the country and was now going to live just a few meters away from him.

He gave her an affectionate hug around the shoulders, though she remained slightly tense at the sudden contact. "I missed you too, Bambi." Barbara smiled, revealing a full set of braces, that was when she noticed Michael had been avoiding eye contact ever since he saw her in the car,unusual behavior for someone with eyes like that animated deer's.

"Hey, what's up? Look at me,did you get a face tattoo or something?" Michael trusted Barbara implicitly, considering they had only met a few times and mostly communicated through letters; I suppose that’s what happens when you only have one real friend.

"It’s just... this." Michael turned, pointing to his acne-covered cheeks and forehead.

"Oh... I hadn't noticed, I have it too." The girl lifted her bangs, which were straightened, unlike the rest of her curly hair, to reveal a mild case of acne.

"Although I'm trying to get rid of it with creams and stuff." The casual way Barbara handled the subject caught him completely off guard, he didn't want to dwell on it, fearing she might pity him for his untreated skin.

"Hey—are you still singing?" Michael asked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his bell-bottom jeans.

"Yeah i try to, I've written a lot of lyrics lately. And with the move, I'm hoping for more opportunities than I had in New York... after school."

"That sounds fun. Having tutors is incredibly boring."

"It is fun, but being the new kid isn't—especially when nobody at school knows you. Everyone looks at you like you're weird. In Brooklyn, even if you switched schools, you always knew someone before you got there."

"I'm sure someone will recognize you from a festival, Barbs! You'll see—your career is going to take off like a rocket. I wish someone from Motown could hear you they would love your voice, it’s truly so unique so you can go lower than my voice!"

Barbara’s parents remained reluctant to have their daughter involved in an industry as harmful as the one poor Mikey was in at least in their view.

"Yeah... I don't know, Mike; I'm still not sure about that. I prefer writing lyrics, I get really nervous performing... So, what's Japan like?"

She crossed her arms as they continued walking under the warm sun.

"It's amazing! Everyone is so kind and hospitable, and the temples and buildings are incredible! They really keep their culture alive even in very modern things." Barbara laughed softly, seeing the passion with which he spoke, he had clearly been very happy during his visit. "That's lovely, Mike."

HAYVENHURST, ENCINO 1973

The young man with the afro stopped once they reached a house that was huge, even compared to the other homes in the neighborhood.

"Is this your house? It's really beautiful."

"Thanks, Barbs. Do you want to come in? My mom and sisters were getting something ready before I left." Michael started walking toward the front door when he noticed his companion taking small steps backward.

"Oh, no thanks, Mike. I have to go back and help... But it's really nice knowing we'll be closer. If you need anything, you know where I live."

“I can take you back-“

“I have to learn to fend for myself and It looks like they’re waiting for you. Besides, the path is simple, just follow the yellow brick road.”

He assumed that her shyness was the reason she hadn't wanted to come inside and greet all his siblings, even less to his mother and father.

As they said goodbye, they hugged again, and she planted an air-kiss on his cheek, pressing her face against his. He watched her walk away, and once she was too far off to notice, he decided to go inside. He was greeted by Marlon and Jermaine, who, along with the rest of his brothers, had been watching the whole scene from the living room window.

"Well done, champ!"

"That's the way, tiger!"

"She'll come around soon, Mike, that girl is in love with you, no doubt about it!"

"Is that the girl from the letters?"

His older brothers showered the slender teenager with praise and playful shoves.

"Cut it out! Barbie's my friend! She just moved into the neighborhood, don't tease me about her!" Michael spun around to dodge their playful jabs.

"Give it time, Michael. They all say that, but before you know it, you're marrying your best friend, right, Tito?" Jermaine said, jerking his thumb toward the man in question. Perhaps he was too innocent to fully grasp what they were saying, but as long as he and Barbara stood together as a team, nothing could defeat them.

HAYVENHURST AVENUE, ENCINO 1973

Back in her new home, Barbara flopped onto the sofa next to her brother to watch TV; she fanned herself with her hands while Connor held a fan close by.

"So... Michael Jackson, huh?" Connor initiated the conversation, awkward, yet necessary. His sister wasn't particularly affectionate, even with her closest childhood friends, so seeing her let a total stranger, at least to him, hug her was a big deal.

