#greg would probably want to read him a kid appropriate story book but when he sees miles light up like that...of course lets read some law ♡

[vonlipvig]

feeling a bit soft rn, so have some bedtime stories with the edgeworths ♡ (don't worry, just procedure, none of the scary bits for now!)

[theonceoverthinker]

OUAT 2X18 - Selfless, Brave, and True

Hey, reader! And WOOD-n’t you know, August is here too!!!!

So while we’re all here together, let’s talk about this episode! Under the cut we go!

Press Release While Mary Margaret goes off on her own in an attempt to come to grips with what she did to Cora and how her deed has affected her, she stumbles upon August, who has hidden himself away from the others and is completely made of wood – ashamed at the actions he has taken in life; and Emma is shocked when Neal invites his fiancée, Tamara, to come to Storybrooke. Meanwhile, before the curse was cast, August is introduced to a man of magic who may be able to prevent him from turning back into wood – but at a steep price. General Thoughts - Characters/Stories/Themes and Their Effectiveness This is one of those episodes where the events of it are good, but can’t really be picked apart and discussed in specific segments like I usually do (Besides, the “Insights” make up for it this time! XD ). I like both of the stories and their use of character. I’m admittedly a sucker for episodes where a character makes a decision in one part and then ends up on the opposite side of the proverbial equation in the other, and this one was done pretty well! It’s a simple type of character development, but it honestly gets the job done. August is built to be just selfish enough for the episode’s purposes, but his fear of dying was an appropriate choice as to make his cowardice and selfishness never take him over the line of detestability. Additionally, while I take issue with one aspect of it, I think August’s redemption works well through his sacrifice as death was something he feared so much and was capitalized on well enough in the flashback, and his reward is well deserved. In both segments, Tamara works as a twist character and while I get tired sometimes of those overly mysterious characters who dodge most every question like a banana peel in Smash Bros, I think they did a good job in making The Dragon likable enough. If I had to complain about something, I just feel like the twist that makes August change his mind about leaving should’ve been more character based and closer to the theme of being selfless, brave, and true. As it is, it’s just seeing a photograph, and that’s not really all that revolutionary to someone who was content enough to run away earlier despite knowing what Tamara could do. It exposes nothing about his morality. What I would’ve done is have Tamara also take the string from the Dragon. It would’ve tied (GET IT?! TIED XD ) back to who August was and his father. Insights - Stream of Consciousness -Phuket? More like “fuck it.” Aren’t I right August, ya beach bum? XD -”I’m turning into wood.” Given your previous position, I guess the wood that goes around comes around! ;) -David, you sure that snowbells are the best flowers to give Snow to cheer her up? Because she literally just buried her friend with them a few days ago. Maybe you oughta go with tulips or a nice rose, perhaps? -Also, David! You look hoooooot in that shirt! Fuck the sausage and eggs! I’d be content enough with that big slab of meat you call a bicep! ;) -Ooh! I love that bit of indirect tough love advice Emma gives David on Snow’s behalf! It’s a nice callback to their friendship! And it works! AND Snow relays that advice to August later on! -”None of it will matter?” I’m with Snow, David. Shit’s not that easy. -”Please. Give me time.” There might be some in that breakfast he cooked. Just saying. -”She should be here at any minute now.” Neal, give Emma some notice! A text, at least! -”This town is turning into a theme park.” I’m about 1,000,000% sure no one who runs a Disney park is reading my cute little web reviews, but if you are, PLEASE make Storybrooke a theme park or even just a street in Disney World (And then get me free tickets as a thank you for the idea!) -I can NEVER hear Jennifer say “where I’m/you’re from” again without thinking about that fucking blooper! XD -”She’s bringing bagels.” To be honest, I’d be sold here too. New York bagels are objectively the best and I pity every one of you who has never had one. You poor souls! -Mary Margaret: Keeper of the best coping mechanism EVER since 2013 (?) -*August shows up* I’ve heard of Woodsman in this series, but this is ridiculous! -*August fucking stabs himself with a scalpel and is chased* What the fuck did you expect to happen?! -*August gets pulled into the supply closet* August was ready to throw down! And look at his hands. Is that cultural appropriation or did he actually learn how to fight in Phuket? -August is so well sanded! Either Gepetto didn’t get paid NEARLY enough or August did some grooming! -August ships SwanFire! Who knew? ...Besides everyone who paid more attention than me during the original airing of the episode, that is? XD -Tamara brought the fucking goods! Your revealed villainy aside, you’re a fucking champ! No wonder I liked you! -Awww! Henry let Neal keep the book! <3 -Btw, WHERE THE FUCK IS RUMPLE? Unghh. One thing I wish we had more of this season was more Papa Fire moments. I mean, the guy just got his son back AND avoided death. I feel like he should be knocking on Neal’s door every day to talk to him and his absence at this point is really noticeable. I know we see them together in the next episode, but it’s not enough. Yes, Neal still holds a lot of resentment, but in the last scene they were together, they had a moment of kindness and Rumple’s the type to jump on that like a toddler on a trampoline! -Tamara, I know you’re acting, but you’re giving a 10 and you need to pull that back to a 6. Hell, precisely BECAUSE you’re acting, you should pull it back just a touch! -”I have a soft spot for little kids in trouble.” Awwww! </3 -”If I were you, I’d try the fish -- blackened soul.” That was a fucking good one liner! -Damn, Tamara! Give you some ominous music and a glare and suddenly, out goes the cuddly and in goes the scary! -Dragon, don’t dodge the question! Goddd, don’t be one of those annoying types of mysterious characters!! -”Because what he was is what he is.” Blue! THIS is why everyone thinks you’re shady! -Tamara. Do not pull out the giant envelope of cash in public, and then LEAVE it out! Look, I love August, but he’s about as shady as the underside of the branches he was carved out of! -”For someone who spent his entire life running, you should be in better shape.” XD Great quip, Dragon! -”Are you two trying to steal the magic from Storybrooke?” How did you reach that conclusion? I mean, I get that Tamara’s shadier right now than weeping willow by the equator at high noon, but there’s a jump in logic here that I’m missing. Like, as far as you know, she likes magic. She cured her cancer with it! It makes sense when August finds out the truth, but it would only work when he discovers it. -Regina, who the hockey sticks do you think you’re fooling by playing dumb?! -”Mary Margaret. What are you doing? He’s apologizing.” Emma, he literally just told your mother that the thing she’s spent so much time blaming herself for (Possibly from the moment you were born) was orchestrated by him. She’s allowed to be angry. I feel like both you and I would have a harsher reaction if we were in her shoes! -”That wasn’t me.” Jesus, people! YOU ARE ALLOWED TO BE ANGRY! YOUR LACK OF ANGER IS MAKING ME ANGRY! I mean, I get that Snow knows she would’ve done the same thing, but she didn’t. Marco did, and that condemnation for it was well warranted. -I DO like how responsible Marco’s being for his actions and the effect that it had on August. That was SO needed! -OMG! THE TASER!!! XD -Damn, I wish we saw what The Dragon’s real form was. -Tamara, you’re a sneaky little asshole, but damnit you have a nice car. -The CGI for this episode must’ve eaten the budget like a kid eats a happy meal. -How the fuck did the Blue Fairy get there so quickly! Hell, maybe you ARE shady! -I actually like that we see that selfish side of Neal in the last flashback. It shows both how the world has changed him AND how the Stiltskin’ cowardice curse has left some bits in him as well. -Tamara! I’m supposed to hate you! Stop being so snuggly! -”I promise I will never lie to you again.” ...I’m sorry, Emma. I’ve gotta do it. *deep breath* Suuuuuuuuuuure, Emma. -”It had started to blacken because of what I did.” ...I guess I’m supposed to believe that she redeemed herself after the Maleficent stuff. -”But it [redemption] cost him [August] everything.” Yeahhh...no. He seriously went from what was probably a pretty miserable life to a fresh start. -I kind of wish Greg and Tamara ended up being recurring villains. We’d get the villain ship I always wanted and they could be curb stomped all the time! XD Arcs - How are These Storylines Progressing? Tamara - Tamara’s shown up! I actually love her first episode as a villain. Yeah, the taser is corny, but if that puts you over the top, then I have to ask just what show you’re watching! But onto the character herself, she’s incredibly intelligent with how she deals with people. Within ten seconds of seeing Neal, she knows how to play him like a fiddle and her time with August in the present shows the insight she’s gained about him in their one encounter. Hell, she sort of won the day, and all without using a hint of magic! Emma lying to Henry - Finally! This arc is over! I gotta say, this was a hard (Albeit well done) arc to watch. It’s never easy seeing your favorite character get antagonized, no matter how justly. That having been said, as there was no reference to the lie before Emma brought it up right before the final apology, I can’t help but wish that it was either brought up once more in this episode or done in the last episode where it had more thematic prominence. Favorite Dynamic Snow and Emma. As I pointed out in my “Insights,” Emma’s motivational speech to David and heard indirectly by Snow is the thing that bounces her back to life and that sentiment carries Snow throughout the rest of the episode. It’s such a small moment but it speaks so well of the bond that the two of them have built up over the seasons. I like the way that Emma inspires Snow, of ony for how funny it is to see her listen to “My Reputation” while shooting arrows for stress relief. And suddenly, the toaster scene makes so much sense... Writer Kalinda Vazquez and Robert Hull are here for their swan song of the season (Try saying THAT five times fast!) and they both do a pretty decent job here. The dialogue, story, and character choices fit well, and while there were some aspects I wish were handled better, they did an amicable job. Rating 8/10. Once again, I don’t find that there was a lot to say about this episode, but it was quite a good one! It was an entertaining watch with a nice new setting for the flashback, and characters that fit together to convey a great story! I found it to be pretty funny at times and it got me excited about what’s to come! And can you really ask for more out of an episode? ...Well, yeah, but it’s good enough! XD ()()()()()()()()() Thank you so much for reading and to the fine folks at @watchingfairytales. Sorry this wasn’t a super long or in-depth review, but I can only work with what I’m given. Anyway, if it’s not too much trouble before you go, I’d like to ask you for a little help! A couple of days ago, it was announced that the finale won’t be broken up for the final week of the Season 2 posts, and I want to know if you want me to do two separate reviews, or one mega-ultra-super-chocolatey-magical-sugar-spice-and-everything-nice review! It will be a LONG review, but if you think that these two episodes beLONG together, please let me know so I’ll know what to do when the time comes! You can leave a reply here or send me an ask or send me your thoughts by carrier pigeon. Really, it’s all good!

