#neverland estate
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This sums up a lot of my feelings on MJ (with the allegations), it's from someone who used to be a fan. Many say there is no smoking gun in regards to the allegations, but for me the smoking gun was his own statements, along with reading about pedophiles from a csa expert that match all of his exact behaviors, as well as the exact process his victims all describe (And the disturbing photos of little boys) But here is one fan's thoughts:
As a victim of abuse, and as an adult, ironically, I worked with a pedophile for years without knowing....And I knew what to look for! Think about the ramifications of that.
I'm a huge fan of MJ...or was. You never truly stop. And I grew up loving the man and his music. I was definitely groomed...as we all were, if only to love him. And his 'people' were very careful to ensure we loved MJ the man (god?), as well as (if not more so) than his music.
But after reading the numerous court case transcripts and watching the documentaries...the ones which allow MJ to speak and his victims to be heard...it isn't the victims of MJ but his own words and actions (that I've seen/heard first hand) which concern me the most.
To explain both sides, we actually only need MJ's words and his documented actions.
I try not to be biased, despite being a victim of abuse...because I've also been accused of abuse (and exonerated)... by a former colleague so I know how it feels to be innocent but under suspicion.
The sex offender I knew is now in prison but everyone around him had to be investigated so they could be cleared. But I know firsthand how awful that process was as an innocent. So I'm careful to see both sides.
If MJ was accused once by a stranger, I would have had my doubts, but likely sided with MJ if sufficient evidence wasn't produced.
But MJ was accused again and again...and again (and again) by the closest people to him. Children and adults alike. His own staff. Families he helped. Friends. Colleagues, acquaintances and more.
This is all deeply problematic...and despite paying tens of millions in settlements again and again (which alone is worrisome), MJ consciously kept on sleeping with other people's children.
And when he had his own kids...he went to extraordinary lengths to make sure the mother wasn't part of his life with those kids. Kids who went on to have very troubled lives.
Although I don't believe MJ ever directly physically abused his own family (though he did hang baby Blanket out of a 5th floor window for a photo op).
It's relevant to say that the pedophile I worked with never abused me or anyone in front of me or close to him...so I'm never surprised when MJ's family or Macaulay says, "we never saw it." But that's the point of abuse. It doesn't happen in public or it's not meant to. Though with MJ, I believe at least a form of abuse did occur in plain sight after he spent years systematically normalizing odd behavior.
It's a fact that MJ had a giant bed in a separate wing of his child-themed Neverland Ranch, connected by one long corridor with a security system he personally installed. Which he claimed was designed to warn him if anyone was coming towards the bedroom...where he slept with other peoples' kids.
I've watched him say the latter on video. And even if he was tricked into miscommunication (it happens)...that is yet more evidence of a man unsuited to child care.
To reasonable people who ask, "did he abuse kids sexually?" I say there are many forms of abuse which can ruin lives. But 'that's not the only point.'
As a trusted adult with influence, money and power, MJ undeniably grossly abused his position of trust time and time again.
When it comes to childcare, the latter is enough to be a huge problem for 99% of average people. And if you abuse your own kids... in any way...it's somehow even worse.
We know without a shadow of a doubt that MJ repeatedly demonstrated a total lack of good decision making. Simply being involved with all these kids (often poor, vulnerable and even sick) in a way which could lead to the children feeling wronged, betrayed...abused even.
The latter is based on an endless parade of self-produced (by MJ) evidence from sanctioned interviews and court documents. I repeat....MJ's own words and actions continue to give me the most concern, as they should any reasonable person and especially parents.
Even if MJ was 100% innocent of every claim (statistically unlikely), by acting as he did...he let the possibility of abuse arise in the media and in peoples' minds.
Which unsurprisingly resulted in long painful court cases, for not just MJ, but also the kids torn between the lawyers and the parents and the media. Again, that is indisputable. And at the very least...MJ's lack of good judgment...as the most powerful adult involved...makes him responsible for that suffering. 👏
Simply by sleeping with a stranger's child or trying to be their "best friend" and ignoring the age and power dynamic...MJ and his enablers were all putting these kids' wellbeing and emotional health at risk (again and again). He without a doubt put his own needs (legal or otherwise) before these innocent kids. Again, this is indisputable based on documentary evidence.
I don't know about anyone else but I've never slept with strangers' kids, or promoted that idea as "acceptable" as MJ did in interviews. I have enough common sense and know what adults are capable of. And what I could be accused of. You just don't do it under any circumstances. Unless you believe rules/laws/morality...don't apply to you. 👈
And if you wonder why people push back so hard on the facts of this sad case...even after his death...then you need to understand that the MJ estate generates $400-800 million a year for his family and lawyers, who are the people that push back the hardest.
And fans push back...because MJ spent decades brain washing us all that he was a protector of children around the world...as his own HIStory tour claimed. And he was a good entertainer who we wanted to love.
I watched MJ's 1996 deposition video recently and was stunned at how careless/callous he was. He laughed and joked and yawned and messed about while lawyers and the authorities literally pulled his carefully built reputation through the mud.
This was a man who had the most expensive legal team in the entire world. He had months to prepare. But this was his plan. To behave like the claims, so serious they could put him away for life, were a joke.
And if that was a legal strategy, it makes him the best actor and liar on earth. And if that's true...then how could we trust anything he said.
A man child who lived in a literal make believe land based around the dream of never growing up...or more accurately never taking responsibility for his actions...Never never...land.
In many ways MJ was all the wonderful things he claimed he was...but he was also someone who was 100% guilty of gross misconduct with other peoples' children and allegedly guilty of countless cases of sexual abuse.
Even if MJ's crime was only consistently terrible judgment...it still lead to the widely proven emotional abuse of multiple children. That is enough for me as a fan...to walk away. And those who covered for him were/are equally guilty of a form of abuse against vulnerable children.
All except the victims who lied out of fear (and love). Children will defend their friends...their idol...their abusers...but as adults, and in his death, some were able to break free of their emotional dependency or fear of repercussion.
Arguably the alleged victims have had their lives destroyed twice. Once by MJ and then again by his estate, his fans, and the media.
Summary:
There are always two sides. I base my opinion on MJ's own documented words and actions. Alongside my wish for him to be innocent, but knowing my own experience with sexual predators.
It is MJ who convicted himself as guilty of child abuse. I don't know exactly what type of abuse, but any abuse (and repeated abuse) is unacceptable. And without a doubt, a number of the children he chose to be involved with were damaged through their interaction with him. The latter cannot be overstated. People focus so much on victim testimony and material evidence (which are important too, and were present at Neverland) but MJ's own response to the accusation makes it clear as day.
There are enough victims of undeniable abuse at his hands who also claim there was a sexual element to it...that I feel it is fair to say he was most likely a pedophile. More than enough kids have stated he showed them porn and gave them liquor, on top of abuse. At the end of the day, he cannot do any more harm, though his family and estate still hurt his alleged victims.
I have never bought the skin disease theory. At best, Jermaine tiptoed around it and said they were using bleaching creams in the 70s for blemishes....the fact is, you can trigger it all over your body by using those chemicals. Plus MJ went full body dark like mocha, then latte, then casper all at once...that doesn't happen. No makeup in the 70s to 80s could cover him from head to toe as he was pouring sweat.
So stop re-victimizing the victims! If you want to continue believing he's innocent, that doesn't mean it's ok to bash the accusers.
Being found not guilty in one trial against one accuser does not automatically equate to innocence. Especially with all the other allegations.
#thoughts#fan#mj#this is so well thoughtout I had to post it#michael jackson#neverland#neverland ranch#neverland estate#leaving neverland#living with michael jackson#wade robson#james safechuck#gavin arvizo#jason francia#jordie chandler#damon patrick#michael jacobshagen#jane doe#terry george#eddie reynoza
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Little Richard:
#ok I’ve definitely seen in Little Richard documentaries that MJ gave him back his publishing#but this quote implies that’s not the case…#is it MJ-estate fake news?#I fell down the Leaving Neverland sub-reddit rabbit hole today#and someone picked up on this
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Ugh, that thing Russell Lewis does...
... of dropping in devastating or revealing character information in off-hand bits of dialogue or the info on a tombstone you see for one second or this this that and the other. Right up until the final episode.
Some of the things that are really blink-and-you’ll-miss-it the first time around if you’re not careful:-
Bright lost his daughter. While way posher than most of the characters he’s still not from quite as upper class a background as his wife (who cheated on him at least once, though they weathered it). Her nickname for him means “tiger”. He doesn’t seem to have fit in comfortably at any point with anyone, perhaps indeed until he starts to bond more closely with Fred and Morse in the last 2-3 series.
Win was stalwartly in London for at least part of the Blitz. She once met a guy with a foot fetish who flirted with her and she’s still tolerantly amused decades later.
Constance was less than 20 when she had Morse. (AAAAAAAH.) (Everything about her marriage to Cyril sounds horrifying frankly.)
Max is gay and has a lost love (“and one was fond of me” / ”the one that got away”)
Fred grew up without indoor plumbing and generally in fairly intense poverty, he and Charlie at least (presumably Billy and I suspect their mother too) were physically abused by their father (who was an alcoholic).
Also on Fred: he was already an anti-fascist in the 1930s including when it meant joining with one of his colleagues (Sgt Vimes, who Sam was probably named after) against the rest. (Frankly Fred is the king of the “devastating info that is easily missed”, and that last point regards some moderately obscure knowledge to decode but it’s solid once you have that.)
Jakes’s non-Blenheim Vale background was very poor too, given his familiarity with the “Never-Neverland” of the kind of housing estate that replaced the kind of slum that Fred grew up in.
Dorothea has had a fricking epic past doing war correspondence etc..
Sam was bullied at school and didn’t tell his father because he was worried about how he would react.
Jim was brought up by his apparently rather obnoxious and judgemental grandmother, which might explain the desperate need to fit in and get on at all costs, as well as the extremely skilled peacemaking at times. He might have been in the navy before the police, though that’s a bit more uncertain.
Trewlove went to a posh enough school to have serious chess-playing as a thing. (She’s definitely the only person at the station with a comparable class background to Bright’s.)
And so on; I know I’ve missed out plenty of things here and especially I know there’s some info about Win that’s on the tip of my brain and I can’t quite remember. (I think she’s from Blackpool originally, e.g. and misses the sea? And did some war work outside London?) I weirdly couldn’t think of anything significant that’s not already foregrounded about Joan, Box, Fancy, or Monica; help me out here lovelies. :-)
This is on top of eveeeeerything about Morse, which is far more foregrounded but even he has things dropped in very casually sometimes.
Goodness they’re all so messy and I love them all so very very much. <3 (Though also: I so very much wish that Lewis gave just *more* to his women characters. I have the obvious reservations about Joan’s arc (I *like* Strange, but... hmmmmmmmmmm), and the obvious wishing that Monica and Trewlove especially had had far far more to do.)
#itv endeavour#tw child death mention#tw child abuse mention#tw alcoholism mention#reginald bright#win thursday#constance morse#max debryn#fred thursday#peter jakes#dorothea frazil#sam thursday#jim strange#shirley trewlove#endeavour morse#endeavour s9#endeavour spoilers#russell lewis
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MJ with real estate friend who sold him Neverland Ranch, 1987
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A ticklish lesson
This is a tickle-related ff, if you are not interested in it, please keep scrolling
Summary: Namjoon tries to get Nefeli (16) to focus on the lesson
Warnings: None
Notes: I am sorry guys you think my ffs are not as good as they used to be, but I really wanted to post something, I hope you'll like it!
Lots of love Nef 💕
“The French Revolution was a period of radical political and societal change in France that began with the Estates General of 1789 and ended with the formation of the French Consulate in November 1799”
“Mhm...”
“Many of its ideas are considered fundamental principles of liberal democracy, while phrases like liberté, égalité, fraternité reappeared in other revolts, such as the 1917 Russian Revolution, and inspired campaigns for the abolition of slavery and universal suffrage”
“Mm yeah, I agree...”