"He's just my friend."

"A very good... friend."

"Sorry for having good friends? It's not my fault no one can stand you." Barbara was stunned by her own words, usually, when she provoked her brother, their parents would step in before things came to blows, but their parents were on the other side of the country.

"I'm sorry! Okay! I said it! I'm sorry." She gasped out the words between bursts of laughter caused by her older brother tickling her.

"Fine... But seriously, your friend seems like a good guy, just be careful."

"Careful of what?"

"Of whatever. Just don't do anything stupid that gets you into trouble, remember, right now, I'm like your dad."

"Fine!" The young woman got up to head to the second floor, where her bedroom and bathroom were located, Connor had left boxes of her belongings scattered across the floor.

Upon opening one box, she noticed it contained only decorations, as she pulled out figurines, stuffed animals, and rolled-up posters, she spotted a stack of vinyl records stacked at the bottom.

"Shit!"

She quickly pulled them out, hoping none had succumbed to the weight of the items resting on top. She checked the Cher records first, then the James Brown and Beatles ones, and finally found a couple by a group of five brothers—all sporting magnificent afros. To Barbara’s relief, none of the records were broken.

Throughout the afternoon, she arranged her belongings on the shelves and hung her clothes in the closet. Everything seemed to be in order; she had managed to unpack everything before 8:00, as indicated by the clock on the wall, yet she still didn't know what to do with her life in the Big Apple.

She looked up a number in the phone book and dialed what she hoped was the correct one on her bedroom phone, waiting patiently until a soft female voice answered.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"Uh, I’m Barbara... Rossi! Am I speaking to the Jacksons? I’m looking for Michael..." Barbara was a bundle of nerves, terrified she might be mistaken for someone else or that she had dialed the wrong number.

"I'll call him now." The intermediary stepped away from the microphone before shouting in a truly high-pitched voice, "Michael, Barbara Rossi is calling you!"

Her nervousness spiked; she would have sworn those were the longest ten seconds of her life. "Hi, Cher! I heard your brother call you that, how did you get the number?"

It was her Michael on the other end of the line, hiding with the phone so he wouldn't be disturbed while talking to his little friend.

"I got it from the big directory. Was that your mom earlier?" Barbie asked, playing with the coiled phone cord.

"No, that was my sister LaToya... Her voice can be a bit annoying sometimes, don't you think?"

"Hmm... Maybe a little? What are you doing?" The young girl lay down on her bed, gazing out the window at the large tree outside her room. 

"Nothing much, what about you?"

"I don't know... nothing really. But... I miss the noise of the city. I was hoping you’d understand what it’s like to move to a new place, and I miss my parents..." Michael’s heart ached to hear his friend sounding so down; he prayed she wasn't crying.

"Barbs, I know you can handle this. You’ll pull through and achieve your goals, and I’ll be right there to support you. Even if you don't realize it, there are so many people who love you so, so much." He spoke with such sweetness that she felt like she might get a cavity just from listening to him, and he sounded so convinced that he was starting to win over Barbara’s stubborn mind.

"Thanks, Mickey... I needed to talk to someone about all this. I still haven't fully processed that my whole life is changing; I’ll have to fend for myself from now on."

"I’ll always be there for you, Tink. I appreciate you so much."

"I appreciate you too, Mickey, I feel so lucky to have you."

a/n: I must say I’m not black, i am a proud latina and I try my best to investigate on USA and specially Afro american culture during the ages i write about with the wish of represent my black queens and make Barbara feel a deeper character than just mikes gf, if there’s any typo since i translate word by word, unacurrate fact, or outdated thing in this series please let me know it, love yall. also I may do a masterlist for the chronological order of reading. xoxo

-𝙗𝙡𝙪

( 𝘫5! 𝘔𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘭 𝘹 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘖𝘊 𝘍𝘦𝘮) 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘉𝘢𝘳𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘒𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘗𝘰𝘱 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘭𝘪𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳/𝘖𝘤 𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬, 𝘱𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦. ( 𝘸 𝘤 ): 3 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘬.

