beychael

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if i look back, i am lost
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@studio03
beychael

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spot the difference : hard edition 🐱
sooo handsome .✦ ݁˖
michael jackson as the smoke-stack twins from sinners
let’s talk bout how michael would have ate down as the mad hatter, edward scissorhands, willy wonka, and so on. but also the fact he could produced all those movies way better, but tim burton couldn’t handle a black man being better than him. the biggest missed opportunity

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“Off the wall was released in August 1979, the same month I turned twenty-one and took control of my own affairs, and it was definitely one of the major landmarks of my life. It meant a great deal to me, because its eventual success proved beyond shadow of a doubt that a former child star could mature into a recording artist with contemporary appeal. Off the Wall also went a step beyond the dance grooves we had cooked up. When we started the project, Quincy and I talked about how important it was to capture passion and strong feelings in a recorded performance.” -Michael Jackson
i think about michael at least 100 times a day..
i mourn him daily like a widow.. please say it’s not just me
PTDIMS NOW.
◟ ۫ ׅ I CAN DO IT MYSELF ! ⎯⎯ MICHAEL J.
゛𝒔ynopsis ⨾ extremely pregnant and thoroughly over it, you're navigating swollen feet, thinning patience, and a husband who has decided “helping” means treating you like spun sugar.
゛𝐜ontains ━ soon2bedad!michael ༝ pregnant!reader mentions of pregnancy and discomfort domestic fluff lots of physical affection ( lotssss ) michael is completely whipped ◞ 𝟬.𝟴𝟴𝟰𝓴
you’re six months pregnant. your feet are swollen and you’re tired of everyone treating you like you can’t do basic things. michael has decided that helping means hovering constantly.
he’s following you around the house with a glass of water, even though you just finished one. every time you reach for something on a high shelf, his hand is right there next to yours. when you pick up the laundry basket, he takes it out of your hands.
“michael,” you say, stopping in the living room. “i’m pregnant, not broken. i can carry a basket. i can reach a shelf. and i don’t need you following me around with water, mikey.”
he sets the glass down carefully and steps closer. he puts both hands on your belly, thumbs stroking slow circles, and rests his forehead against yours. his breath is warm against your skin.
“i know,” he says softly. “you’re so capable. it just makes me want to take care of you more.”
he kisses the corner of your mouth, then your nose, then the space between your eyebrows. his thumbs keep moving over the sides of your stomach, why? he’d say “just incase the baby kicked.” he leans in and presses another soft kiss to your cheek, then nuzzles against your temple.
“let me do the laundry, michael.”
he holds you there in the middle of the living room, swaying a little, his cheek resting against your hair. every few seconds he presses another soft kiss to your forehead or the side of your face. the laundry basket sits by the couch, as afternoon light comes through the curtains showcasing your glowing and beautiful brown skin.
“not a chance,” he murmurs against your temple. he keeps one hand spread over your belly and the other rubbing slow circles on your lower back. “you’ve been on your feet all day. i’ve got it.”
he kisses the top of your head again, then the side of your neck, then the soft spot just behind your ear. you place your pedicured hands against his chest and reach past him toward the couch, trying to grab the full basket of white clothes that still needed washing. you wanted to handle it yourself. the first—and last—time you let michael help, after he’d begged and begged, he mixed the whites with colors. you ended up with enough pink clothes to last a lifetime.
with his quickest reflexes, he snatched the basket back and away from you. a pout took over your lips after you sucked your teeth, leaving an irritable expression on your face as your shoulders slouched.
“michael, i can do it myself!” you whined. your hormones mixed with the irritation had tears forming in the corners of your eyes. his free arm wrapped around your waist, holding you close while the basket sat forgotten on the floor behind him. he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, voice dropping even quieter.
“i know you can do it yourself. i just didn’t want you liftin’ anything heavy right now. c’mon… sit on the couch with me.”
before you could protest again, he gently guided you backward until the backs of your knees hit the couch. he sat down first, then carefully pulled you into his lap, settling you sideways against his chest. one hand rested on your thigh while the other kept stroking your back in slow, calming circles.
you try to keep the pout going. you really do. but the second you’re fully in his lap, the baby decides this is the perfect moment to practice soccer against your ribs. a sharp little kick lands right under michael’s palm.
he freezes as his whole face softens into a stupid, lovesick look that always ruins your righteous anger.
“oh my god,” he whispers, like the baby just announced world peace. “did you feel that? that was a big one.”
“yes, michael, i felt it. it’s happening inside me.” you shift, while trying to look stern. “and don’t change the subject. the laundry—”
he cuts you off by gently lifting one of your swollen feet into his lap and starting to rub it without asking. his thumbs dig into the arch. he watches as you let out an involuntary moan. he absolutely knew that you couldn't help it, but god did it feel good to hear.
“see?” he says, far too pleased with himself. “your feet are screaming, mama. rest. let me handle the laundry situation again—”
you narrow your eyes. “absolutely not, michael.”
“why not?”
“remember what happened last time?”
he leans in and kisses the tip of your nose. “look, i learned my lesson. this time i’ll separate everything. reds in one pile, blues in another, whites in a third… maybe even a fourth. i’m basically a professional now.”
you open your mouth to argue, but another kick lands—harder this time. michael’s eyes go wide with pure delight as he grabs your hand and presses it over your belly.
after a few moments, he carefully slides you off his lap and settles you against a pillow on the couch. he kisses your lips sweetly before bending down to grab the basket and heading toward the laundry room.
“don’t you get up, girl. i’m not playin’.”
he smiles as he watches you roll your eyes. “fine.”
taglist ؛ ଓ @bbybemine @jasadist @flygirlarchivee @rejithink @siighrns @fortuncooki @vict-oryy @muchluv4mj @diaryofmichaelsgf @melodiesmurakamis @yearlyjams @chai4bambi @sayyoulovemeziya
writing ya girl dad michael, be prepared cause it’s gonna the cutest thing🙂↔️