“The values and institutions-” Namjoon finally paused raised his head from his student’s history book and took a glance at her. The young girl had laid on the bed and was poking the edge of a pencil, not paying attention to him.
“Mhmm, yeah...” she falsely murmured when the young rapper paused.
“Huh...” Namjoon folded his arms over his chest and leaned back on the bed “The French Revolution took place between 3029 and 7865, am I right?”
“Sure” Nefeli didn’t even care to take her mind off of her own imaginary world.
“The war was between fish and flowers”
“Yeah...”
“And of course, it took place in Neverland”
“Of course...”
“Nefeli!”
“Agh!” Nefeli squealed surprised at the sudden cry of her teacher, flinching on her bed “What happened?”
BTS’s leader rolled his eyes and closed the school book “Neffie, are you even listening to what I have been saying?”
Oh yes, you read correctly. Nefeli’s teacher was the leader of BTS. But please don’t squeal in excitement. Namjoon is not giving private tutoring lessons, unfortunately. Jungkook just asked Namjoon to tutor his little sister while they were on a tour.
Jungkook and his family had decided to let Nefeli follow the band on their world tour. However, that meant that Nefeli had to drop out of school. So her older brother had asked Jimin and Namjoon to tutor her while they were on tour.
“Um... Yes?” the young girl trailed her words, not really sure what Namjoon was talking about. History was her worst subject, along with chemistry. Hah! Jimin was responsible for her chemistry class. Poor him, he had to deal with Nefeli’s absent-mindedness.
“Oh really? Then tell me what you know about the French Revolution” Namjoon placed the book aside and took a sip from his vanilla tea from the nightstand next to him.
Nefeli rubbed her palms together nervously and shrugged “Um... The French Revolution... Uh...”
A short silence followed, filled with lots of patience and an ‘I told you so’ feeling emitting from Namjoon. Nefeli knew he had no idea what her tutor was talking about, and she wasn’t even trying to imagine what had happened in the French Revolution. She was just giving time to the young rapper to stop her, himself. That way she wouldn’t have to admit she wasn’t paying attention, even though it was obvious.
“That’s what I thought...” Namjoon mumbled under his breath disappointed. He kept staring that the admittedly stubborn girl in silence, trying to figure out a way to get her to focus on the lesson.
The young lad was on the verge of giving up when suddenly an idea popped into his head. A playful glimpse suddenly flushed into his eyes as his lips curved into a small, almost unnoticed smirk.
Namjoon pushed and positioned himself in a more comfortable way “Ok ok, let’s do something else” he said with a mischievous tone.
A tone that surprised Nefeli. But also a tone that made shivers run down her spine. She knew that tone way too well. But she never knew where it could lead. Namjoon was unpredictable and his ideas were always unexpected.
Patting the space next to him, Namjoon invited the young girl to sit next to him. Which Nefeli did. She rolled her torso so that she was lying next to her older brother’s friend and locked her eyes with his, curiously.
“Do you wanna do it like a quiz?” the young lad was hiding perfectly well the evil idea he had in mind.
Nefeli got even more puzzled but nodded anyway. She preferred the quiz, it seemed easier “You’re feeling generous today, huh?” she chuckled and placed her hands behind her back, lying on them to get comfortable and also stretch.
“Oh yes, I do” Namjoon smirked and grabbed the book “Okay question one! When did the French Revolution start?”
“Oh come on... That’s all you have?” Nefeli whined, trying to steal some time to think about the answer.
Namjoon though didn’t have any of this. He just side-eyed the young student and repeated the question.
“Uh... 1766?” she mostly asked than answered, having no idea what she had just put herself into.
“Wrong...” a devious glimpse flashed into his eyes. A glimpse that worried the student even more.
“What was-agh! Wahahait nohoho!” Nefeli didn’t have too much time to react when she saw his eyes. Namjoon’s hand landed on her tummy faster than the speed of light and started squeezing her right under her belly button, on her lower tummy.
Flailing around and giggling like crazy, the young girl was trying her best to grab her teacher’s hand and stop all the tingly feelings he was giving her, but she had made the mistake to lay on her arms. Good job Neffie, bravo!
The young girl brought her knees to her chest, trying to push away the older lad’s tickly hand. Kicking out softly in the air and wiggling around as much as she can, her giggles were filling the whole room “Whahat did I dohoho, Johohoonie?”
Smirking widely, Namjoon stopped his attack and patted her tummy softly “I am just teaching you history, love, you did nothing!” a deep blush started spreading on her cheeks. The whole tickling kept going for ten more seconds before the young teacher stopped tickling his student. Looks like his plan was working.
The whole tickling left Nefeli panting from all the giggles on the bed with a huge, flustered grin on her face “Whahat was thahahat for?!” she squealed and threw a pillow at her teacher, who skillfully avoided it.
Namjoon chuckled and grabbed the book again “Just showed you the punishment for your wrong answers. So next question...” he lost his words for a few seconds, amused by her shocked expression, but fastly found his way back into his role “For how many years did the French Revolution last?”
Nefeli’s mind was too busy thinking about what was going to happen in the next few seconds to guess the correct answer. And she was sure it was going to happen. She knew nothing about the French Revolution. Still giggling airily, the young girl immediately thought about WW2. The only war she knows anything about.
“Uhuhum... 6!” she exclaimed without thinking about it too much. Which resulted in her being a giggly mess once again.
“Wrong again... Looks like someone wasn’t paying attention to class” Namjoon giggled along with Nefeli as he was softly scribbling her neck with his nails gently. He was having fun tickling her and he wasn’t going to hide it “One more wrong answer and your feet will get it, Neffie” Namjoon smirked as he was gliding his nails fastly up and down the poor girl’s neck.
Nefeli squealed the moment she heard the punishment. Oh no. “WHAT NOHOHO NOT MY FEHEHEET!” Her feet are never a good spot for punishment. They are way too ticklish for her own good, and Namjoon knew that pretty well ever since she was a kid.
Only if she had been paying attention to the French Revolution...
As Namjoon’s nails were scribbling Nefeli’s sweet spot on her neck, the young student was giggling like crazy. With her shoulders scrunched up and her body almost curled up, she was wiggling around unstoppably in her attempt to get away. It was like millions of tiny bolts of lightning were hitting her soft skin. Ticklish bolts of lightning which were making her giggle like a little kid.
“And now for my third question...” the mischievous lad wasn’t joking, he would get her feet. And in reality, he couldn’t wait to teach that little rascal a lesson on paying attention in his classes “How old was the queen during the French Revolution?”
“WHAHAT that’s not even in the book, you cheater!” Nefeli squealed loudly, intending to hide her feet from the upcoming attack.
However, the young lad wasn’t going to let it slide. He had already grabbed her feet and had already started scribbling his blunt nails all over her socked feet “You haven’t even opened the book!”
At this point, I bet you no one had ever screamed so loud as Nefeli did before the waterfall of hysterical laughter started pouring out of her mouth “AGH NAHAHAHAO STAHAHAHAP AHAHAHAHAHA!” she shrieked loudly at the top of her lungs as she was flailing around unstoppably.
However, trying to pull her feet back was useless. It was like Namjoon was wearing Iron Man’s and was holding her feet with it “Aw coochie coochie coo, Neffie! Next time better pay more attention to me... Unless you want to have more tickle moments like this!”
The hint of mocking send shivers down the young girl’s spine whim immediately started having butterflies of fluster in her stomach. Being in this state every time they were having lessons would be a total nightmare for her.
“NAHAHAHAOH I SWEAHAHAR I WILL STUDY HAHAHARDER!” she shrieked, curling her toes tightly as Namjoon’s nails were targeting her heels mercilessly. If she didn’t move them, she could at least try to protect them. But failed miserably. It still tickled as hell.
“You promise? Or should I keep going?” Namjoon knew pretty well Nefeli couldn’t stand a single poke on her feet.
And his thoughts were proven right. Nefeli with a deafening ‘I promise’ finally gave in and stopped trying to escape the ticklish hell she was currently into.
After a few more scribbles on her soles, Namjoon finally let his student’s feet go with a huge, satisfied grin “You better” he smirked and pulled his friend’s younger sister in for a hug.
Nefeli’s red face was smiley and teary from laughing too hard. All the rest of the members had heard them for sure and had already planned their teases for later “You are so mean, Joonie!” she mumbled, burying her face in her palms all shy.
“You are so ticklish, Neffie” the young rapped chuckled, wrapping his arms around her protectively, like an older brother.
#bts#park jimin#bangtan#jeon jungkook#kim taehyung#bangta boys#jung hoseok#kim namjoon#kim seokjin#min yoongi#bts x reader#tickle bts#tickle#bts ticklers#bts tickle#bts x reader tickle#bts reactions#bts tickling#bts tickle reaction#tickle community
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Titles Tag Game
Sorry for the late response, I just realized I'd been tagged! seriously, has anyone else had problems seeing notifications? I'm getting them for likes/reblogs but tags on their own don't seem to show
Anyway, none of them are published anywhere yet for reasons, but they will eventually see the light of day. Hopefully!
List the titles of your top 5 priorities for WIP updates (link your fics for new readers)
An upcoming scene, event or detail in each fic that you're looking forward to writing
Bonus: make a poll for your followers to vote on which of the top 5 wips are they are most excited to see an update on!
Then tag 10 writer friends!
1. mc pf breakup [past/'it's complicated' Prongsfoot, Moonchaser endgame]
Modern, non-magic AU where James and Sirius were best friends and childhood sweethearts until Sirius' music career took off, at which point he breaks up with James while on tour. James is devastated, Remus is there for him, and James realizes that maybe the relationship he thought he'd have wasn't the one he was meant to keep. Of course, their burgeoning romance is complicated by Sirius' return; I posted a snippet here, for those interested.
2. pf peter pan [Prongsfoot, possible hints of non-endgame Jily]
Peter Pan-based AU where a young and miserable Sirius runs away from home and is rescued by James, who whisks him away to Neverland, an enchanted isle where you can grow older, but you can never grow up. "Adult" feelings like romance make you grow up (that is, age past your teens), and Sirius eventually finds himself struggling not to develop feelings for James because he doesn't wanted to be separated from him.
3. pf rted [Prongsfoot? Jily? Prongsfoot + Jily? Jilypad?]
Very loosely inspired by Dreamworks' The Road to El Dorado, this is a fantasy-adventure AU where James and Sirius are partners-in-crime and best-friends-with-benefits who hit on a potentially huge score; Lily, looking to escape her current circumstances, happens to possess Vital Information and inserts herself into the party in exchange for her help. James and Lily flirt and maybe start to fall for each other, and while Sirius is fine with James' having other flings, there's something different about this one and Sirius is Not A Fan. Final ship is up in the air, as you can see.
04. pf wyld hunt [Prongsfoot]
A Prongsfoot Bingo Entry (Fairytale AU), James is the lonely son of the local lord, befriended in childhood by a black puppy that wanders out of the woods. The puppy becomes his constant companion, excepting its regular disappearances, until the day it doesn't return. As a young man, James glimpses a black dog through the trees, ventures into the forest and is captured by the fae: If he can survive three nights of pursuit in the form of stag, he'll earn his freedom. Sirius is the Fae Prince who befriended James in the form of a dog, and who was cursed to remain a hound when he came to care for James and refused to lure him into the woods to be hunted.
05. rg 01 [Prongsfoot, one-sided Jegulus]
A Regency Romance starring James as a young Earl seeking a good match, arriving at his host's country estate to woo Lady Regina Black before becoming entangled with her older brother, Lord Sirius Black, notorious rake and the future Marquess. Sirius is back from the Continent only because he can't afford to jeopardize his inheritance more than he already has, but he's caught off-guard when his attraction to James Potter proves his first experience with something more than lust. There's a snippet feat. fem!Regulus here.