NEVERLAND RANCH, 1989

She had spent years facing stages thousands of times larger, with millions of people screaming her name and weeping with euphoria at the sight of her, yet no camera or audience had ever seemed quite as intimidating as this. Perhaps it was because, after all this time, the interview routine felt unfamiliar; this time, she wasn't playing the role of the artist. She wasn't singing lyrics she had written while baring her heart to the public. She wasn't trying to convince the world that she was still the same person everyone remembered.

It was just her.

"After so many years, everyone knows the story of the star," the interviewer said, glancing at her notes. "Your awards, your albums, the sold-out concerts... but I feel like no one really knows the beginning of that long story. How did it all start? When did it start?"

The beginning. That word sounded simpler than what it actually entailed. She looked fondly at the reason she had agreed to this interview after such a long time away from the spotlight: a beautiful band on her left ring finger. 

"If that’s what you want, then we’ll have to go way back," she replied with a smile tinged with both nostalgia and a nervousness masked by years of media training.

"To when?"

Barbara fixed her gaze on a spot beyond the tripods, lights, and production crew. Back there was a little girl, full of passion and a drive to prove she was the best. 

"To 1967."

"You were eight years old back then, right?" 

"Yes, ma'am." A small laugh escaped her as she remembered how she was always made to state her age wherever she performed. "Even though singing is something I’ve done for as long as I can remember, the truth is that year marked a turning point in my life, you know?"

“Oh… So that was the year you met.”

 The interviewer gestured for the other woman to continue her story, listening intently to the talk. 

APOLLO THEATER, NEW YORK. 1967

Barbara had begged her parents to take her and give her the chance to enter the contest being held at the theater. She stood out in the school choir thanks to a voice that was remarkably deep for such a young girl, and her teacher encouraged her to cast aside her shyness and perform as a soloist.

“Barbie, hold still; your dad already told him how to pronounce your last name.” The tall, impeccably dressed woman with skin the color of brown velvet tried to get her anxious daughter to sit down; she knew what Barbara was like—someone who, despite knowing there was no reason for her performance to go wrong, was demanding of herself.

"But what if—"

"Barbara Destiny Rossi, sit down, or I’ll make sure you can’t sit down for a month."

Her parents weren't overly strict—their children rarely stepped out of line, which gave them peace of mind—but they would be firm when necessary. Her mother always boasted to her friends about how Connor, Barbara’s older brother, was the quarterback at his high school—a school where he was likely the only African American student. 

Patricia took her daughter's hand once she finally sat down; she watched as the girl asked for her purse and fished out her notebook diary. "You brought it? Barbara, I don't want you writing right now. If you want, just go over the lyrics so you don't get nervous about forgetting them."

If the mother had to describe her daughter, she would say something seemingly contradictory: Barbara was demanding and passionate, yet a procrastinator—and, above all, shy in front of small groups.

Barbara paid close attention, reading the lyrics carefully and even jotting down small notes next to the parts where she needed to remember something specific. “Dolce” “Piano” “Crescendo to Fortissimo” 

“Mom, I promise the only thing I might forget is how to breathe; I’m really nervous, but I do remember the song.” She said this as she closed her notebook and smoothed out the skirt of the dress her mother had bought for the occasion—a pink one with a bow at the waist.

Her dark, defined curls were styled into a bun, and she wore just a touch of makeup on her soft face. She felt just like one of The Supremes, whose song “Stop! In the Name of Love” she was going to perform. She wrote down words of encouragement and drew stars to calm herself.

“Remember to always smile and look at the audience, but don’t just stare at one side; look at the judges and—” 

“Mom, I’ve already done that! I get more nervous in front of you guys!” She raised her voice to a loud whisper; she felt embarrassed by the sheer number of reminders and things to improve that they kept pointing out.

It was curious how singing her solo with the choir in front of the entire school community caused her less anxiety than singing for her family. Across the room—off-stage to the left—a boy stood with his four siblings, all of them nervous about the performance and the fear of letting their father down. He watched the little dark-skinned girl pacing anxiously back and forth; when her mother made her sit down, it felt as if the world stood still. He had never seen such a pretty girl. What caught his attention most—because the combination was so unusual—was that the stranger was Black; her skin was a shade lighter than his and his family’s, but she was Black nonetheless. And she had eyes greener than emeralds. Even his own father had blue eyes, he had never saw such a vivid color on someone like him.

