#fabrication

Song by Lydia Lefay on bluesky

Here is the tutorial, I don’t get paid doing this and I’m not an expert at this so please don’t think I can answer everything(ask others for help or look up "flying bird mobile" for other tutorials online).

I hope this explains everything enough.

The measurements for mine came out to 15 1/2 inches on the body from tail to beak tip ans the wings 13 inches long(you can make the wings longer if needed)

Please use the comment section below to ask and someone who has done this or understands the mechanics better can answer.

future's.......... made of..........!

popstar!reader x michael jackson

pairing : michael jackson x fem!reader

genre : enemies to lovers lowk? romance w/tension, one-shot ! a lil fluff in the end, mention of angst?

warning : jealousy, fear, reader’s career is her top priority so she can be the b word.., questionable actions, reader is a “bit” anxious, isn’t based of sabrina! (name) is a few fries short of a happy meal but she’s cute

the stadium almost felt silent despite the noise filling every corner, the roar of the crowd blending into white noise. or perhaps it was simply her heartbeat drowning everything else out, quickening with every positive affirmation she repeated to herself. her knees bounced nervously beneath her seat.

“I am worth it, I deserve it, I can do an-“

her attempt at a calming inner monologue was interrupted by a familiar male voice beside her. her manager, George, had taken the seat next to her.

“sweetheart, if you’re actually planning on calming those nerves, you’re going to need this.”

george held out a flask. she immediately scrunched her nose and shot him a skeptical look, but the unimpressed stare he returned made it clear he wasn’t interested in hearing any complaints.

letting out a defeated sigh, she took the flask and cautiously sipped from it. the moment the liquid hit her tongue, her face twisted in disgust at the harsh burn.

george snatched the flask back before she could say anything and took a long swig himself. a second later, he broke into a cough, grimacing as the drink went down.

“god,” he muttered between coughs, “that’s stronger than I remembered.”

“george, please, pretty please, listen to me. you have to get me out of here-“

“nah ah, not a chance”

“george!-“ “shut up”

“what am i paying you for?!”

“to be your manager, apparently. not your babysitter, cupcake”

(name) sighed in defeat. not even the gorgeous dress draped in lace and silk could help her get out of her own head. it was her first-ever grammy awards ceremony, and the nerves had been eating away at her all evening.

she silently thanked every god she could think of that she wasn’t scheduled to perform. If she had been, she probably wouldn’t have shown up at all.

as she scanned the room for any way to escape, her eyes landed on a figure, one that just ruined her night by a thousand times. bill bray. god, no, please. that could only mean one thing, he’s here too. her (one-sided) rival and sworn enemy.

she swallowed hard, a lump forming in her throat, and immediately jabbed george’s shoulder with her elbow.

“ow! what the hell, girl—oh.”

the complaint died on his lips. instead, he let out a strangled noise as his eyes followed her gaze to the object of her attention.

she slowly closed her eyes and took a deep breath, silently hoping that by some miracle, she’d open them again and find both bill and him.

no such luck.

when her eyelashes finally fluttered open, she was met with a sharp grin and a wink directed her way from behind a pair of aviator sunglasses, a silent nod that told her “i see you”.

fantastic.

dang her life.

but she wasn’t completely stupid, maybe, she put on her best media-trained smile and waved with a taste of bitterness on her tongue. after the man has turned to find his seat, she turned to the man beside her in the speed of light “what category is he nominated for?”

“huh? well, i don’t know, probably best album or record or some-“

she snapped her fingers at him, signaling for him to stop talking. to his credit, he immediately fell silent.

how was she supposed to calm down now? right before her eyes, she could practically see every award slipping through her fingers. no, she couldn’t let that happen. not after everything. not after he’d humiliated her.

a determined spark flickered in her chest, slowly overpowering the panic. she hadn’t come this far just to watch someone else walk away with what she wanted.

flashback

the start of ‘83.

nothing seemed fun or interesting anymore. she wandered around her studio, searching for the perfect beat, the perfect melody, the perfect words for her album. every idea felt incomplete the moment it formed.