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How does one define ‘femininity’? Femininity has no one definite meaning, the term feminine is a man made concept constructed from decades of misogyny and racism, but one thing is clear and synonymous with femininity. Tragedy. To be a woman, to embrace the feminine side of yourself is inherently tragic if you go in depth and look at the history, especially the history of black women and other women of color.
Michael happily embraced his femininity, defying the odds and what a man, a black man, should present himself as. It’s interesting to see how that same tragedy that follows femininity latch itself on to him throughout his life.
A good example is the tabloids and the needless ways they ripped into him—whether it be his looks, deeming him too ‘girlish’ or the way they conjured up egregious and ridiculous headlines that you’d usually see reserved for female celebrities.
Michael was soft spoken, he did things with grace, he carried himself with a certain ‘feminine’ energy that the white man felt threatened by. A black man? Carrying himself with poise? Being kind? Well, that goes against the brutish and savage nature that black men are portrayed to have? It was a rebellion, a conscious effort to take back his autonomy and tell the media “this is me, this is who I am”.
He was paternal in a way the white man didn’t like, which led to the 1993 allegations. Black women are constantly told we are ghetto and cannot care for our children but Michael, even though he was a man, showed that black people are caring. We are paternal and maternal people who love our children. If Michael was a woman, I’m so sure these allegations would have never come to pass.
Michael was extremely educated which again, goes against the stereotypes the white man places on black people. You didn’t see men carry themselves like Michael did and again, white people saw that as a threat. Femininity is reserved for fair skinned women, not black women and certainly not black men.
It’s a tragedy, the way he was demonized for being himself. A tragedy that’s feminine through and through.
So sassy😭😭😭
thinking about how michael’s wedding photos would definitely be inspired by paintings depicting love. some examples I would give for this are these ones right here. and of course daybreak would be one of the many portraits he recreates. also with live painters being a thing for weddings now Michael would def have one to paint the first dance between him and his wife and have more than one copy a large one he has hanging in his living room of Neverland and another elsewhere. girl that wedding woulda been so magical if he found the right one ( aka me ). I could go on about this tbh
— Hickey
Michael jackson x f!black reader - Oneshot - MDNI
Synopsis: After seeing a hickey on his older brother, Michael can't help but feel competitive.
Tags/warnings: Jacksons era MJ, set in 1978, Hickey receiving, kissing, dry humping, praise kink—"good boy", submissive Michael, dirty talk, talking him through it, experienced reader, fluff, pet name usage, no use of y/n.
A/N: tysm for 300 followers ily all, now enjoy this freaked out fic <3
Mornings at the Hayvenhurst household buzzed with chaotic energy and activity. The sound of heavy footfall, loud continuous chatter and dishes clattering, always consumed the mornings.
As Jackie and Tito argued over who burnt the pancakes—whilst Marlon and Randy instigated—his two older sisters off doing God knows, Michael sat at the dining table, a bowl of cereal placed in front of him and a half finished glass of orange juice in his right hand listening to little Janet enthusiastically whilst she talked his ears off.
Just as he laughed cheerfully at whatever Janet had said, His brother Jermaine strolls in through the front door with a smug grin on his face.
if i😂😂😂😂😂😂😂don’t marry a guy😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂that acts and looks😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂like michael in even the slightest 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂 EVERYBODY and i mean EVERYBODY😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂gotta fucking d1e😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂✌️✌️✌️✌️✌️✌️✌️😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

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listening to the voice over session for thriller and when michael said “the thriller” why my legs whimpered a lil like im over geeked out over him saying two words like mikey wowwwwww do you not realize the impact of your voice??????
his smile is everything!!