Michael wondered if the girl he was watching might be a princess.

Everything had gone well—at least for the Jackson 5; they were leaving the stage for the last time, euphoric from their victory and the audience's applause. At a safe distance, Barbara held the award she had won for taking second place.

"Honey, those boys clearly don't participate the same way you do; you might have run into them just now, but they weren't competing in the league just for fun," her father explained, kneeling before his daughter. She could see the vast difference between her solo performance and the collective effort of the five boys with their beautiful afros.

"Dad, they're very good. But I did my best without getting nervous." Barbara tried to stop looking at the group; they seemed to exert a magnetic pull on the curious eyes of the crowd. 

Her brother hadn't been able to attend the contest because of a game, and that was where they were headed after leaving the theater. As they walked toward the back exit, her parents walked ahead of Barbara. Meanwhile, Michael had spotted her again amidst the crowd; his feet moved without any conscious direction—with a clumsiness strange for someone so skilled at using his feet while dancing—as he headed straight toward her.

"Hey... Look" Marlon said to his older brother, Jermaine, pointing at the kids meeting. The rest of the Jacksons quickly watched in amazement as their shy little star approached a tiny, bright figure.

"Hi... Congratulations, you did a great job..." Michael said, his voice soft as cotton; he was waiting for her to tell him her name. 

"Barbara."

"I'm Michael."

"I know; the announcer called out all our names. Congratulations."

"I like The Supremes… too."

And just like that—barely finishing her sentence—she hurried away as fast as she could, following her parents while holding a hand of each, she didnt wait Michael to finish his. Michael was left standing there, his mouth hanging open; even though he had spoken quickly, he didn't think she had actually heard him.

"Good thing the contest wasn't for 

simpathy, she wouldn't have won that either." Marlon and his big mouth—though Michael thought that, in her shoes, he might have been frustrated too.

In the car on the way to Connors high school, Barbara wept silently, trying to keep her parents from noticing and asking her why. She hadn't meant to sound so rude and bratty, but the moment that boy approached her, her shyness took over; she spoke like a robot because her anxious body would switch to autopilot—it happened every time. That was why she didn't have many friends—or any, really, Barbara was terribly introverted.

"Hey, what's wrong, Cher?" asked her older brother once he got on the car with his uniform changed to what casual was in the sixties. They were both waiting in the car for their parents to return from speaking with the school team's coach.

"Nothing, Sonny. Did you win?"

"We won... barely." Sonny and Cher were the nicknames their parents had given them, and the names had stuck. It wasn't because they resembled the famous singing duo—though Connor did have nearly straight hair, despite being Black. It was because of the youngest child's obsession with Cher; she claimed to feel a magnetic pull toward her—the woman was her idol, Barbie used to sing her lungs out Cher songs whenever she could.

"At least one of us won today," she said in a quiet, childlike voice, gazing out the window.

"I’m really sorry I didn’t go see you, but I couldn't miss the game... Remember, if one of us wins, we all win." Connor rubbed the back of his neck; he didn't like seeing his sister—usually so cheerful when she was with him—looking so downcast.

"Right... Did Mom tell you who took first place?" The teenager shook his head. "Some guys—they call themselves The Jackson 5."

"The Jackson 5?! What were they doing there? A friend told me he saw those guys in Indiana—that’s like a twenty-hour drive away!"

"How should I know? They were here, and they won!" Barbara turned to look at him, shrugging her shoulders.

"Don't yell at me, you brat!"

"No! Don't you yell at me, you ridiculous, or I'll tell Dad!"

"Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?"

Patricia and Raymond were heading back to their beloved 1958 Chevrolet Impala—a car they had worked so hard to buy just before the family grew to include another one of their little angels. 

Kicks, slaps, and hair-pulling filled the back seat where the brats were sitting; the moment the eldest saw who was approaching, he shoved his sister back into her seat. "What were you two doing?" their mother asked from the passenger seat, looking back at them and testing her children's ability to lie.

"We were just playing, Ma," Connor said, feigning a hug around his sister's shoulders and squeezing her tight so she wouldn't correct him and get them both punished for roughhousing.