the memories wouldn’t leave her alone. headlines calling her music boring and bland, critics claiming her songs lacked substance, interviewers who seemed far more interested in her personal life than the work she spent countless hours creating. just thinking about it made her stomach churn.

she didn’t even have any tears left to cry. those had all been spent months ago when she’d broken down after winning best new artist at the american music awards. yet somehow, the hollow feeling remained.

nothing was ever enough.

not the awards, not the success, not the recognition. especially when she looked at artists like madonna or michael jackson and saw the admiration they attracted. the unwavering devotion of their fans. the way people spoke about them as if they were larger than life.

she wanted that too, no, needed it.

and no matter how much she achieved, it always felt just out of reach.

as she sat there with her elbows resting on her knees and her head cradled in her hands, her phone suddenly rang. she glanced at it but made no move to answer. whoever it was could wait. maybe if she ignored it long enough, they’d give up. they didn’t.

the phone rang again. with a sigh, she pushed herself to her feet and grabbed it.

“hello?”

“good evening. am i speaking with (name)?”

her eyebrows furrowed at the unfamiliar voice.

“uhh, yes. who’s this?”

“excellent. my name is Bill Bray. i’m one of Michael Jackson’s confidants.”

a lump instantly formed in her throat. for a moment, she was convinced she’d misheard him.

“um… is there anything i can do for you? or mr.jackson?” she asked.

the moment the words left her mouth, she quietly face-palmed. why did she say it like that?

“i’m glad you asked,” bill replied. “we’ve recently been discussing the filming process for michael’s upcoming single, and we were wondering whether you’d be interested in taking part.”

she nearly choked on air. think. think fast.

“oh! like a—uh—a collaboration?” she asked hopefully.

a chuckle came from the other end of the line.

“something along those lines. michael would like to work with you on the video. he’d love for you to be featured in it—the model, essentially. a few scenes, some posing here and there. He thinks you’d be a perfect fit.”

the smile on her face instantly fell.

a model?

a model.

for another singer’s music video?

not a duet. not a feature. not even a songwriting credit.

a model. for one of the biggest artists in the world.

she wasn’t sure whether to feel honored or offended. but, her being her, she chose to be offended.

she took a deep breath, trying to process what she’d just heard.

“is this some kind of sick joke?”

a brief silence followed.had michael read one too many tabloids calling her nothing more than a pretty face? was that it? he was a celebrity himself—surely he knew better than to believe everything written about people he didn’t know.

“excuse me?” bill asked, clearly caught off guard.

“you heard me. what the hell is your client thinking?”

“ma’am, we didn’t mean—”

“no, keep those excuses to yourself,” she snapped. “tell your client to spend less time reading tabloids and more time minding his own business. i’m not a damn model, for Christ’s sake.”

bill tried to interject, but she was too worked up to stop.

“what’s next? should I ask him to be a mannequin in one of my music videos? doesn’t sound like such a brilliant idea now, does it?”

“listen, we’re sorry if there was a misunderstanding—”

“good. then tell mr.jackson not to even think about featuring me again.”

before bill could respond, she hung up.

the studio fell silent.

was she harsh? absolutely.

had months of frustration, insecurity, and bottled-up resentment exploded all at once? without a doubt.

a few days passed, and she eventually found out that george had received the call as well. he spent most of that time trying to reason with her, encouraging her to call bill back and clear up the misunderstanding.

she refused. she had embarrassed herself enough during that one phone call and said far too much in the heat of the moment. backing down now would be humiliating.

instead, she threw herself into her work. as she continued working on her new album, something unexpected happened. the frustration, the disappointment, and the lingering bitterness from her failed “almost-collaboration” with a celebrity she had once admired all blended together into something useful.

inspiration.

for the first time in months, the words came easily. the melodies flowed effortlessly. every emotion she had bottled up found its way into the music. and it was good. no—not good. it was phenomenal.

she could feel it in every lyric she wrote and every note she recorded. the anger, the tears, the sleepless nights, the sweat she’d poured into each song—it was all there, woven into the album. for the first time in a long while, she felt proud of her work.

this was it. this was the album that would prove everyone wrong. thecritics. the tabloids. every person who dismissed her as a pretty face with nothing meaningful to say. and when award season came around, she wasn’t planning on merely showing up.