Future Scenes
mc pf breakup - Sirius tries to rekindle, James finds the embers aren't completely out, and they either have sex and Remus later finds out by walking in the next morning or they're about to have sex/in flagrante delicto when Remus walks in. Yes, he has the key to James' flat. Yes, this is purely self-indulgent drama. <3
pf peter pan - The arrival of Lily and Sirius' jealousy, paired with the angst over James possibly falling for Lily and thus 'growing up' for someone else. (Don't worry, non-Jily fans, this is just Sirius' worst-case scenario.)
pf rted - James and Sirius in bed at some inn, a cuddly/sweet/playful morning after that establishes their relationship, which is clearly more than the casual FWB they claim it is, before their new adventure gets underway.
pf wyld hunt - The night before the third hunt, where James manages to sneakily accomplish the tasks that Sirius gave him and Sirius is able to visit him in human/fae form, allowing them to spend the night together before the uncertainty of the day to come.
rg 01 - Sirius, under pretext of inviting James to see the rare flora in the estate's greenhouse, has an assignation with the young earl in the humid, perfumed air. <3 (Or, Sirius expects PWP but gets porn with feelings.)
#tag game#titles tag game#prongsfoot#moonchaser#jily#jilypad#maybe?#not tagging anyone bc i don't know who hasn't done it yet#but open tag if you want it!
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was reading about how the Michael Jackson biopic is going to be not only fawning but aggressive against his victims. It's ghastly enough that he abused these boys, now men, when they were children and when he was alive, but these filmmakers and the members of his family who approved it and are pocketing the money from it are abusing these men all over again, and all of Jackson's fans are participating as well
the argument with biopics of musicians is that they always inevitably end up puff pieces because it's so important for the films to feature the music and no estate is going to sign off on letting them use the music for an unfavorable portrayal, so this happens
bold take: Michael Jackson was a pedophile. We don't need to hear his music in a film about his life. We don't. We can listen to it whenever we want, it's all out there on streaming services, plaing all the time on oldies radio stations, for sale to consume on its own. If you want to honestly portray a life of a man who did such horrible things, you don't need to stop and appreciate the bops
but none of the people involved in making this have any interest in the truth. Don't know how you can watch what James Safechuck and Wade Robeson said while baring their soles in Leaving Neverland and still keep your stan goggles on. It's fandom to the point of it becoming a serious character flaw to react to those men's accounts with anything but empathy
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Mum: -Talking about dream locations to live- Don't you think Santa Barbara would be a lovely place to live?
Me: ...We've never been to Santa Barbara.
Mum: I saw it on the TV, one of those house hunting programs for people with too much money for taste- - continues talking as I zone out-
Me: -internally- Why do I know what Santa Barbara is like if I've never been...
-ONE HOUR LATER-
Me:-bursting into her room- THAT'S WHERE NEVERLAND IS!
Mum: ...Oh damn it.
Me: -Excitedly- Although, it's currently not owned by the estate, I think it's back to being called Sycamore Valley Ranch, but I think because of the biopic-
Mum: Stop, you know I don't give a damn--
Me: -some of the rides got restored in the last couple of years and I think they restored some of the landscaping--
Mum: Why do you-
Me: --It's a damn shame that it's all closed up because it was lovely in its day--
Mum: Out. Out of my room.
#the animals all got rehomed decades ago or have passed on#It really is a historic piece of real estate but you know it's got too much percieved baggage to ever be open to the public#you released a chance to talk about hyperfixation mother you know what that means!!!#mjj
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Down the Rabbit Hole
Takes place in @panthera-tigris-venenata’s Ally of Neverland AU.
Alice was missing.
Again.
This did not necessarily mean anything, Alice’s mother and father and older sister all told themselves. Alice was a big girl now, fourteen years old. Probably she’d just gone for a walk in the woods and lost track of time, or gone to the library and forgot to leave a note, or some such. She would be back soon, and they would scold her in relief. This did not necessarily mean anything.
But she wasn’t in her bedroom, and wasn’t in the kitchen, and wasn’t anywhere in the house, and wasn’t on the grounds, and the two maids and Alice’s governess hadn’t seen her, the groundskeeper hadn’t seen her, nobody had seen her-
As much as they tried to deny it, this brought back memories of the last time Alice had been missing, seven years ago. She had been gone for three days, and had reappeared at sunrise on the fourth in the middle of the garden, near the fence, hysterical, screaming about rabbits and caterpillars and broken mirrors, her dark hair a tangled mess, her hem and sleeves stained with blood from the countless small glass shards that had cut her hands and feet.
They knew, now, what sort of realm had set its sights on their daughter. It was for this reason that the groundskeeper was under strict orders to fill in any hole dug by any animal that appeared on the grounds, whether rabbit or mole or hedgehog, and that the Liddel house was unique in all of London in that it possessed no mirrors, not even a pocket one for the master of the house to shave with.
The day after Alice had been found, every single animal on the Liddel estate had died.
Mice, squirrels, hedgehogs, even a few unlucky birds had all been found dead in the garden, on the walks, on the threshold of the house. Even Dinah the cat had not escaped; she lay at the entrance to Alice’s room, her scarlet blood staining the rug.
They had not died of illness. Every single animal had been neatly decapitated, its head lying beside it.
It had been seven years, yet Alice still flinched at the sight of her own reflection.
It had been seven years. Surely the Land of Wonder would not try to reclaim their daughter?
Alice had been gone for approximately six hours by the time the door knocker pounded weakly against the locked door. They all jumped up, frantic; Alice’s mother opened the door and gasped in horror as her younger daughter came stumbling in.
The first thought that crossed their minds was that this had indeed been a repeat of seven years ago. Alice’s face was haggard, the cloth of her dress torn. She looked like she’d been in a waking nightmare, and her feet were bare, scraped and dirty. She clutched a big package wrapped in dirty cloths tightly to her chest.
They ushered her in, embraced her, sat her down. Alice’s sister went running to get her a soothing drink, Alice’s favorite; warmed milk - not tea. Never tea - with honey.
“What happened?” Her mother asked her. “Where have you been?”
“Was it-” Her father hesitated, leaning forward.
The package moved.
Everyone inhaled sharply.
Alice presented the package to them. Not a package after all, but an infant, a mere baby; a little girl of perhaps a year old, clad in filthy rags and wrapped in an equally filthy blanket, with wisps of blonde hair and eyes closed in uneasy slumber.
“No,” Alice said quietly. “Not Wonderland.”
.
“The Isle,” her father said quietly, after. “The Isle of the Lost. You’ve really been there.”
She nodded.
“And you took...” Her mother hesitated, gesturing toward the baby. Alice didn’t know her name.
“Her mother gave her to me.” They’d given the baby a bath - she’d screamed, but Alice had held her and sang to her and the baby had calmed down enough to fall asleep again as they were dressing her in an old dress of Alice’s that her mother had found in the back of a drawer, yellowed from thirteen years of disuse. Alice’s sister was currently hunting through the kitchen for appropriate food to feed the baby when she woke.
“The Isle...of villains?” Her father asked. “With a baby?”
“There’s lot of babies there,” Alice said. “Little kids, too. Younger than me.” She took a shaky breath. “It’s not just the villains there. All the babies - the children - it’s horrible there, they have no shoes, they’re all so skinny, there’s no food for them - her mother, she begged me to take her away from there-” She was crying now. Her mother drew her into a hug, and Alice let her.
“I promised, Mum,” she whispered. “I promised her mother I would take care of her. We can take care of her, can’t we?”
They could take care of her. They could take care of an innocent baby. But-
“The Isle,” her mother breathed. She met her husband’s eyes; they were each thinking the same thing.
Alice squinted up at them. “What about it?”
“She’s from the Isle. There were rules, set in place when the Isle was created....”
Alice’s father nodded. “No one may exit the Isle. To assist anyone in doing so may lead to being exiled to the Isle yourself.”
His words fell like pebbles into a silent well. No one moved.
“But she’s just a baby!” Alice’s eyes widened, still a child, so young, so sure that her parents could fix everything. “We wouldn’t get in trouble just for a baby, would we?”
“We would.” He hated to say it, but someone must. “You would be sent to the Isle, Alice. All of us as well, if we try to keep her.”
“But we can’t-” Alice’s eyes were like the sky, pale blue, just before a storm darkens them. “I promised! I promised her mother, I promised!” A mother who would rather be separated from her own child forever than see her grow up in her home.
“Perhaps an orphanage, or foster care?” Alice’s mother suggested. “She would still have a good life...” Better than the Isle, went unsaid.
Alice’s father shook his head. “We’d have to explain where we got her from. There would be questions. I suppose we could leave her on the doorstep of an orphanage or something...” He didn’t want to, none of them wanted to abandon a baby at a doorstep without so much as a note, with no guarantee of her being well cared for, but it was the only option.
“No,” Alice gasped. “We can’t. I can’t. I promised I would take care of her. I have to-” She was crying again now. “You don’t understand, you didn’t see, I promised!”
She jumped up and snatched up the baby.
“Alice!” her mother cried, reaching toward her, but she was already at the door.
#descendants#disney descendants#the isle of the lost#ally of neverland#ally of wonderland#cj and ally are twins au#wonderland#Alice In Wonderland#alice#dark wonderland#dark side of wonderland#alice's family#they love her#but they're scared#of wonderland and of auradon
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The first chapter of my entry to the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer 2022.
Beta'd beautifully by @jonesfandomfanatic
There will be actually good art later.
Chapter One
“So, you’ve been with my former lover and my son, is that right?” Milah pursed her lips.
Emma hadn’t been prepared for this, “Huh” was all she could say.
Rumplestilstkin smirked, “I’m sure we’re gonna laugh ourselves sick about this one day."
Milah filed behind Rumple and to Emma in a low voice conspired, “But not until he’s buggered off and we can get a drink.”
Emma smiled, this was an odd place, and that was Neal’s grin. The one she'd fallen for, the one full of mischief and promise. And there was the woman of fire Killian had spoken of. The one so strong that he still wanted to save. She saw herself there and smiled at the thought that she and Killian had fallen in love with the same grin.
They walked through the town, Rumple studiously ignored the soft talk between the two women.
Milah asked, "Did Bae still love to draw, when you were together I mean?"
Emma gave her a tight-lipped smile, "We were on the run, his art form was lock picks."
Milah smiled a vagabond smile, "There's a romance to that, what was he like, as a teenager?"
Emma shrugged, "I wouldn't know, he was in his mid-twenties, well, he looked mid-twenties, apparently he was closer to 300 by then, fucking Neverland."
Milah looked confused, "Rumple said… oh... oh gods no," she put her hand on Emma's shoulder, halting them in place. "Why did you have your baby in prison Emma?"
Emma looked at Milah with tired eyes, "It's a long story," she glanced at Rumple. "Let's just say, in some things he took after his father, but Milah, when he was brave, when he was a hero, he wore your smile."
"You've a kind heart, I can tell you’re trying to hide the hurt of it," Milah swallowed and glared at Rumple who was staring at his watch.
Rumple glared back, "I don't care if Hades puts in an extra few licks on your Pirate ladies, but I assume you do."
Emma looked up in confusion "The way in is here? So, what, the gates of hell are in my house?"
Rumple smirked, "As was the stone of Excalibur. The Pirate has a knack for targeting real estate with hidden value."
Milah whispered to Emma with a waggle of her brows that made Emma’s heart ache. "He's a marvel with finding treasure.”
Emma sighed, her eyes caressing the dusting toys and empty crib, “Basement door?”
Rumple nodded, “Basement door”
Emma walked up to the door and unlocked it. Trying to push through the seal on the door flashed and repelled her, “It's a barrier, all right. So what is she going to do?”
Rumple sneered at Emma, even now he couldn’t keep his disdain from his face, “Joining hands will be fine.” He reached out both his hands and, however unwillingly, the women took them.