Next time...whoo. My cotton shirt is making me soooo hot! I’m going to change into something...lacey. ;)

See you all then.

Season 2 Tally (157/220) Writer Tally for Season 2: Adam Horowitz and Edward Kitsis: (39/60) Jane Espenson (35/50) Andrew Chambliss and Ian Goldberg (31/50) David Goodman (24/30)* Robert Hull (24/30)* Christine Boylan (17/30) Kalinda Vazquez (28/30)* Daniel Thomsen (18/20)* * Indicates that their work for the season is complete Operation Rewatch Archives

[writetoremainsilent]

12/29/18 the accompanying story

This is the followup to my other 12/29 post. 

I wrote this, out of nowhere, just to try and get into Michael’s writing voice. It didn’t go so well. It also might have formatting issues because I’m copy-pasting it from a Google Doc. A tl;dr at the top, so AVOID this till after because spoilers (like you care): 

I came up with the bedtime story Michael tells his daughter first, and built the rest of the story around that. Hence, the rest of the story sucks immensely. I’m particularly displeased with latter half; I think it’s quite weak. But, whatever. Maybe I’ll work on this tomorrow and upload it again. Who knows. Anyway, enjoy!!

STORY!!!!

“Are you going to tell me a story?” the little girl asked.

The tired man sighed. It was 10:30 in the night, and he had just gotten back from his commute home. He was tired. The little girl was not.

The mother, formerly known as the love of his life, was fast asleep. Her shift had ended. His was just beginning.

He looked into the little girl’s shining, expectant eyes. They were dark and looked just like his not beautiful, but the happiness inside them was. Suddenly, he felt how much power he had over her. He could snuff out her joy with just a single word, and she couldn’t do anything about it.

Of course, he didn’t. He sighed again and sat down next to her on the bed. The little girl handed him a book, one of those stupid three page cardboard cutouts with the animals that have the sense to speak to one another, but not the sense to figure out their pitifully simple dilemmas.

When he took it from her, it was almost as though he could hear the snickering of the money-grubbing rats that wrote these sorts of things. The tired man opened the book and shaped his mouth to form the first sentence.

(Piggy was hungry)

He couldn’t do it. It was just...so stupid. So instead he shut the book and turned to the little girl. He rubbed his hand over his face and said, most solemnly, “How about I tell you a story that my father told me when I was around your age?”

His father had done no such thing. But, kids are kids, and the little girl was no exception. She looked as though she were being let in on some ancient ancestral tale. Her eyes shone even more, and he felt like he was going to be swallowed up by their gleeful blackness.

“Can you, please?” the little girl asked. At least she had manners.