she was going to win a Grammy.

the end of ‘83

and with each passing day, her hopes climbed higher and higher. when the album was finally released in the middle of summer, it seemed to be everywhere. her songs poured from café speakers, echoed through supermarkets, played from taxi radios, and filled the lobbies of luxury hotels and high-end restaurants. and god, did it feel good.

for the first time in what felt like forever, people were talking about her music. during interviews, she found herself breathing easier as reporters eagerly asked about her creative process, her future plans, and the inspiration behind her songs. they wanted to know how she came up with such captivating melodies and unforgettable hooks. they wanted to discuss her artistry rather than her personal life.

it was a relief.

of course, whenever someone complimented her work, (name) being the self-loving woman she is would wave it off with an overly confident grin.

“oh, it’s nothing! Just a few little demos, really,” she’d laugh.

nobody close to her believed that for a second.

they knew how many sleepless nights she’d spent in the studio. they knew how much of herself she’d poured into every lyric and every note. most importantly, they knew how much the upcoming award season meant to her.

it wasn’t just about her career anymore. it was personal. winning would prove that all the criticism had been wrong. that she was more than a headline, more than a pretty face, more than the shallow image people had created of her.

so in her mind, there was only one acceptable outcome. she had to win.

no matter who she was up against.

flash forward to present

the relentless bouncing of her knee against the floor felt strong enough to wear a hole straight through it.

“why isn’t he answering? for fuck’s sake.”

beside her, george was glued to his phone, trying to get ahold of an old friend who worked somewhere within the grammy awards organisation. maybe he’d know something. maybe he’d be able to offer even the smallest piece of reassurance.

so far, nothing. growing increasingly restless, (name) reached into george’s pocket and pulled out the flask he’d been carrying around all evening.

“hey—” ignoring him completely, she unscrewed the cap and took a long sip.

it didn’t feel so bad now. george stared at her. she stared right back.

“i won’t back down,” she muttered, her eyes fixed on the stage. “if I have to, i’ll march up there and take that award out of their hands myself.”

george sighed. “that’s not how awards work.”

“then they should change the rules.”

unbeknownst to her, or perhaps something she simply refused to acknowledge, someone had been watching her all night. ever since they had arrived. unlike everyone else, the gaze wasn’t intrusive. it wasn’t filled with curiosity, nor was it hungry for photographs, interviews, or gossip. it didn’t carry the same calculating interest she had grown accustomed to from strangers.

no. it was softer, warmer, almost adoring.

a pair of eyes that somehow managed to stand out among an entire crowd of people.

every so often, those eyes would drift back toward the stage, but not with the anticipation of a spectator.

with the confidence of a winner.

before she could dwell on the strange feeling crawling up her spine, a booming voice echoed through the venue.

“and the winner for best male pop vocal performance is… thriller, michael jackson!”

the audience erupted instantly. cheers rang throughout the stadium. applause heard from every direction as people leaped to their feet, celebrating the announcement. cameras rushed to capture the moment while the spotlight found its target.

and amidst all the noise, all the excitement, and all the congratulatory applause— those same eyes found their way back to her.

(name) was beginning to think she had finally lost her mind. maybe she really should check herself into a mental institution after tonight. a strange laugh bubbled out of her throat.

“hahaha… lucky guy, am I right?” she nudged george’s shoulder, who, meanwhile, had practically melted into his seat. he refused to look at her, far too terrified of the expression currently plastered across his singer’s face.

her eyes were wide. her smile was stretched so tightly it bordered on disturbing. and her stare looked capable of burning holes through solid concrete.

“yep,” George said weakly. “very lucky guy.”

6th grammy..wow. was she allowed to even have any more hope? thankfully, she had made the executive decision not to look at the stage anymore. she wasn’t even glancing in the winners’ direction. one look and she’d probably spiral beyond recovery.

so instead, she stared straight ahead, fingers tapping against her leg as her heart threatened to beat its way out of her chest. fifteen minutes. maybe less. that’s all that separated her from her category. fifteen minutes until she found out whether the past year of her life had been worth it.

she swallowed hard and abruptly shot to her feet, moving so quickly she almost looked mechanical.