Walking forward together they passed through the barrier as if it had never existed, Emma and Milah dropped Rumple’s hands and again strangely in synch, wiped their hands on the back of their trousers.
Emma spoke softly, the relief evident, “It worked.”
Rumple’s cold tone held more chill even than usual, “Indeed. One step closer to Hell. The spell's gone. We'll be able to pass through on our own now. Thank you, Milah. You can run back to protecting the dead children.”
Emma held up a hand to Rumple “Hang on.” Emma met Milah’s eyes intensely, “Milah... thank you so much. And... there's something you should know. Your son, Neal, Baelfire... when I was on my way down here on the River, I had sort of a vision of him. I think he talked to me.”
Milah took in a soft breath “What did he say?”
“He said that he moved on. And that he was happy. Whatever he had to resolve... he did it." The words seemed to escape Emma in a low hiss.
Milah smiled warmly, her posture softening, “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Emma nodded, all business again, “I hear water this way.”
Milah agreed, “That would be the River of Lost Souls. We can take it to where Hades will have Killian.”
Rumple interjected, “I'm sorry, uh, "we" can take it? If you think you can get the pirate back, I doubt he's gonna swap the blonde one for the dead one.”
Milah and Emma rolled their eyes in stereo, Milah faced her former husband with a sneer. “You might be dark, but sometimes you're still an idiot, Rumple.” Milah turned away from him dismissively, addressing her statement to the other woman, “I have my reasons. Let me come with you.”
Emma assented, heading toward the door with a simple, “Okay.”
Rumple stomped off to find some transport, “I’ll leave you ladies to get acquainted.”
“Dick,” Emma muttered under her breath.
Milah smirked, “You’re a woman of few words, Emma.”
Emma smiled sadly, “Killian’s the one with all the good words, I’m more of an action girl.”
“I can tell. What made you follow him into the underworld?” Milah asked softly.
Emma swallowed, “He sacrificed himself to end the dark one’s curse, I had to run him through with Excaliber.” Milah gasped but otherwise held her tongue. “When we found out that Rumple stolen that sacrifice, that he had taken back the power of the dark one, well... I had to do something, I had to try. My parents share a heart, if I give him half of my heart, then he can come home, we can have the life we planned.”
Milah blinked, “I didn’t know that was a thing that could be done.” Her face was a riot of mixed emotion.
Emma wrapped her arms around herself, “No one did until my parents did it, and they are the poster children for true love so…” Emma was staring at the ground. “Wait, I didn’t mean, I mean he would have if he could, he loves you so much Milah, honestly, he does. Gold was being a dick, but honestly, I don’t think it’d be an easy… and I wouldn’t I mean, if…”
Milah shook her head, “Breathe Emma, you love like Killian does, I’m glad he found you, that you found each other.” She grinned that vagabond smile and raised an eyebrow, “I don’t see why he’d have to choose.”
Emma felt the laughter burst out of her mouth without giving it conscious thought, “Did he learn the innuendo as a defence mechanism thing from you, or did you learn it from him?”
Milah’s smile was bright and clear, “I think you’ll find Killian Jones learned a lot from me.” She gave Emma a wink, that reminded Emma of soft skin and hot nights and Emma blushed.
Rumple returned with the boat, “You really are cut from the same cloth.” His voice made it clear he didn’t see that as a good thing.
“Rumple, I think that is the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” retorted Milah, checking over the boat before setting herself at the rudder. “Like I’d trust him to steer.”
Emma stepped on board gingerly, “I hope this boat you found doesn't spring a leak.”
Rumple was blithe, “This boat is the best thing we could have hoped to find. After we pick up the pirate, it will take us all the way home.”
Milah laughed, “The Jolly has spoiled you.”
A shadow passed over Emma’s face at the thought of the last time she and Killian were aboard the Jolly, “She’s very special, Killian’s so happy to have her back.”
Milah’s brows rose, “Back?”
Emma sighed, “It’s a..”
Milah cut her off, “A long story? Sounds like there’s a few of those.”
Rumple laughed darkly, “Don’t you want Milah to know how the Pirate gave up his ship for you, chased you across the realms and attempted True Loves kiss? She was always fond of the great romances, perhaps she’d enjoy knowing how easily he moved on.”
Emma scowled, “Seriously, Gold? Killian mourned Milah every day for hundreds of years, he still calls for her in the night sometimes. He hunted you and gave up everything trying to avenge her. Why are you still trying to hurt her with this? You moved on, you have Belle, your own true love, you’ve re-married.”
Rumple snarled, “Because she did this to me, I was a good man.”
Milah stood, rocking the boat, “You were a useless coward and our lives were unbearable, you had one job, to watch Bae and you failed even at that.”
“I didn’t want to kill the man for the cure for Milah, I didn’t want to be a murderer, so I made a deal,” Rumple’s voice was ragged.
Milah sat down, “I was already pregnant when you made that deal Rumple, when you sold our child and the rest of my life. That’s why I was so lost and angry that day, so desperate... I was silent about it. Thought if I kept the child from you I could pass them elsewhere through the midwife; or run. In the end it didn’t matter, our second-born didn’t live through her first night”
Rumple face was a picture of pain and confusion, “I had a daughter, I didn’t know, how didn’t I know?”
“I’d frozen you out by then, bade you sleep in with Bae, kept my aprons loose and wore my shawl,” Milah shook her head. “It doesn’t matter now, none of it does.” A cold silence held the boat, the only interruption the susurration of the water beneath the boat.
Emma stood suddenly, “This is it. He's down there. I feel it.”
Rumple sat at his place, his voice fraught, “I'm not leaving the boat. It's too valuable. You're capable of getting the Pirate on your own, I'm sure. And don't even think about using magic. Hades would notice anything this close to his home base.”
Milah placed a hand on Emma’s shoulder, “If he's not moving, I'm not, either. If he tries to steal this thing, I'll give a shout. I think he and I should talk this out, give him a kiss for me aye?”
Emma smiled and nodded, tearing off up the stairs.
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Milah tried to break the tension,”So... you're married now. That's real?”
Rumple’s voice was harsh and raw, “Look, about your, uh, unfinished business... if it's love for the Pirate, then it's definitely off the table.”
Milah sighed, “My unfinished business was never Killian.”
Rumple looked confused, “Then why…”
“It's Baelfire. Our son.” Milah’s voice was low and sad. “I should have been there for him. Not... punished him because, well you know why now I suppose. I was selfish. I thought if I could... change that, do something generous... maybe I could finish what I need to."
Rumple stated softly, “So you want to move on.”
Milah nodded, “Yes. So I can... see him, and I can... say to him, 'Son, I'm... I'm sorry for... everything.'”
Rumpled actually smiled, "He'll forgive you. I betrayed him as well. As a grown man, he re-entered my life, and he forgave me. He'll do the same for you.”
Milah looked askance, “That's a nice thought. It's just... I really want to see him again.”
“You will,” Rumple assured her. “And when you do... tell him hello from his papa.”
“So,” Milah carried on in the same vein. "Tell me about our grandson."
Rumple shook his head, “He’s something else, he’s a smart boy, he has the best of Bae in him.”
“One thing I don’t understand,” Milah asked. “Why do you hate her so much? Is it just because of Killian?”
Rumple shook his head, “I don’t hate her, I hate the choices she makes. I hate that she brought me here, that she got to see Bae. That despite everything she can just continue, and I hate that losing Bae didn’t break her the way losing the Pirate did, she’s infuriating.”
Milah sighed, “She was really a teenager?”
“That I can’t account for,” Rumple shrugged. “I think something about Neverland holds more than your physical self in stasis. Look at the Pirate. He was there for hundreds of years fixating on killing me, a handful of years here with outside influences and suddenly he is ready to forget everything that went before. And for what, a sniff of the saviour’s knickers?”
Milah objected, “That’s disgusting Rumple, she’s literally battling her way through hell for him. I think we can assume it’s pretty serious.”
Rumple sighed, “I could tell you that she was a mass murderer and he ate puppies and you’d still defend them. But not our boy? He knew she’d follow him so he made sure she got caught, simple.”
“Wait,” Milah asked in surprise, “He set her up? For pity’s sake Rumple, she wouldn’t even speak ill of him to me, and you think I’m seeing the worst in him? Perhaps we should just sit here quietly.”
Time passed slowly. Rumple checked his watch, “They should be back here by now.”
Milah seemed lost in the flickering from the river, “They all seem so lost.”
Rumple agreed, “Yes, yes they do.”
A flash of blue light signalled the entrance of a sleekly suited pale man with slicked hair and an air of insouciance. “You ridiculous woman, you couldn’t have kept your mouth shut for an hour more, I could have threatened the child of the woman he actually loves and had the dark one over a barrel. Well now you can join him in his torture, I have Fendrake’s title, which means I have this,” he holds up a tiny glass bottle with a flickering glimmer inside it. “This, dearies, is your daughter, her soul anyway, freely signed away by her father.”
“NO!” Milah screamed, reaching toward the vial.
“I’ll make it quick, Gold,” the dark god snarled, flickering his hair alight. ”You’ve been one of my best suppliers so I’ll offer you a deal. Deal with her and make sure they all stay where they belong and I’ll keep second chance number one and send you back to the new Mrs Dark-one and the new second chance, screw it up and I’ll let the Mrs know about your poor innocent baby you’ve allowed me to torture forever.”
Rumple dragged his hand through his hair, “Milah will tell them anyway.”
Hades sneered, “That sounds like a you problem,” and disappeared.
Rumple faced Milah with a hand over his face, she asked, “Rumple, what are you going to do?”
Rumple shook his head, “What you always told me to Milah; I’m going to take what I need.”
Milah’s eyes widened as she began to soar backward, hefted by Rumplestiltskin’s dark magic, flailing helplessly toward the damning mellifluousness.
The dark one’s ears echoed with a sound of the past as he could swear he heard the echo of Killian Jones screaming for her just as he had the first time he killed her.
There was a shimmer around Milah as Emma’s light magic grabbed her just before she hit the water and gently cradled her to the river bank.
“Milah! Milah? Milah!” gasped the bloodied and battered pirate, half sprinting, half falling down the stairs toward his long-lost love.
“Killian, I’m alright, I’m dead, but still dead, not more dead, thanks to your brilliant Emma,” Milah babbled. “You look like you’ve been through hell,” she smiled at her own joke.
Over their heads, Emma appeared to be trying to hold Rumple in place with sparkling white bands of light that he flicked away as if they were catkins on my coat. “Stop this Ms Swan, I have to get back. He’s threatening Belle and her very alive baby, just because it looks like the Pirate is choosing the dead one doesn’t mean I will.”
Milah looked up at Killian, “Hades has the soul of my baby, my lost daughter.”
Killian pulled himself to his feet, “Crocodile, a very wise mermaid once told me that villains never get their happy endings because villains always go about getting them the wrong way. We’d have helped you, you didn’t have to do this, how many times do you have to make the same bloody mistake?”
Rumplestiltskin screamed, a shriek filled with rage and hate, “How dare you Pirate," he snarled. "I was a good man before I met you: Before you destroyed my life.”
“I didn’t take a mallet to your foot you whimpering bastard,” Killian thundered, moving toward the prow of the boat. "Blame your father, blame your position in life, but stop blaming me for wanting to get her out from under your yoke. I only wish we’d taken Bae too and maybe he’d have had a chance to be a better man.”
With an ear-piercing shriek, Rumplestiltskin leapt toward the beleaguered Killian, aiming his dagger at his heart.
With a smooth parry, Killian disarmed him and faced him with the point of the blade. “This didn't end well for me last time and I’d rather not see what happens if I do this here. Step back old man, it’s over. I’ll help Belle for her own sake, not yours, and find a way to free yours and Milah’s babe too.”
