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why am i seeing supposed michael jackson “fans” switching up on him after watching the documentary. first of all, why are you even watching that shit and engaging with that mess of a documentary when it was engineered from the start to manipulate people who don’t know the actual history. netflix purposely edited, cut, rearranged, and stripped context from interviews to make him look like a bad person, and the fact that anyone is letting this override actual legal history is embarrassing. michael jackson went through one of the most aggressive criminal investigations in modern entertainment, including a five month trial in 2005 where the prosecution brought in over seventy witnesses and still failed to produce a single piece of evidence. the jury didn’t hesitate. they acquitted him on every count because the case collapsed under real scrutiny. the fbi investigated him for more than ten years, monitored his phones, raided his homes, interviewed everyone around him, and found absolutely nothing. not a single illegal image. not a single witness who could substantiate wrongdoing. nothing. and netflix still refuses to mention that independent child psychologists, social workers, and trained forensic interviewers who evaluated the children involved found no indicators of abuse, that multiple families testified under oath that michael never behaved inappropriately, and that the santa barbara sheriff’s department conducted surprise inspections of neverland during the 90s and found nothing suspicious. the documentary also ignores that michael’s bedroom had an open door policy with staff constantly entering, that he was rarely alone due to security protocols, and that his medical team, tutors, and housekeepers never reported anything concerning.

it ignores that michael’s dermatologist and physicians documented his vitiligo and lupus, conditions that required constant treatment and made the idea of secretive, undetected abuse medically implausible it ignores that michael’s dermatologist and physicians documented his vitiligo and lupus, conditions that required constant medical examinations, full‑body skin evaluations, and regular specialist check‑ups, meaning multiple doctors were routinely inspecting his skin and overall health in ways that would have made any hidden injuries, secretive behaviour, or undetected abusive patterns medically implausible. it ignores that michael donated over 300 million dollars to children’s charities, funded burn units, paid for organ transplants, and visited hospitals worldwide without cameras, something even journalists acknowledged as genuine. meanwhile, the accusers contradicted their own stories, changed timelines, made claims that were physically impossible, and had lawsuits dismissed because their narratives didn’t match reality. michael never paid anyone to say he was innocent. the 1993 settlement was handled by his insurance company against his wishes, something confirmed in court documents. he never bribed a witness. he never paid for silence. he never bought loyalty. the people accusing him, on the other hand, repeatedly sought financial compensation, filed lawsuits after going bankrupt, and only “remembered” abuse when money became involved. the documentary also refuses to mention that both safechuck and robson’s lawsuits were thrown out because their claims were legally impossible. safechuck said he was abused in a train station that didn’t exist yet. robson testified under oath for twenty years that michael never touched him and only changed his story when he was denied a job by the estate. netflix doesn’t include any of this because it destroys the narrative they’re selling. and if you watched this documentary and suddenly don’t know what to believe, you’re letting a streaming service override court transcripts, sworn testimony, fbi files, independent psychological evaluations, medical records, and decades of evidence. if a documentary is enough to shake your belief in michael’s innocence, you were never a fan. michael jackson was investigated more intensely than any celebrity in history and came out clean every single time.

nsfw / fem afab reader, cws for voyeuristic themes & dubcon(?) )        thinking about your good friend janet jackson who, upon realizing that you don’t have any plans for the summer, invites you to come with her to a resort. “it’ll be a cute little girls’ trip. c’mon,” she coaxed you over the phone. just by hearing her tone, you could tell she was smiling on the other end. “it’ll be fun, i promise.”

thinking about how janet would insist on you two sharing a room because it’s cheaper. thinking about how she feigns surprise when there’s only one bed, shrugging shortly afterwards and murmuring about clearing it up right away. for some reason, the bed situation never gets fixed; you end up sleeping with janet for the entirety of your stay.

thinking about how she’d encourage you to do all sorts of tacky resort activities with her. “let’s go see their show!” she’ll suggest, pointing to a nearby poster, “ooh, and we can go for drinks after. they have this fruity drink in this big glass, i’m just dying to try it. you’ll try it with me, right?” of course, janet bats her lashes and purses her lip into a subtle pout whenever you seem hesitant. you humor her more often than you don’t.

thinking about how she’d take pictures with you everywhere. she carries her mini-camera like it’s her ID. “smile!” she beams as she takes yet another photo. “this one looks hot,” she remarks, “the sun looks so good on us, see?” oh, just know there’s a photo album at home dedicated to you and her. “best friends forever” is in there somewhere, surrounded by a bunch of hearts.

thinking about her covering you with a towel whenever she notices guys leering at you. she’ll wrap it around your shoulders or waist before you can even process the fact that men are taking you in. “men can be such dogs,” janet complains under her breath, rolling her eyes, “ignore them.”

but most of all, i’m thinking about that one day towards the end of the trip where janet rents out a small, nearby beach because she “doesn’t want to deal with people”. she hums softly as she slathers sunscreen on herself. then, she watches as you do the same. naturally, you both get each other’s backs. then comes the fun. or, at least, janet thought the fun would follow.