“i have to use the bathroom.”

“oh, lord…” he whispered weakly. “okay.” without waiting for another word, she turned and walked away. to anyone watching, she probably looked perfectly composed, years of media training carrying her through. but the moment she was out of sight, her pace quickened into something dangerously close to a run.

she slipped through the hallways surrounding the venue, desperate to put some distance between herself and the suffocating atmosphere inside.

only when she reached a quieter area near backstage did she stop. breathing heavily, she stared blankly at the wall in front of her and pressed a hand against her chest. something felt wrong. very wrong.

maybe it was paranoia. maybe it was anxiety. maybe it was the fact that she was nominated alongside a “rival” who had already won six awards. six. an awful number when it didn’t belong to you.

she squeezed her eyes shut. the sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the hallway. her head snapped up. no.

no, no, no.

a flash of reflected light caught her eye against the polished floor.

blue. gold.

her stomach dropped.

please don’t tell me—

careful but confident footsteps echoed through the hallway, drawing closer and closer until she finally looked up. and there he was. the man who had been haunting both her dreams and nightmares for the better part of a year.

a bright smile appeared on his face as he approached.

“hi,” he said softly. “what are you doing here?” she could only stare.

“could ask you the same question,” she replied after a moment.

he chuckled. “i saw you running out while I was on stage, y’know.” he gestured toward the grammy trophy in his hand. her eyes immediately landed on the gold statue. then on him.

“please leave.” his smile faltered.

“uh… sorry?” “please leave.”

“did I do something wrong? I know there was that misunderstanding—”

she let out a humorless laugh, lowering her head.

“yeah , yeah. call it whatever you want. just don’t call me again.” pushing herself off the wall, she started to walk away. “what?” he called after her, sounding more confused than offended. “what’s wrong with you?”

that was her breaking point. she spun around so quickly it startled even him.

“what’s wrong with me?” she repeated, pointing at herself. “i don’t know. since you’ve apparently read so many tabloids about me, maybe you can tell me. huh?” his expression changed about ten different times.

“i’m sorry, I really don’t—”

“listen,” she cut him off. “i need you to understand this. i worked so hard on this album, and i can’t let this opportunity slip away.” he blinked before removing his aviators, revealing cute widened eyes. a small chuckle escaped him.

“so that’s what this is all about? winning? seriously?” “what the heck do you mean seriously?” she could feel herself boiling over.

“i know what this is,” he said. “you’re upset. maybe even jealous, but seriously, how could you be? you’re a woman, I’m a man. we aren’t even competing in the same categories.”

“me? jealous?” she laughed in disbelief and pointed at him as she stepped closer.

“i forgot you even existed before i arrived tonight, so watch your tone, mr.jackson.”

his jaw dropped. “see you on the carpet.”

before he could answer, she turned around and walked away. she vaguely heard him calling after her, but she ignored it completely. oddly enough, by the time she returned to her seat, she felt much better. she regretted everything she’d just said.

and at the same time, she was incredibly satisfied with herself. she dropped back into her seat and immediately turned to george.

“we’re winning this. I promise.” he raised an amused eyebrow.

“what? did you bribe the judges on your way to the bathroom?” a laugh escaped her, but there was no real humor behind it.

“something like that.”

george eyed her suspiciously before shaking his head. she simply smiled to herself and turned her attention back to the stage, anticipation buzzing beneath her skin. any minute now. any second. she could feel her pulse quickening again as the next category approached.

what she pointedly ignored, however, was the persistent sensation of someone’s gaze resting on her. a certain someone’s. the feeling only grew stronger after he returned to his seat, but she refused to acknowledge it.

instead, she kept her eyes fixed firmly on the stage. the award was all that mattered right now.

as she made her way onto the stage and accepted the trophy into her hands, the weight of it felt unreal. she stared at it for a moment, blinking rapidly as tears gathered in her eyes while an almost hysterical laugh threatened to escape her. yeah, she definitely wasn’t okay right now.

looking out at the crowd, she saw hundreds of faces staring back at her, applauding and cheering, but only one caught her attention.

him.

sitting in the front row. clapping. smiling.

grinning, actually, as if the person standing on stage had personally hung every star in the sky. their eyes met. she swallowed. once. twice.

and yet she couldn’t look away.

god, she felt stupid.

after everything she’d said to him. after hanging up on bill. after practically biting his head off backstage. after accusing him of reading tabloids and acting like he was her personal enemy.

and there he was. looking happier about her victory than some of the people she’d known for years. his smile only widened when he noticed she was staring. she immediately looked away. great.

absolutely great. he probably thought she was a complete psychopath. with trembling hands, she adjusted her grip on the trophy and stepped closer to the microphone.