Killian stepped back, shoving the dagger in the back of his belt, Rumple leapt for him again to be met by both Milah’s hand and Emma’s magic, flying backward his footing and his will lost, he sank into the shimmering waters, his hand reaching upward.
Killian grabbed the dagger and stared in disbelief as the name on it unravelled and disappeared. He put his hook to his chest, and stared wildly at both of the great loves of his life, willing no new word to appear, the dagger stayed blank, smooth, it felt different now, no whisper, no roar.
His knees buckled beneath him and two pairs of small, work-worn hands grabbed him before he crumpled. “He’s never really gone? It’s too much to hope,” Killian whispered, more to himself than anything else.
“Let’s not borrow trouble love,” Milah said.
Just as Emma said, “It’ll do for now, let’s go home, clearly, Hades, knew we were here so, shortcut?”
Milah looked at Emma with a half-smile, “I don’t know what that means, but sure.”
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open, friday night.
location: echo creek, neverland bar.
“Are you going to buy me a drink or what?” Anastasia slurred to the person that was sat next to her. She usually wasn’t a drinker, but the weekend always promised fun times, especially if you went in drunk. The bar was filled with regulars and a generous crowd as many people were finishing their workweek. Work was never finished for Anastasia, though, there was always something to post on Instagram or Twitter, even if it was short and sweet. Most people assumed that Anastasia was sweet, and most of the time, she absolutely could be. For God’s sake, she even assisted her sister leaving the Tremaine estate, and still attempted to cover for Ella. Ella deserved better, she deserved to be free, and Anastasia wished for the same thing.
“I mean, we could take turns too?” She suggested, fully turning her barstool towards the person sat next to her. “But we won’t stop, until we’re tripping out of here and find another fun thing to do.” With this town, there were plenty of things for them to do. Luckily, the town was riddled with events and things to do, so there wasn’t anything that could stop the duo. “You down for that or what? Hope you don’t mind that I’ll have to record it for Instagram or TikTok.” Sometimes her job was exhausting.
#animaniahqopen#animaniahqstart#{ sorta short & sweet }#{ i was gonna reply to things but i just wanted to throw this out here }
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Background on the owner of the private jet
Marc Ganzi is an American businessman. He is the President and CEO of DigitalBridge, and is the founder and former CEO of Digital Bridge Holdings and Global Tower Partners. He is also a polo player.
He received a Bachelor of Science in business administration from the Wharton School of the University of Pennsylvania. He interned in the White House for Stephen M. Studdert, special advisor to President George H. W. Bush in 1989. In 1990, Ganzi served as an assistant Commercial Attaché in Madrid for the U.S. Department of Commerce’s Foreign Commercial Service Department.
After graduation, Ganzi bought distressed real estate for Resolution Trust Corporation. He worked at Deutsche Bank, where he oversaw investments in the radio tower sector.
In 1993, he co-founded AD Development Corporation, a real estate development company in the Mid-Atlantic states, where he worked until 1994. He co-founded Apex Site Management, which was purchased by SpectraSite, and he served as group president for a year. In 1998, Ganzi founded Eureka Broadband, an application service provider and high-speed Internet access corporation. From 2000 to 2002, he was a partner in DB Capital Partners in New York City.
In 2003, he founded Global Tower Partners, a telecommunications company headquartered in Boca Raton, Florida. He served as its Chief Executive Officer and built the company into the largest privately held operator of U.S. cell towers. The company was purchased by Macquarie Group (ASX: MQG) in 2007, and, in 2013, American Tower Corporation (NYSE: AMT) acquired GTP for $4.8 billion.
In 2013, Ganzi and Ben Jenkins founded Digital Bridge Holdings, an investor and operator of mobile and internet connectivity companies. Digital Bridge Holdings was acquired by Colony Capital in 2019, where Ganzi took over as CEO-elect. On July 1, 2020, he became CEO and President of Colony Capital. In 2021, the company rebranded to become DigitalBridge, a digital infrastructure investment firm, and he remained in those respective positions.
DigitalBridge Group, Inc. is a global digital infrastructure investment firm. The company owns, invests in and operates businesses such as cell towers, data centers, fiber, small cells, and edge infrastructure. Headquartered in Boca Raton, DigitalBridge has key offices in Los Angeles, New York, London, and Singapore.
In 2010, DigitalBridge, then still Colony Capital, was reported to manage about $30 billion in investments. In 2011, DigitalBridge was tied for 3rd largest private equity real estate fund in the world, behind Blackstone Group and Morgan Stanley Real Estate
Colony purchased Raffles International on July 18, 2005. This included the 41 hotels and resorts operated under the Raffles Hotel and Swissotel brand names. On January 30, 2006, it acquired Fairmont Hotels and Resorts of Toronto, Ontario with Kingdom Hotels International as a joint partner for US$3.24 billion.[citation needed] On April 10, 2006, it acquired French professional football team Paris Saint-Germain.
On November 11, 2008, Michael Jackson transferred the title of his 2,700 acre estate Neverland Ranch to Sycamore Valley Ranch Company LLC, a joint venture between Jackson (represented by attorney, L. Londell McMillan) and an affiliate of Colony Capital. It is still unclear whether Colony Capital has a part in the property. Jackson earned a total of US$35 million when he agreed to the joint venture between himself and Colony Capital.
In March 2010, Colony arranged a financing and marketing package for Annie Leibovitz. The New York celebrity photographer had been in financial difficulty and in danger of losing to her previous lender, ArtCapital, the rights to her photographs and negatives and her three Greenwich Village townhouses. ArtCapital's credit was for $24 million. In December 2010, Colony purchased Miramax from Disney with Qatar Investment Authority, Tutor-Saliba Corporation and The Weinstein Company as part of a joint venture called Filmyard Holdings for $663 million.
In September 2017, Colony NorthStar agreed to sell its Townsend Group unit to Aon for $475 million.
In October 2017, Colony entered discussions to purchase The Weinstein Company, a movie and TV production studio that sustained damage after its co-founder, Harvey Weinstein, was accused of multiple counts of sexual harassment over three decades. In the wake of the Harvey Weinstein sexual assault scandal, in late October 2017, it was reported that Colony Capital LLC had proved hesitant to purchase Weinstein Co. after a week of exclusive negotiations. Fortress Investment Group was also in talks to provide a loan to Weinstein Co.
In June 2018, The New York Times reported that Colony North Star had raised more than $7 billion in investments since Donald Trump won the 2016 presidential election. 24 percent of the money came from the United Arab Emirates and Saudi Arabia.
In April 2022, DigitalBridge bought out Wafra’s stake in its investment management subsidiary for $800 million and switched from REIT to traditional C-Corp. DigitalBridge announced and initiated several acquisitions during 2022 including AMP Capital's global infrastructure equity investment management business for $328 million and Switch, Inc., a data center company, for $11 billion. The firm sold 27 percent of its stake in DataBank to Swiss Life and EDF Invest for $1.2 billion. DigitalBridge said it would own 15.5 percent of DataBank after the sale.
Thanks!
He looks a lot like that Mark Dyer guy that used to keep tabs on Harry.
Mark Ganzi
Mark Dyer and Harry:
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From Michael Jackson to J.K. Rowling and Activision: Handling shitty creators and companies
This is going to be a long-winded bit of text considering how/whether I choose to stand up against problematic creators/content, how other people say it should be done, and basically providing warning that these issues aren’t so black and white as you might think.
So, y’know. You can probably skip this if you’re just here to think about or see Danganronpa art and theories and fanfic and all that. :P
Since Michael Jackson wound up inspiring this post, I’ll open with him.
I was hearing his music in my parents’ rotation long before I ever knew he was accused of some despicable shit, y’know? So I got hooked on that stuff before I had a reason to be (potentially?) disgusted. And when I got old enough to be aware of those accusations, I couldn’t get a good personal gauge on whether I believed him guilty of what he was accused. Pre-2019, I felt there were reasons to both believe and disbelieve the whole thing, so I just chose not to have any opinion on the matter. Which I guess is easier to do once you’ve already gotten attached to the music, right? Nobody wants to abandon something they’ve long enjoyed.
I specified “pre-2019″ because 2019 is when Leaving Neverland came around. I’ve admittedly never watched that documentary — the one that convinced many people of his guilt posthumously. And that’s probably chickenshit of me. It probably sounds like I’m just wimping out and burying my head in the sand. But shit, life is so full of despair and misery, and like I said: It’s hard to WANT to abandon something you’ve always taken pleasure from. I got old enough to where I decided to just... stop following every detail of every negative development around the things I enjoy. I’d rather hold onto some modicum of escapist pleasure than constantly have those works make me think about shitty, shitty people and their poor, forever-tormented victims. Is that selfish of me? ......... Uh, probably! If I’m going to keep on consuming that music, do I then owe it to society to fully immerse myself in every terrible thing that may be linked to it so I can be 100% informed of any implicit undercurrents? .... I’d say “obviously not,” but there are definitely those who’ve argued the opposite.
In truth, so many people involved in so many creative works turn out to be sketch-ass fucks. I suppose that’s a natural consequence of how many people it takes to get a book published (tens), or to make an album (hundreds), or to complete a movie/video game (thousands). At a certain point, if you’re going to consume all your media responsibly so that you never watch or hear or see anything that was made by anybody problematic and so you never financially support bad behavior... well, fuck, you might as well give up the entire video game industry, then. And all movies. Because look at those corporations and their bullshit! Look at those thousands of people involved, which almost definitely includes some very bad individuals!
But I can still defy these things in small ways. If I know for a fact that there’s accusations/hard evidence out there against someone or something, I can at least avoid giving them my money directly. I no longer see movies at Cinemark theaters ever since the head of the company decided to start putting money towards supporting Trumpist and QAnon conspiracy theories. I haven’t given any money to Michael Jackson’s estate in a very long time; I can get that music through plenty of other channels than directly buying it.
And if I know a game company is definitely being awful to its workers or has a culture of sexism and harassment? The bare minimum I can do is refuse to give them any direct money and just buy physical copies used so that they don’t get a cent of my cash trickled back to them. So, y’know — no direct purchases of anything published by UbiSoft or Activision. Clearly.
All of the above applies to Harry Potter media at this point — I’m going to do what it takes to avoid giving it any more direct cash, but I’m not going to totally abandon the whole universe either. And to many people, that means I’m a bad member of the LGBTQ+ or a bad ally for trans rights or WHATEVER. But let’s not forget that virtually every talent involved with the series beyond Rowling has spoken out AGAINST her and FOR trans rights — all the actors from the films, the developers of the Hogwart’s Legacy game, and so on. So... do we boycott something that might give money to Rowling if it’ll ALSO give money to all these evident allies, then? Am I wrong to avoid giving money to this franchise if that means I’m denying money to all of THOSE people? For that matter: Is it bad that I’m going out of my way to NOT financially supporting the dev teams at Activision who are getting victimized by management? And... I don’t know. It’s tough.
Besides, You-Know-Who created a story that....... well, let’s just put this right here.
YEAH. The message is right there. It’s baked in. For fuck’s sake, Harry was even forced to live in a CLOSET. It’s too bad the author can’t even fucking see how perfectly her own stories apply to the trans experience. Fuck you, JKR. *sigh*
As I already referenced, LOADS of people would argue (and have argued) that all of the above people and companies should be 100% boycotted, and anything less makes you a person who is failing at promoting equality — a bad person. I don’t think it’s so black-and-white as all that, though. As I said: Who wants to give up things we enjoy in this miserable world? And for that matter, who wants to abandon all the innocent people in a company pipeline who are being diminished and/or abused by the powerful few? Ultimately, what’s the best way to deal with these kind of issues? Fuck if I know.
We can all only do what’s right for us, and what feels like it’s the best/kindest thing overall.