He licked his lips and nodded, and began to improvise:

“There were two brothers attending a high school. Both brilliant, both set on successful paths.

One of the brothers was very outgoing, the other was a bit of an introvert. Er, sorry. A shy fellow. Yeah.

Unfortunately, the outgoing brother, whom we’ll name Greg, kind of fell in with the wrong crowd.  Bad influences, my dad would’ve called them. Or wait, he did call them that. Anyway, these guys were real trouble-makers. They’d drink and drive (which is illegal, at any age), they’d smoke cigarettes (which is illegal, at that age), and they’d make an overall ruckus on the school campus (which isn’t exactly illegal, but it is pretty annoying). Greg relieved some of his academic stress by drinking with these children, which is illegal at that age. He hid it from his parents pretty well, but not from...

...the introvert brother, whom we’ll name...uhhhh...Michael. Yes, I know that’s my name. Just listen. Michael was a stellar child. He didn’t do anything or say anything that his parents didn’t approve of. In fact, he was more of a goody two-shoes than they were.

Obviously, he and Greg didn’t see eye-to-eye with their pastimes. Greg partied, and Michael read. But Michael, being a kind and gracious brother, never said a thing to his parents. Which, if you ask me, is pretty bad, considering that his brother would drink and drive, which is illegal. Shoot, I’m digres–getting off topic.  

Anyway, uh, yeah, these two brothers had different outlets for having fun, and spent countless nights apart from each other, indulging in these outlets. One such fateful night, the brothers’ parents were out on a ‘date night,’ which is when two parents trick themselves into thinking they can have a fun and romantic time together. Greg had driven to his friend’s house, and had drank a lot. That’s illegal at that age. And Greg, having never discussed these things with his parents, found it appropriate to drive back home after having drank, which is illegal. And so he told his friends ‘see you later’ and climbed into his car.

Beautiful car, by the way. His parents bought it for him as a birthday–sorry, sorry. I forgot you don’t like fun things. Anyway, he climbed into the car.

Now, can you tell me what happens when you’re drunk? No? That’s probably a good thing. Well, your brain doesn’t work properly. You get very, very dizzy, like those times I’ve seen you spin around in the living room and then fall down. Greg was very much feeling this dizziness on the drive home. He swerved in the lane, and had forgotten to turn on his headlights, meaning he couldn’t see very well. Thankfully, the roads were empty, but he was an accident waiting to happen.

He swerved, and swerved, and kept going back and forth. Eventually he came upon a red light, but didn’t realize he had to stop. He kept accelerating, and–

–And two armed robbers entered the house where Michael was reading all alone. They began cramming items into a large sack, and Michael heard them. He crept downstairs, quiet as can be. Well, that’s what he thought. They heard him, and one of the robber didn’t think. He just drew his gun and shot and shot until Michael was more lead than flesh. See, bullets are made of lead. We’re made of flesh.

Michael died, alone and in agony. The robbers cleaned the house and left him bleeding and dirty.

And Greg? He got home, safe and sound.”

The little girl was shaking. The tired man sighed and yawned, even more spent after telling this stupid, made-up story. They sat side by side in silence.

“What happened after that?” the little girl peeped out after a while.

“Eh? Nothing really,” replied the tired man. He really was exhausted. He wanted nothing more than for the little thing to just shut up and sleep.

“I can’t tell what the moral is,” whispered the little girl.

He gnashed his teeth. Moral. What a weighty word for a six-year-old to use.

“The moral is that people never get what they deserve,” he said. “Good night.”

“She was crying to me earlier this morning. Bawling about how she was gonna be found dead after some robbers break into our house. What the fuck were you thinking?”

The tired man, exhausted by sleep, sighed. The mother was grilling him for his less-than-child-friendly bedtime story, which he personally had thought was riveting.

Apparently, not so much.

The mother continued to deliver gut-punches, spouting things like “been distant ever since she was born” and his being a “reluctant father.” The tired man didn’t have the energy to retort. He didn’t have the energy to feel anything.

He waved, saying “I’ll see you when I’m back,” and headed out the door.  He’d forgotten it was his turn to drop off the little girl.

The mother stood there, mouth agape, in her suit and briefcase. She recovered in an instant, and got the little girl ready for school.

The time bomb detonated.

He found himself in some apartment closer to the city; a dilapidated neighborhood where rent was minimal and care for tenants even more so. The little girl didn’t ask to go with him, and he didn’t ask her to come with him.