"Yes, Mommy, we were playing!" Barbara quickly said nodding and smiling innocently.

"It’s lovely to see how much you care for each other, kids." Ray smiled as he watched them in the rearview mirror while driving home.

STUYVESANT HEIGHTS, BROOKLYN. 1967 

"Barbara, come inside!" Connor urged, taking her by the arm to pull her away from the hopscotch grid drawn on the sidewalk in front of the Rossi brownstone home. "I'm coming!" They both climbed the front steps to the house, Barbara went inside, leaving her jacket on one of the living room armchairs before heading upstairs to her room, while Connor locked the front door.

Her parents had gone to bed earlier, so she hurried to turn in at the same time to avoid being scolded for staying up late—even though it was already eleven o'clock at night. Once tucked into her small bed—in a room that, through the magic of playtime imagination, could transform into a grand stage, Wonderland, or the Land of Oz—she gazed past the curtains at the navy-blue New York sky.

Clutched under her arm was her beloved, cuddly Mickey Mouse plush toy, it moved along with her as she knelt on the bed to look at the starry sky and leaned against the window frame. Her movement was interrupted by a fleeting flash of light, and she knew instantly what she had to do. 

"Please." She squeezed her eyes shut and clasped her small hands together, as if praying to the shooting star.

"Please, please, please" She repeated like a mantra; that was his only wish: to be a star in every sense. She wanted to shine, even if she were dressed in stones.

HOTEL THERESA, HARLEM. 1967 

At the same time, on the other side of the Big Apple, a young, triumphant Michael was left awestruck—not only by the way the sky lit up turquoise for a few seconds—wondering if it might be the work of a fairy or Peter Pan himself—but also by the lights radiating from the buildings and skyscrapers surrounding the hotel where they were staying during their time as New Yorkers.

"Whoa... Marlon, did you see that?" He looked back for his brother; his gaze traveled from his own bed to the next one—Marlon’s—where his brother lay sprawled across the mattress, fast asleep.

Michael sighed and kept gazing at the sky, his large eyes filled with wonder and happiness. Across the street, he found himself intently watching a giant Green Giant advertisement—an ironic sight.

Green, Michael thought.

Neither that giant nor the beans could compare to the eyes of the shy girl named Barbara. He really shouldn't keep thinking about her; she clearly wasn't interested in being friends—perhaps she could already had plenty of far better friends—but he was curious about what she was truly like beneath that tough exterior, which surely concealed a shyness just like his own.

Would she be funny? Or grumpy? Did she like Disney? He also couldn't stop thinking about the scene he had witnessed: her parents hugging her and lifting her spirits after she had practically lost—something unthinkable in Michael's own family life. He had even noticed her shoulders drop as her guard came down; she must feel comfortable around them, then.

An object hitting the back of his neck snapped him out of his trance.

"Just go to sleep and stop drumming your feet on the floor!" Marlon turned away—snuggled in his sheets and groggy with sleep—to face the wall, away from Michael and the large window.

He obeyed and kept his feet still. "I'm on it!" Michael picked up the ball of socks that had been thrown at him to toss it back. He got into bed and slid under the covers; they were soft and comfortable—until he remembered he was missing something. He got up and returned to the comfort of the bed, this time with his Peter Pan book. Did he know it by heart? Yes, but he was going to read it anyway.

He tried to piece together the words of the story, but he couldn't concentrate; his mind kept drifting to whether he would speak again to that rather odd girl—odd to everyone else, perhaps, but to Michael, she represented the chance for a friendship with someone in the same line of work as him, at least Michael thought that she also worked at her age. He just hoped that, even if she was from this town, she was close enough for him to tell her again that they had both heard the same music, and to ask if she, too, had made a wish on that night's star.

thanks for reading<3 it took me a while to publish since i translate it manually and my english is not perfect, i plan on doing a series about Barbara and Michael, it’s not easy for me write a reader without a name but i consider any request you have to write about them with Barbara more like a reader than an OC honestly :3, xoxo.

-𝙗𝙡𝙪

TICCI TOBY X OC

if you’re looking for a ticci toby fanfic with these vibes, i got cha :3