#controversial#long post#j.k. rowling#michael jackson#ubisoft#activision#problematic#harry potter#oof
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In the years since Michael Jackson lived at Neverland, employees - most of whom were no longer working at Neverland - reported that dozens of young boys were dropped off at the guarded front gate and handed over to Michael's "security force." One of Michael's special policemen would then assist the boy into a fanciful carriage pulled by a Clydesdale. After he had been escorted to the main hall of Neverland, the boy of the day was taken to Michael's bedroom. After securing clearance, the boy was allowed to enter the room.
Michael often invited young boys, including some young girls, to Neverland to enjoy its Disney-like attractions. Once the children were at play, he would select those boys whom he'd like to get to know better. Often he made this selection when the kids were playing shirtless or in swimming attire.
Another method of contact was through dozens of model agencies in Los Angeles, many of whom specialized in child models for both TV and print advertising. Michael would order publicity photographs of these boys sent to Neverland. Staff members reported that he would spend the good part of many a day studying each photograph carefully and evaluating it. His excuse to the agencies was that he was planning to make musical videos involving child actors, as he'd done in the past.
Johnny Ciao was employed as a chef at Neverland during the greater part of 1988. During that time, he witnessed a parade of boys being entertained by Michael.
Replacing Johnny Ciao was Faye Quindoy, a Filipino woman. She and her husband would also manage manage his Neverland estate. Michael would regret hiring them when they spilled Michael's secrets to the world on such shows as Geraldo Rivera's Now It Can Be Told.
When Michael and his special friend of the moment tired of his own Disneyland at the ranch, he'd asked Mark Quindoy to drive them to Solvang, which, like Neverland, lay in the Santa Ynez Valley. Because of its association with early Danish settlers, the town offered a taste Scandinavia in California. The architecture is Danish, and even the most famous statue of Copenhagen, The Little Mermaid, was there. Mark accompanied Michael and the boy into Solvang, where they stopped at a mammoth dollhouse Michael was considering duplicating at a Neverland.
On the way back to the ranch, Quindoy later reported that he was shocked to witness Michael embracing the boy, kissing him "like a boy kissing a girl in the backseat." He claimed the boy put up no protest, but just sat there. "Michael began kissing him everywhere. I was utterly stunned - appalled that he could do that to a seven year old boy. The kid stayed for another three weeks at Neverland before departing with his mother, who had been staying in Michael's guest house, unaware. The next day a nine year old boy showed up and began having sleepovers in Michael's bedroom." Quindoy admitted, "He chose one boy at a time. Lewd things went on right under the noses of the parents." The couple claimed they did not go to the police because, "we were just witnesses, not victims."
Michael had a playroom constructed next to the manor which was strictly off-limits to other employees. Sometimes Michael would spend all day in this playroom with another kid.
Said sister La Toya, "He would stay in his room at Hayvenhurst for days on end with young boys." Hayvenhurst was the home he lived in before he moved to Neverland.
In Neverland, he also had his private zoo, with various animals including a llama called "Puddin' Pie." There were many pink flamingos, a "Lawrence of Arabia" camel, and elephant. He also had a cage of chimps, not just Bubbles. Throughout the park were waterproof pictures of Michael holding hands with children.
Security guards from the Nation of Islam required each guest to sign a waiver agreeing not to carry cameras. Later cellphones were added. One of these guards claimed, "I can't count the number of young boys who rode with Michael on that Ferris wheel, his arm locked possessively around them. All the young kids were instructed to call Michael 'Daddy.'"
He installed a water pistol range for Macaulay Culkin.
When the builders of Neverland thought they were finished with the project, Michael demanded more - his own steam railway, a fun fair, a cinema, and a make-believe Indian village. When everything was finished, Michael hired a Charlie Chaplin impersonator to wander the grounds, amusing the children, who usually didn't know anything about the silent screen star.
Michael also had a Shirley Temple Room at Neverland. He had seen all of Shirley Temple's films countless times, and had decorated the room with film posters of her. He collected Temple memorabilia, including a pair of patent-leather Mary Jane shoes that she'd worn in one of her movies. He purchased curly haired wigs sold in the 30s to young girls whose mothers wanted them to look like the chubby-cheeked toddler. Michael was especially intrigued with a series of shorts Temple had made in the early 1930s. Called Baby Burlesks, these films starring young kids spoofed movies and stars of the early Talkies. Viewed today, these seemingly innocent films have been called by some as, "baby porn." Michael even ordered a Shirley Temple mannequin, dressing it in baby pink with a pink bow holding up her curly coiffure. He also had a shrine to Elizabeth Taylor, seen in some archival Moonwalker footage.
When Michael truly wanted privacy, he had the so-called bachelor pad he rented in 1989 called "The Hideout." It was a condo on the 14th floor of The Westford, a luxury housing unit at 10750 Wilshire Boulevard. It didn't have a bed, only a sleeping bag and a large-screen TV. Often parents, usually a mother, delivered her son to Neverland, and later in the night, Michael would take the kid to the condo.
#mj#michael jackson#interiors#neverland#neverland ranch#mark quindoy#faye quindoy#johnny ciao#grooming
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Family [2/3]
Prompt: Set roughly during “The Tower” (3x14) in the Missing Year, Snow accompanies Regina to her family’s estate to search for clues about Zelena. The princess is loathe to admit it, but so many events are weighing on her mind—her impending pregnancy, her husband’s strange reaction to it, and the fact that she’s pretty sure that both he and Regina are lying to her about something or another, but even still, she clings to hope. Snow Queen. Snowing. Pre-OQ.
CW: Vomit Descriptions; Implications of Parental Abuse; Light Gore | Ch. 1 | AO3 Link
—
A little over halfway to the estate, an unexpected wave of nausea shudders through Snow’s entire body. She assumes it’s mostly because of the pregnancy, her body still renovating itself to share space with its newly arrived tenant… and then partially because it’s been well-over thirty years now since she’s ridden horses for speed and sport. The rocking motions have finally gotten to her, the inherent roughness of this pastime she used to love. She slows her steed down with some gentle coaxing—(“easy, Zephyr”)—and dismounts rather gracelessly, just as Regina, realizing that Snow is no longer keeping pace with her, circles back around with her own horse (a fittingly arrogant stallion named Lucan).
After securing Zephyr’s reins around a tree and hanging her bow and quiver on one of its branches, she just barely makes it a few more steps away from the poor beast before she’s throwing up in a bush, shaking hands braced on her knees. A thin layer of sweat lacquers her forehead even though it’s chilly out, and bile coats her tongue, the acrid smell triggering another round of sickness.
“Shit,” she hears herself moan aloud, temporarily forgetting that she’s not alone until a short bark of a laugh lets her know that Regina is directly behind her.
“Hardly the language of royal princess, now is it?”
“Oh, like you don’t curse enough to make a pirate blush,” Snow grumbles irritatedly, remembering all the f-bombs she’d heard the Queen drop when they miserably traipsed through Neverland.
(Fuck this and fuck that. Fuck you. There’s animal shit on my fucking heels.)
(Emma had also liberally used the word during their time on that awful island, usually in relationship to Regina, “Oh, my fucking God, Regina.”)
“Point taken.”
When she thinks she’s finally done vomiting, she swipes the back of her hand across her mouth and leans against a nearby tree for a moment, closing her eyes against the sudden and total exhaustion of her body. She has vague flashes of her last pregnancy, when her constant morning sickness had pretty much ensured that she was draped over the chamber pot on most sunrises. Poor Charming had tried his best, holding her hair back from her face and brewing tea that he unfailingly neglected to steep long enough.
Bent over a godforsaken bush in a godforsaken forest, Snow misses her husband with a pang—his kind caresses and his soft smiles, his attentive ministrations and his superbly shitty tea. And she wants nothing more than to be in his arms right now, safe in his warm embrace. But then she rather violently remembers that he’s somewhere in these dark and sprawling woods too, lying to her about something or another—hunting, day drinking, cavorting with Robin, his true feelings about their baby. He’s “thrilled,” but the word surely has emphatic quotation marks around it, suffocating the sincerity from it.
“Sorry for delaying us,” she eventually exhales through clenched teeth, breathing heavily. A thoroughly unnecessary apology, but at least it interrupts her silent pity party. “I’ll be able to ride again soon… just need a minute.”
She’s not particularly expecting a response that isn’t a withering quip, but to her wonderment and temporary alarm, she receives one in the form of an intense coldness jolting the back of her neck; Snow hastily opens her eyes to find a damp rag neatly draped over her shoulders like a compress. And perhaps even more shockingly still, she registers that it is Regina who is right beside her—(who else could it possibly be?)—simply staring at her from the depths of inscrutable eyes. There’s no rage in them anymore, no pain, no bitterness, no all-consuming, logic-defying, monomaniacal hatred.
Just a pair of eyes so dark that they’re almost black, the emotion in them indiscernible to Snow for the first time in decades.
It frankly startles her—more than she ever thought it would—not knowing where she stands with the Queen anymore. She quickly rationalizes and half-believes that it’s because that had been her one constant during her bandit days—she’d always known whom she was running from and why she was doing it.
She had told a secret; she had ruined a life.
“Here,” her former stepmother says curtly, extending a wineskin, another unforeseen and comically inappropriate gesture to which Snow can only lift a skeptical brow. “Oh, don’t look so scandalized. It’s water, not Pinot Noir, and you look like you’re nearly about to keel over, so drink.”
Admittedly, it takes a few seconds for Snow’s bewildered brain to put it all together.
The dampened rag.
The water-filled wineskin.
You look like you’re nearly about to keel over.
(Regina’s been paying attention.)
So drink.
(Regina is offering care.)
Her mouth parts in a soft ‘o’ of surprise as she suddenly recognizes, with all the sweeping elegance of an epiphany, that she is surely experiencing the unadulterated kindness of the Queen.
It’s been years now—storied and bloody decades.
There had been a runaway horse.
And then there had been Regina.
“Thanks,” she croaks weakly, accepting the pouch and taking a long swig of the deliciously cold water. After giving it back, she slides the rag from around her shoulders, wipes the sweat from her face, and tries to return it as well.
“Keep it,” Regina firmly shakes her head. “You can wear it while we’re riding. It might offset some of the nausea.“
Numb, still disbelieving, and somewhere beneath it all, exceedingly grateful, Snow dutifully wraps the cloth around her neck again and continues to stare at her former stepmother like she’s seeing a ghost—very specifically the ghost of the young Queen who used to brush the tangles from her unruly hair every morning and sing her lullabies in a quiet, scratchy voice. It was only when the princess spent her nights in the woods desperately evading that same woman that she appreciated those memories from the early days for what they were—Regina resisting evil for as long as she possibly could. Surely, she must have hated her from the very start of her marriage to the King, but Snow knows—she has to believe anyway—that those first few months were not entirely an act.
There was still genuine affection there; there was kindness; and there was the specter of the brave, young woman who didn’t hesitate to save a stranger’s life.
“What?” Regina asks sharply, obviously discomfited from the excess attention.
“Nothing,” Snow murmurs. “It’s just… thank you, Regina. I appreciate it.”
The compliment only serves to vex the older woman even further; she’s never accepted niceness easily, always searching for the bottom line and the inevitable betrayal beneath a smile.
“Don’t misconstrue sheer practicality for anything other than what it is, Snow,” she insists, restlessly shifting her weight from one boot to another. “I couldn’t have you puking on me, now could I? This is a custom tailored coat.”
“If you say so,” she can’t stop herself from grinning, well-aware that she’s just being a little shit at this point.
“I say so,” Regina only sniffs before stomping off back to her horse like an overgrown child in ridiculously high heels. Snow silently giggles into her hand before slowly following, far more versed in knowing what to do with kindness once it’s received than the woman huffing and puffing in front of her.
She cherishes it.
She doesn’t know how to ever let it go.
—
They take the rest of the journey more steadily after this—with Regina’s convenient, emphatic, and unconvincing excuse being that she doesn’t want to overexert the horses—but the princess knows that the adjusted pace is primarily for her benefit, and she’s deeply appreciative of the gesture. She doesn’t think she could have continued at full throttle without getting sick again.