“wow.” a nervous laugh escaped her. the crowd still seemed to be amazed and cheer.

“uh… i really didn’t think i’d be standing here tonight.” the audience chuckled softly. “i had a whole speech prepared for losing, actually.”

more laughter followed. “which, in hindsight, was probably a little dramatic.” she smiled, shaking her head.

“thank you to everyone who listened to lovestruck. thank you to my fans, my team, my manager for putting up with me, and everyone who believed in me when i didn’t really believe in myself.”

her voice wavered slightly. “this album means everything to me. there were moments when i thought i wasn’t good enough, moments when i wanted to quit, moments where i thought no matter how hard i worked, people would never take me seriously.” the room had grown quieter now.

“but this…” she lifted the trophy slightly. “this makes all of it worth it.” applause erupted once more. she smiled through the tears threatening to spill over and glanced toward the front row one last time. and, of course, he was still looking at her. still smiling. for some reason, that made her chest tighten more than winning the grammy itself.

she didn’t even remember how she got off stage or when exactly george and the rest of her team attacked her with hugs and congratulations. everything felt blurry after hearing her name called.

however, she did remember one thing.

when the next category was announced and her so-called enemy’s name echoed through the venue as the winner, she felt something warm settle inside her chest. all the emotions she’d been carrying around seemed to bubble together into one confusing mess.

this time, she didn’t look away. she watched. she watched the cameras follow him to the stage. watched him accept the trophy, thank the presenter, and step up to the microphone.

and then she felt her heart drop. because his eyes found her. immediately. just like she’d stared at him from the stage a few moments ago, he stared right back. the electricity was undeniable.

he held her gaze for a second before looking down with a chuckle as the screams of his fangirls echoed throughout the stadium. then he began his speech.

he thanked everyone he was supposed to thank, earning applause and cheers from the audience. he sent a kiss toward the camera at one point, making the crowd lose their minds, before adjusting his grip on the trophy.

and then— “before i go,” he said, smiling to himself, “i’d like to mention someone who caught my eye tonight.” (name)’s stomach dropped.

his eyes wandered across the audience before landing right on her. again. pointing somewhere the crowd couldn’t quite figure out exactly where.

“a pretty young thing.” the crowd erupted instantly. she nearly choked on air. no. absolutely not. the was no way. meanwhile, george had already buried his face in his hands.

“oh no,” she whispered.

“OH YES,” he hissed back, laughing hard.

because somehow, against all odds, this night had just gotten more exciting.

“can i be the best man though?” “don’t wanna hear it.”

rin with a girlfriend who likes to bandage him up after his games. it doesn’t even matter if what he has is a miniature bruise, you just like putting bandages on him. cute ones, adorned with little characters or baby animals. and he acts the same way about these as he does with any other thing you try to put on him to make him cute.

“is this really necessary? what’s the point” and you ignore him. the point is that they’re cute. and he pretends he hates it, but the truth is on half time he pulls down his sock just a little bit just to catch a glimpse of those cute bandaids you put on him to patch him up. a sign of your love and care.

and he doesn’t smile, but if you were there you would pinch his cheek and point out how his eyes turned all soft for a second. and he would scoff, no they didn’t? itoshi rin is not soft.

but he knows that’s a lie ‘cause at home that same night you’re there again patching him up with those cute bandaids that he (secretly) loves. he started considering them a good luck charm.

and hey, when you one day hit your arm against the wall accidentally and it starts forming a nasty bruise, rin tends to it and then slaps one of your pink baby bunnied bandaids on top of it. he swears it’s to show you how ridiculous this is, how annoying it is, how useless this is. but he secretly just wants you to match.