He closed his eyes in the empty living room and sat down. He replayed the final moments over and over again. The moments were mostly a bunch of signatures, so they weren’t exactly scintillating replays.

At night, he plopped the futon left over from his college days

(back when they were in love)

in the living room and lay there, shivering. He was going to be tired in the morning.

The tired man drew the blanket over his aching body and slept like a baby.

He woke up feeling the same as when he fell asleep.

He reached for his wife and found that there was none. It was damn cold in this new place.

The tired man sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He checked the clock. A quarter past when he’d be taking his lunch break. He sighed (as is characteristic of tired men) and got up. His joints cracked and creaked and groaned, and he did with them.

He began his morning routine, splashing cold water on his face and finding it warmer than his futon. He brushed, shaved haphazardly, and dressed for work.

White collared shirt, black tie, slacks, sneakers.

He looked at himself in the mirror and decided to skip work for the day.

The tired man sat down on a bench by the river, and cradled his head in his hands. It was all crashing down on him.

She had looked so beautiful in those goggles and that goofy white coat. She was positively radiant when the TA, who was almost definitely high, assigned him to be her lab partner.

He was so much happier then. And funnier too. She laughed at almost all of his jokes, and he would laugh with her.

They took it slow, and then fast. His parents didn’t approve of getting married while in college. In fact, they thought it was idiotic.

So he did what any child excels at doing: he ignored them.

Time flew by, and she wanted kids. He wanted her, so he wanted kids too.

And then the little girl was born.

He should’ve felt proud, holding the tiny thing in her arms, seeing her little eyes flutter and hearing her diminutive heart make the lub-dub that his did. He should’ve felt proud, when she opened her eyes and her mouth and wailed, and he could see that she looked so very much like he did.

But he didn’t.

The love of his life started paying more attention to the little girl. He became lowest priority.  It stung him. The little girl became a problem to him. Fortunately, he was quite good at ignoring her. Unfortunately, the mother was not.

So they raised her together: him begrudgingly, and the mother most joyously.

The man became tired of this. He wanted love and affection.

The man grew tired: work became more demanding.

The man grew tired: he could not bring himself to love the child.

The man grew tired: he and the mother ended their physical relationship. It was never expressly said, but one day he came home from work and went straight to sleep, and that was it for them.

The man was tired: he suspected his brain was simply wired that way.

All he wanted was for the mother to love him above all else, like he thought he did her.

And instead of that, he got a eleventh-rate lawyer and a piss-poor settlement.

He yawned. His cheeks were wet. His throat was sore. He was so very tired.

Time passed. The tired man survived from day-to-day. He kept to himself. He kept himself busy.

On an unrelated note, everyone at the local dives knew him. The tall, bumbling recluse who slurred before his drink and was unintelligible after it. They didn’t know where he worked, or what he did. Neither did he.

The day was the little girl’s twelfth year. The tired man had been seeing a therapist, and decided to discuss the little girl this session, a topic he rarely broached.

“I didn’t love her,” he mumbled, slumped in his chair.

His therapist, a rather long-necked fellow by the name of J. Daniel, said nothing. He really was a fantastic listener.

“I don’t love her. I won’t love her,” continued the tired man.

The therapist stayed silent.

“I mean, she ruined my marriage!”

The therapist stayed silent.

The tired man closed his eyes, imagined his daughter, and felt his heart seize up.

The session was a failure. He left the office with a lighter wallet and a much heavier conscience.

He stumbled into his car and turned the engine over.

(Which is illegal, at any age)

The tired man squinted. It was late, and the road was hard to see. The lights all blended together, making a wonderful rainbow of light pollution.

He really couldn’t see all that well. His head was throbbing, and he felt dizzy. He swerved when he thought he was about to hit something, some weird dark blob that might have been scuttling across the street. Thankfully, the road was pretty empty.

The tired man, however, lost control after swerving. He careened awkwardly, and his stomach lurched and bucked and swerved with the car. His knuckles were white as he clutched the wheel, unsure of what to do and unsure of how to do it. He distantly realized the car was tipping, and then he was somersaulting over and over, the windows shattering, his head whiplashing, his arms flailing. He screamed when he saw the corner of the building rush up to meet him, and–

–and his daughter woke up in the middle of the night to one of the worst headaches she’d ever experienced. She didn’t know it, but she was undergoing a ruptured aneurysm. Her brain was hemorrhaging, bleeding uncontrollably, and she would be dead by the morning.

She didn’t deserve it.