For a while, they’re both quiet, the clopping of horse hooves the only sounds echoing through the skeletal treetops, but Snow has chronically never been one to sit still with the silence for too long, and when they’ve gone about another half-league, she dares to break the implicit spell between them.
“So… Regina—“ She starts, with the vague intention of alluding to something that happened in today’s tumultuous council meeting—(the Queen’s ridiculous proposal, her confrontation with Robin at the table, the pregnancy news that Snow had so inexplicably wanted to be the one to share with Regina herself)—but she’s immediately interrupted.
“And here I thought you could last twenty minutes without pointlessly annoying me,” she drawls, talking loudly over her would-have-been-question.
“Old habits die hard,” she chuckles lightly, not particularly taking offense. “I have a daily annoy Regina quota to fill.”
“Trust me, dear—you’ve reached the maximum threshold already.”
The princess shakes her head rather uselessly at this: the quip, the quipper, this entire unproductive conversation of back-and-forth quipping. Regina seems determined not to look her way—her side profile all haughty arrogance—which leads Snow to suspect that the Queen’s doing everything she can to avoid a remotely serious conversation, that she’s already anticipated it, and this is her favorite tactical evasive maneuver: pure and unadulterated snark.
“You always have a comeback locked and loaded, don’t you?” She asks with a knowing sigh, a gesture that must not be lost on Regina, because she shifts uncomfortably on her black saddle.
“Something to that effect,” comes yet another quip, but the retort sounds less snappy than it does tired, and less tired than it does mechanical, as though she’s just going through the familiar motions of being a certified asshole.
She suddenly thinks about how in their earlier days, Regina would have rather spit fire than been caught with her guard down. (This is the same woman who only betrayed her fear a second before the firing squad had succeeded in shooting her heart clean from her chest after all.) And on the heels of this recollection, she just as immediately recognizes that this is another way her once enemy has so totally changed—or has been changed—by Henry and her perpetual grief for him. She can’t sustain the facade of the Queen like she used to, the armor of her wit and her bravado and her aloofness less cohesive beneath the staggering weight of her pain.
Snow dares to sneak another glance to her side and confirms her intuitions when she notices the unsubtle lines beneath Regina’s eyes, how they’re as vivid as her sharply winged eyeliner but not nearly as gracefully drawn.
With just a little bit of difficulty—meddling is both her preferred way of showing love and her occasional moral failing—she resolves to hold her tongue for once and stop pressing her luck. She decides to be kind to Regina, which in this infinitesimal moment simply means just looking away and pretending that she didn’t notice a blessèd thing: the older woman’s crumbling defenses, her exhaustion, and her visible, aching, indelible, undeniable pain, scrawled across her entire body like calligraphy.
The two of them lapse into heavy silence again as the forest continues to thin out around them on either side of the dirt path, dense trees giving way to tall weeds and rolling plains.
The manor where Regina had once lived is at the southernmost edge of the kingdom, where hills once unfurled like green ribbons in the summertime. Good riding land. A popular location for vineyards. However, the encroaching winter, as well as the lingering effects of the Dark Curse, have largely ravaged the territory, turning lush trees into bleached bones and once verdant undergrowth into brown nothingness—detritus and death and dust.
Snow remembers touring through this part of the kingdom with her father as a child, accompanying him to meetings with important leaders in the Forest. The King had always pointed out the Mills Estate—formally known as the Royal Manor—when they had passed, his brown eyes strangely wistful as he spoke of it.
“So beautiful, she was,” he had once said, and Snow, even at nine years old, had always thought that it was a strange thing to remark about a house, even an undeniably gorgeous one.
(But sometimes, she can sort of admit now, her father was a deeply strange man.)
To her immediate right, the Queen slows her steed to a stop, and Snow follows suit. They’ve reached an intersection where a weathered signpost advertises that the Royal Manor is due north, about another league away.
“When we get there,” Regina suddenly says, gripping her horse’s reins rather tightly, though her tone is deceptively cool, “you’re not to touch anything. I wouldn’t put it past my mother to have practically cursed everything, or to have placed a few general protective spells over the boundaries at the very least.”
“When would she have had the time to do that?” Snow asks, her own voice as skittish as it is curious. She knows it’s hardly her place to even refer to Cora, but Regina thankfully doesn’t acknowledge this tension, only shrugging a jacketed shoulder.
“Sometime after the Dark Curse was broken, I’m presuming,” she replies, “but then there are also the spells she’d already cast long before I married your father—border alerts, security shields, and the occasional nasty hex to deter thieves from penetrating her inner sanctums.”
A brief pause, and Regina smiles flatly, the gesture far from touching her eyes, and Snow passes an inadvertent shudder off as a reaction to the nippy breeze. Everything she has ever learned about Cora has been against her will—all of it shockingly horrible and exceedingly wicked.
“If that sounds dirty, just know that it assuredly is given Mother’s preferred style of play.”
“Ah,” she only says timidly.
There’s nothing else to say to that, really.
At Regina’s lead, they ride past the sign and onto a marginally smoother path than the rock-strewn road before. Snow can see the faint imprints of old carriage tracks gouging the grit and dirt, the only signs of former life that remain in these woods, all so empty and hollow now, mercilessly excavated by the Dark Curse.
Their world was half-destroyed so Storybrooke could be created.
A kingdom for a town.
A not entirely unwarranted restlessness in her fingertips, the broken silence of the trees discomfiting her, Snow quickly works up the nerve to pose another question since Regina finally seems inclined to talk a little.
“Will you be able to detect your mother’s newer traps before they’re sprung?” She smiles anxiously as a particularly dark joke comes to mind. “I don’t think a sleeping curse would be good for the baby...”
It has the potential to be a remarkably sore subject between them given the fact that they’re literally returning to the place where Regina put her under a sleeping curse some three decades ago, but the coolness of the rag around her neck reminds Snow that they’ve moved past that now.
They’re healing.
Regina snorts harshly, immediately understanding the irony, but she takes another few moments to respond, her brow lowered thoughtfully over her eyes.
“There’s no need for alarm,” she eventually says, glancing over at Snow. “All magical practitioners have… mmm, certain quirks which distinguish their magic from others. I’m well-acquainted with my mother’s tells, which will allow me to identify and disarm her interventions before they can leave a nasty impression.”
It’s a genuinely fascinating description of magic, one that makes sense to Snow with her basic, if rather limited understanding that sorcerers’ essences tend to be infused with their capacity to enact certain spells. And for the first time, now that she’s afforded the safety to do so, she idly wonders about Regina’s magic—how it surely differs from her mother’s and Gold’s and Emma’s—but then, before she can dwell on the thought for too long, she feels her former stepmother’s gaze nailing her down again, this time lingering far longer and much more darkly than a cursory appraisal.
“But while we’re on the delicate subject,” Regina continues, her usually composed voice strangely pitched, disbelieving almost, prodding, “perhaps you can enlighten me as to why you’ve subjected yourself to this trip in the first place… Snow, I—”
She only briefly hesitates, biting her boldly painted lip, before articulating her next words with a deliberate and painful slowness.
“… I know my family home doesn’t have the most pleasant memories for you. Because of our history.”
Another measured beat—the Queen smiles bitterly as Snow can do little more than gape.
“Because of me.”
She blinks rapidly, mouth still half-open, frankly struggling to compute that Regina is even alluding to that windy day on the hillside when they had stood over Daniel’s weathered grave together, much less tacking on a genuine admission of culpability to go along with it. It’s not exactly an apology, per se, but it’s acknowledged responsibility, and that alone is extraordinary coming from a woman who spent well over a quarter of a lifetime blaming other people for her own unhappiness.
“But it’s also where you saved my life,” Snow breathes emphatically, nodding towards the sprawling hills around them. Surely, they’re getting close to the spot where this all began, where there was a startled horse, a princess, and her savior—a kind girl, a so perfectly selfless one. “And I haven’t forgotten that, Regina… I never will.”
But for all the sincerity in her voice, for all the gratitude she knows must be shining in her face—unaffected, childlike, and true—the Queen doesn’t seem to relent, her gaze distant, lost in thought, and what Snow uneasily identifies as self-loathing given what she says next.
“Does one good deed outweigh all of the bad, though, Snow? I saved your life once and then tried to kill you twenty dozen times after that—not to mention all of the countless people I hurt, tortured, and murdered for the choice crime of daring to stand in-between us.” Another laugh, harsh and discordant, so darkly amused. “That’s hardly deserving of any accolades.“
“No,” she shakes her head carefully, agreeing on this indisputable point. Regina has blood on her hands, and she always will; the recognition of that brutal fact will be her eternal burden to bear, and that’s not something Snow can take away from her with a rousing speech and a smile, even if she wanted to—and she doesn’t especially want to.
However, that doesn’t mean the princess can’t personally try to forgive her.
Despite everything.
Or maybe even because of everything.
It’s amazing how little difference there is between the two rationales anymore.
“Definitely not… but I’m not one to linger on past mistakes, Regina, not when you’re trying so hard to make things right now…”
The older woman is silent for a long moment after this, seemingly mulling the words over in her head, and Snow doesn’t press her, content to let her work out the earnestness of her good will in her own time and space. It’s something she’s only just really learning about her former stepmother after all these years. Sometimes, Regina needs to be pushed, sure and absolutely. Her particular brand of stubbornness occasionally only responds to stubbornness. But other times, she need the freedom to arrive at the right conclusion on her own without someone breathing down her neck or pulling at all of her delicately arranged strings.
“It’s… what Henry would have wanted,” she finally says, her voice quiet and broken, a hundred emotions thick. Snow’s chest wrenches first at the mention of her grandson and then at the familiar pain she sees reflected in Regina’s swirling eyes.
Loss.
Devastation.
Total and unbearable grief.
She experiences this agony for her daughter and grandson every day, but she differs from Regina; she hopes for a better tomorrow all the same and nonetheless.
“If he could see you right now, he’d be so proud of you,” Snow murmurs as tears form in her own eyes, hanging delicately on her lashes.
“He’s lost to me,” comes a defeated reply.
“But even still, Regina,” she insists softly, and in a reckless impulse, dares to breach the gap between them to place a hand on her former nemesis’s arm. “He’d be so, so proud.”
Regina tenses at the touch, her entire reaction in her face—distrust, unease, lingering guilt, and disbelief—but for all of these visible hesitations, for all these self-evident excuses to isolate herself and silently deal with the pain, she doesn’t immediately pull away.
Snow smiles at her with watery eyes, all kindness, despite everything.
Because of it.
—
Some twenty minutes of Regina-pretending-that-they-didn’t-just-share-an-intimate-moment-and-Snow-generously-accommodating-the-fantasy later, they finally reach the Royal Manor and the unpleasant surprise wrapped around it like a neatly tied bow.
Like the Dark Castle had been upon their arrival, the entire estate is surrounded in a magical, shimmering dome—what she recognizes to be some sort of protection spell—but while Zelena’s force field had been virtually transparent, Cora’s is the exact shade of blood.
Unsubtle.
The woman always was.
However, what’s truly disorienting is that beyond the violently tinted bubble, Snow can tell that Cora’s magic was powerful enough to preserve the entire manor—as well as the surrounding hills—from the effects of Regina’s curse. The grass is green and lush behind the wall, the stately manor perfectly untouched by the inevitable grind of time and dark magic.
Frowning deeply, Regina dismounts Lucan and ties him to a tree before approaching the dome. Snow, still on Zephyr, watches with a kind of horrified fascination as the witch delicately probes the barrier with her index and middle fingers before nodding once in immediate understanding.
“Oh, Mother,” she murmurs, her voice low and contemplative, almost… nostalgic even. Snow’s stomach clenches in inexplicable foreboding. “You never changed, did you?”