“what do you mean you’re not gonna swim?” she asks indignantly, her hands on her hips, “i rented out this whole beach!”

“i want to tan, janet,” you reply, laying down along a beach chair. you reach into your bag and pull out a book, “it never hurts to even out your skin tone.”

“i don’t care about that,” she snaps, letting her more childish side show. it’s moments like these where it’s clear that she’s the youngest of the jacksons. “the beach is for playing in the water more than tanning. i wanted to have fun with you, this is our one girls’ trip before things get busy again.”

you open your book. “we can still have fun on the sand.”

saying that was a huge mistake. you can tell from the moment she gets quiet. after a few seconds, you glance up over the book’s pages, only to notice that janet’s in the middle of crawling onto you. when you sit up, she gently pushes you back down, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

“what are you doing?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“having fun,” she replies. she lets one foot rest on either side of you as she settles on top. it would be a full squat if she hovered; instead, she lets her pelvis rest on top of yours, the triangle bottoms of your bikinis meeting. “you don’t mind, right? i mean, if we can share a bed, certainly we can share this…” she slides herself forward, letting her body drag against yours, “a different kind of fun, but still… fun.”

you blink once or twice, setting your book down as she starts to roll her hips. it sparks an unexpected heat in you, one strong enough for you to pause and let out a quiet exhale. “yeah? the kind of fun friends have all the time, right?” you manage to spit out sarcastically, shifting to give her more access to you.

“exactly,” she coos, “relax. you’ll still get your tan.” reaching down, janet walks her fingers up to your bikini top, holding onto it like a reign as she rides against you. “i always thought you were just so pretty,” she muses, “i’m glad we’re such close friends.”

“is that right?” your eyes go half-lidded, your mouth running dry. through your bikini bottom you can feel everything. you swear you feel the outline of her pussy lips as she ruts against you. slowly, you bring your hands to her hips, holding onto her. “i think you’re pretty, too, janet.” pretty and talented— now you know where she gets the motivation to sing those “baby making” songs.

“you’re gonna make me blush,” she breathes out, chuckling a little. after a while, she speeds up, playfully asking, “feels good, doesn’t it?” there’s little shame in how she presses herself against you. why would there be? it’s not like anyone will see, thanks to her renting the beach out. when you don’t reply, she tilts her head to the left, bringing her hips back to fully thrust against your now sensitive pussy. “you know, it’s rude not to respond,” she murmurs, “very rude.”

“janet,” you whine, only to gasp when you feel her pelvis slam against yours. your body rocks, moving back and then forth from the impact. “fuck! it feels good, it feels good.”

she watches your face, soaking in how you’ve started to sweat, how your eyes are all hazy, and how you keep biting your lip. “then come,” she demands. her hand lets go of your bikini top, sliding to press against your lower stomach. suddenly, janet takes it seriously, staring down at you as she purposefully grinds her clit against yours at that perfect angle. the bikini bottoms on you both do nothing to shield you from the sensation of her body against yours, that friction quickly adding fuel to the fire flowing through your body. a grunt leaves her lips before she goes on, “come, come for me, come right now.”

whimpering, your hips start to buck, desperate for friction. “i’m going to— ah, ahh—” your legs tremble as your orgasm rushes through you, the force of it causing you to moan out janet’s name. your eyes screw themselves shut, forcing you to miss janet’s orgasm (an orgasm that’s just as intense as your own, though she smiles through it, thoroughly pleased). even after the first burst, your pussy pulses, causing more cum to leak out of you and pool into your g-string. spent, you crumple beneath her, panting hard like a dog out in the sun.

“atta girl,” she purrs as you both come down from the high, laying down on top of you as if she belonged there. maybe she does, now. her head rests along your breasts, her hands idly roaming your body. “this was better than swimming anyways,” she decides under her breath, “much better.”

& the fact people still make jokes about the allegations, whether they believe them or not, is disgusting. you have been desensitized to horrid criminality so you joke to make yourself feel better.

what i'm trying to say is that, you know damn well a dead person cannot defend themselves. and that is exactly why we are seeing through your cheap bullshit. "yeah we have tons of court evidence but let's wait 17 years to discuss it. oh and let's put it out right at the time people start to indulge in his innocence again." these people are fucking pathetic. and still, nobody who was around michael wants to speak out for his innocence. yk why? because he was killed by elites, and if these other celebrities speak out they know their lives are at risk too. which is still not a fucking excuse.