“What?” She asks as she dismounts Zephyr, securing him to a tree with a reliable knot. As quickly as her numb legs will allow, she hurries to Regina’s side. “What’d she do?”
“A blood lock,” Regina replies without looking at her, touching the force field again. It seems to sizzle upon contact, though the Queen’s fingers come back unscathed. “I can get through because I’m her daughter…”
Snow scrutinizes her skeptically, hearing an implicit but in the good news.
“I have a feeling there’s something you’re not telling me here.”
“Nothing significant,” the Queen sighs rather sharply, and the gesture seems to sieve the remaining dreaminess from her demeanor. She squares her shoulders and passes a hand over the crown of her head, smoothing her windswept hair. “Just that I’ll have to pay a tribute to bypass the lock. One of my mother’s tells is that her magic tends to exact a precise and pedantic payment.”
“Gold always says that magic comes with a price…” Snow listens to herself mumble, suddenly recalling Rumplestiltskin’s oft-repeated refrain. Funnily enough, he didn’t say it to her when he was persuading her to kill Cora. Perhaps the price was already implicit to him—maybe even worth paying—her heart’s purity for another’s life.
“Yes,” Regina smiles grimly, “and my mother took that particular lesson to heart when she began to invent her own spells.”
I bet she did, the princess just barely refrains from saying.
She doesn’t think it would help.
“Anyway, we’ll water the horses and leave them here... I can only get the two of us through at one time.” The Queen pauses again and gives Snow another appraising once over, perhaps seeing something about herself that she can’t because she adds, “Take a minute to refresh, too, if you’d like. The wineskin is in my saddlebag.”
And with that, she heels away to conjure metallic troughs for both of the horses before calling over her shoulder that she’ll be back shortly; she’s just going to a nearby spring to fill them.
“Be safe,” Snow murmurs unnecessarily, more than a little on edge now that she can see the stable where Daniel had apparently died in the reddened distance. She imagines that the memory must be weighing on Regina’s mind, too, because she looks paler than usual, the skin around her eyes tightly drawn.
“Mmm,” she hums somewhat disdainfully—as is the Regina way—and heads off into the thicket, levitating the bins behind her with a dramatic swish of her hand.
In the meantime, Snow places her bow and quiver against a tree and takes Regina up on her offer, retrieving the wineskin and upturning it a little greedily, the coolness of the water soothing the column of her slightly parched throat. She also replaces the now-dry rag with the Queen’s things, folding it neatly on top of… an incredibly intricate onyx dagger, the pommel embedded with a blue diamond that’s nearly the same size as her thumb. She shivers at the mere sight of it, wondering what Regina could possibly need it for since she uses her magic to simulate any tool or weapon she requires at the moment. But ultimately—with all the new restraint she’s been trying to exercise towards her former stepmother today—she reluctantly represses her curiosity and closes the black saddlebag before wandering off a little ways to find a fallen log to sit upon while she waits.
Her sore legs appreciate being able to stretch out, and her not entirely settled stomach revels in the momentary reprieve from strenuous movement too. Maybe Regina looked at her a few moments ago and clearly saw exhaustion, the toll she’s been attempting to ignore for the better part of two hours now. She places a hand on her belly and silently apologizes to the little life inside of her for riding so roughly. In the coming months, she’ll have to be more careful about paying attention to the changing reality of her body, a task that both scares and enthralls her out of its sheer and painful novelty. With her last pregnancy, she’d been so worried about what the Evil Queen was planning to do that she hadn’t really given herself much energy to feel any particular emotion about her pregnancy besides a general sense of doom. But now, working alongside Regina instead of against her, living in a relatively stable home with her loving husband, and occasionally sorting through the last of her emotional hangups with Hopper, she supposes that there’s breathing room enough at last for her to actually enjoy her pregnancy—and then, in roughly eight months to the date, motherhood itself.
But this is yet another thought that produces conflicting emotions in her—her tentative happiness of getting a second chance to do right by a child is always mercilessly undone by the searing guilt that remains from so bitterly failing her first one. Even after all the time she had spent with Emma in Storybrooke, the Enchanted Forest, and Neverland—trying to make up for a lifetime of ruinous absence—it never seemed to be enough. A hard life had scarred her daughter, and while she grew to love her parents… there was always a lingering distrust in her eyes that firmly suggested her inability to believe that a happy ending could last forever. She could only call them Mom and Dad when she thought they were at the goddamn end of the line.
And Snow, wide-eyed with dawning horror, wonders if this is precisely what is bothering her husband, a man who cherishes his belief in family and love as strongly as she does, but who believes in self-sacrifice and abnegation as the dual correctives to any external obstacles. He largely blames himself when things go wrong, and he hardly admits to doing so—shame his greatest motivator, fear, and simultaneous weakness.
The longer she thinks on it, the more she’s convinced that her supposition is true, and with this increasing conviction comes a certain nausea that has nothing to do with her pregnancy. She presses the flats of her palms hard over her eyes and wills the revulsion in her stomach to go away, but the sickness and the guilt remain, gnawing at her where she sits, all vicious and exacting teeth.
“Snow?”
She straightens to attention at the approaching sound of Regina’s voice and hastily uncovers her eyes just in time to catch the older woman emerging from the opposite tree line, levitating the now-filled troughs behind her. With another flick of her hand, she sends them floating towards each of the horses, where they land with gentle, sloshing thuds. It disconcerts Snow and simultaneously touches her when her former stepmother legs over to her quickly afterwards, hell on high heels, something like alarm brightening her black eyes.
(Regina’s paying attention.)
“What’s wrong?” She demands imperiously, glancing downwards at her stomach. “Are you still sick? Hurt?”
(Regina is offering care.)
“No, no,” she shakes her head dramatically, not particularly wanting to appear weak in front of the Queen. (Old habit. From her childhood days of idolizing the woman or her more jaded bandit ones of running away from her, she’s not really sure.) “Just a little tired… that’s all.”
It’s not the most believable lie she’s ever told, and Snow’s never exactly been good at lying in the first place; quite unsurprisingly, she’s met with an arched brow of exceptionally practiced skepticism.
“Maybe you should stay here with the horses then? Rest. It shouldn’t take me too long to—“
“No,” Snow says again, this time rather fiercely, standing up with a swiftness that nearly makes her stomach revolt. She works her mouth into a harsh smile all the same and resists the instinctive urge to place a soothing hand over her belly. “I’m coming with you.”
“Charming wouldn’t be happy if he knew you were sick.” Regina shakes her head, still scrutinizing her with those eyes that have always been able to pierce her through so intimately, like a knife sliding through butter. She was twelve, and it had been the Queen who had realized that she was embarrassed because she had just gotten her period. (One of the last good memories—Regina had sent all of the chamber maids away and helped her into a warm bath.) She was sixteen, and Regina had spotted the hickey from Prince Svein of the Southern Isles that her adoring father had not. (One of the first bad memories—Regina had dragged her to Johanna, practically by the hood of her cloak, and told her to deal with it. She didn’t have time for Snow’s foolishness.) She was twenty-seven, and the Evil Queen delineated how it was all explicitly her fault as they stood over the grave of an innocent stable boy. (It was the first time that Snow had ever looked into her former stepmother’s eyes and understood her—all the pain she had kept inside for all those years that she had been her father’s quiet and regal queen. She ripped his heart out—because of you.)
“I’m not sick,” she insists—very much and overwhelmingly nauseous. “And what Charming doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
She knows it’s a slip before the sentence has fully left her mouth, can see it in the way that Regina’s brows launch upwards in clear and momentarily unguarded surprise.
Dammit—
“Well, well, look at you!” The Queen laughs explosively, recovering from her shock with all the glee of a child on Christmas morning. “Being all deceptive. I didn’t think I had it in you, especially when it came to your blue-eyed Ken doll… trouble in paradise, perhaps? A little marital strife to spice up the bedroom?”
Snow bristles at the insinuation, mostly because she’s right. Gods, she can be so annoying sometimes. Often. Nine times out of ten. Her cheeks feathered red, her pride most certainly wounded, she determinedly moves past Regina and her stupidly perceptive eyes all the same, heading back towards the dome. She retrieves her quiver and bow from the tree she’d leaned them against along them way and slings them both over her shoulder angrily. The telltale clicks of Regina’s heels trail behind her, punctuating the ground with what can only be an insolence specifically designed to piss her off.
“Shut up, Regina, and just get us through the dome.”
“Oh, I quite like this Snow White. She’s got some teeth.”
“Regina, I swear to the gods—“
“Loosen your corset, dear—I’m coming. I’ve had my modicum of fun.”
Still smirking like an asshole and clearly reveling in being one, the Queen saunters ahead of Snow to the very edge of the dome, her maroon coat flaring behind her in the wind. With an elegant whirl of her left hand, she procures something out of thin air that the purple smoke gently drops onto her palm.
The onyx dagger, its diamond hilt gleaming coldly in the gray light of day.
“What’s that for?” Snow asks breathlessly, trepidation immediately quashing the worst of her annoyance. She watches, with a tightened throat, as the Queen slowly turns the blade over in her hand, staring at it with a kind of hypnotic fascination, the steel edge audibly scraping against her supple skin.
“An inheritance from my mother,” she replies detachedly, her recent mirth draining from her face, soon to just be a distant memory like all the rest of Regina’s smiles. “So many spells and potions require a witch’s own blood… it’s perhaps the most powerful binding element there is…”
Snow puts the pieces together immediately: the blood lock, magic always coming with a price, Cora’s signature tells.
Precise and pedantic payments.
“You have to cut yourself,” she breathes, suddenly feeling more sick—if that’s even humanly possibly—as her eyes dart from the Queen to the malevolently shimmering barrier inches away from her pale face.
Of course, Cora would devise such a twisted method of proving relation; of course it would have to hurt.
“A tribute,” Regina echoes herself coldly as she removes the glove on her right hand, stuffing it into the pocket of her riding coat. “Advantage always comes at the expense of a little bit of pain. That was her favorite philosophy anyway.”
“Regina, you don’t have to do this,“ she tries urgently, suddenly wishing that she’d thrown the dagger far into the woods when she’d first seen it. She would have, without the slightest degree of hesitation, had she known whose flesh it would be running through. “There’s got to be another—“
But before she can finish protesting, there’s a glint of black steel as it snarls through the air, and then, before the horror of the moment has fully coagulated in Snow’s throat, there’s a thick line of crimson appearing across Regina’s palm, dripping profusely. She doesn’t even flinch, only regards the newly inflicted wound with a kind of indifference that can only come from experience with this sort of injury.
Like it happens all the time.
And it kind of does in the Enchanted Forest.
To Regina.
So careless, convinced that she’s doomed.
“You’ll have to hold my hand,” she tells Snow, extending her reddened fingertips with a cold smile, “so Mother will know we’re together.”
“Regina—“ She whispers, her voice hoarse with the awfulness of it all: the family dagger, the brutally clinical cut, the blood spiraling around the Queen’s slender wrist like an incriminating cuff, but she only receives an exasperated shake of the head in return.
“It’s done, Snow—live with it, and grab my hand before my sleeve gets stained.”
And so she does, swallowing hard, intertwining her trembling fingers with Regina’s, revolted and undone, wondering how a mother could ever be so cruel.
How could she hurt her own child like that?
She would never—
(—but hadn’t she?)
(Hadn’t she hurt Emma?)
(Unintentionally, but still—)
(She’s always been a failure, and she’ll never be a good mother. She wasn’t to Emma, and how could she ever be to another—)
Regina’s blood is slick against her skin.
#snow white#regina mills#snow queen#once upon a time#ouat#s: ouat#reginianwrites#this was only supposed to be 2 parts but then i got so invested in writing dialogue ohms god#cw: vomit#cw: parental abuse#cw: light gore
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My personal examination of the Michael Jackson estate funded documentary, Lies of Leaving Neverland, which attempts to discredit Leaving Neverland subjects James and Wade.
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