#anyway like even though its rubbish and i wrote it for the bad jokes and i havent written much it still has themes because its imposible no

[playingonedchess]

no even simpler than that. if its a shipping fanfiction, love is a theme. please at least try to say something about it. it doesnt have to be remotely original or revolutionary or deep or anything it can be the most basic self indulgent simple sort of stuff but if you write a romance with absolutely no engagement with the theme or thought about what your writing as a story its not really a romance at all its a fictional incident report and really extremely boring to read

[recurring-polynya]

You might have noticed that I am more than a little obsessed with @kaickos‘s Squad 6 Guard Dog and All-Round Good Boy Milo. She was kind enough to let me write a fluffy little story about him. It is not 100% consistent with the beautiful comic she is drawing about him, because we were working in parallel and great minds work alike, but maybe not perfectly alike. Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this over my Thanksgiving weekend. (Seriously, BEHOLD HIM )

Shinigami’s Best Friend (AO3 | ff.net)

Squad 6 acquires a guard dog.

Rated T because apparently I can’t even write some fluff about a dog without cussing. It’s Rukia’s fault, I swear!

Captain Kuchiki Byakuya stepped over the large lump lying across the entrance to the Squad Six Captains’ Office. He smoothed his haori as he sat down at his desk. He read three memos from his inbox before he very calmly said, “Lieutenant, what is that pile of damp fur doing in the doorway?”

His adjutant, Lieutenant Abarai Renji looked up from the mission report he was writing up. “Ah, he appears to be sleepin’, sir.”

Byakuya narrowed his eyes. Eleven years of working with this lummox, and trying to get information out of Abarai was still an enormous trial. “But why, Abarai?”

“Well, he had a very exciting day, sir. ‘Spect he’s worn out.”

Byakuya squeezed his eyes shut. “Let us back up. What… what kind of animal is it? It is an animal, yes?”

“He’s a dog, sir.”

“Really ? Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure, sir. I thought you knew about dogs, sir. Pretty sure you mentioned havin’ a couple once or twice.”

“I do. I own three dogs, actually.” They were champion hunting dogs, of the finest bloodlines. They were creatures of pure muscle encased in velvet coats, noble, handsome, and perfectly obedient. They looked absolutely nothing like this sentient dust mop, who was currently snoring softly and kicking one hind leg frantically. “My dogs are kept in a kennel, where a dedicated servant looks after their needs. Why is this one in my office?”

“Oh, well, sir, I’m trying to find him a home. Returning the favor, as it were.”

“The favor.”

“He saved my life, sir.”

This is the point where Byakuya should have known he had lost, because Abarai delivered this phrase exactly as he did when he told the story of how he had met Rukia. Byakuya did not ask for further detail, but he received it anyway, in typical Abarai fashion.

Abarai had been leading a sweep of one of the higher numbered districts of Rukongai -- his own home district, as it happened-- for an elusive Hollow that had been terrorizing the area. He had noticed the dog investigating a rubbish heap as he himself investigated a blind alley. Finding it to be empty, he turned to leave, when the dog let out a frantic bark of singular intensity, a bark that imported the urgency of the situation so clearly that Abarai drew his sword immediately, just in time to block the razor-sharp claws of the Hollow that was materializing from the shadows behind him.

“The thing was apparently able to travel from shadow to shadow, sir, completely untraceable,” Abarai noted. “But the old fellow sniffed him right out and let me know! Once I spotted it, the Hollow wasn’t that tough. Got his mask in one blow, but if I hadn’t seen him in time… Well, sir, you might be holding lieutenant auditions this afternoon, is what I’m saying.”

The alleged canine rolled onto its back, its legs hanging in the air.

Everything about this story sounded like, as Rukia would say, “some bullshit.” But Byakuya had put up with Abarai for long enough that he knew it was a trap to dwell on how they had ended up in this situation. It was more important to focus on how they were getting out of it.

“You said you were going to find it a new home,” Byakuya pointed out. “When is that slated to commence?”

“Well, I needed to file my report, first,” Abarai explained. “And it’s gettin’ kinda late in the day. Figured I’d probably just take him home with me, send a few texts around. See if anyone’s looking for a dog.”

Something about this struck Byakuya as a bad idea, but he did not want to get drawn any further into this nonsense. “Very good, Lieutenant. While, obviously I am grateful for his… services… to the Sixth Division… I do not wish to see him tomorrow, do you understand?”

“Oh, you won’t, sir!”

- - -

It was the next morning.

Byakuya was here.

Abarai was here.

“The dog is here, Abarai,” Byakuya observed.

“His name is Milo,” Abarai announced.

“Why is the dog-- Milo? What kind of name is Milo? Dogs are supposed to have names like Sakura Bloom Cascade. Mountainside Granite Crest.”

“Are they? I dunno. Ichika picked it. I think it’s after a character in one of her books.”

The dog was much cleaner than it had been the day before. It had clearly been bathed, the tangles teased from its coat.

Byakuya narrowed his eyes. “So it is your dog now.”

“No, sir, course not! Rukia’d be pretty pissed, I think, if I did something like that without consulting her.”

“She is still in the Living World?”

“Yeah, for a few days, yet.”

“Ichika will grow attached to it, if she has not already.”

Abarai regarded him seriously. “Me and her had a talk about how he’s just a visitor and he can only stay for a few days. She understood.”

“She is very pragmatic,” Byakuya agreed. Amazingly so, all things considered. “So tell me again why the dog is back my office?”

“Oh, well, Iba said to bring him by, see if he gets along with Gorou.”

Byakuya wracked his brain. “Is Gorou the Seventh’s adjutant?”

Abarai gave out one of his barking laughs. “That’s a good one, sir, I’ll have to tell Iba that.” He abruptly realized that Byakuya wasn’t joking. “Uh, Gorou is Iba’s dog. He used to be Captain Komamura’s. He lives at the Seventh, the whole squad is real fond of him.”

“Perfect,” Byakuya replied. “I hope it goes wonderfully.”

  - - -

When Byakuya returned from his afternoon theoretical tactics exercises (which is what he wrote on his agenda when he wanted to go play shogi with Captain Hitsugaya), there was a distinct absence of canine in the office.

“The meeting with Lieutenant Iba went well?” Byakuya asked.

“Oh, yeah, those two old boys got on like a house on fire,” Abarai announced.

“Excellent,” Byakuya replied. He had just gotten settled at his desk again, when there was a rap on the office door.

“Third Seat Ohno and one good dog!”

“Come in!” Abarai called cheerfully.

The door slid open, and Milo trotted into the office, followed by an uncharacteristically smiling Third Seat Ohno. The dog sat down neatly in front of Abarai’s desk, and barked exactly once.

“Captain’s in the office, Milo, you gotta go greet him first,” Abarai informed the dog, as though he was talking to a human.

Bizarrely enough, the dog stood up, ambled over to Byakuya’s desk and repeated the procedure. “Er, at ease,” Byakuya informed the creature.

The dog looked back, questioningly, at Renji.

“Good boy,” Renji informed him.

The dog then went over to the corner, took an extremely loud and messy drink from a water bowl that had not been present yesterday, and then flopped down on a pillow that had also not been there yesterday.

“How was he?” Renji addressed the Third Seat.

“Oh, he was great! He loved chasing the ball. Fourth Seat Kuchiki wanted to throw that frisbee thing he has, but I told him, I won fair and square.”

“He just has to work harder tomorrow,” Abarai suggested.

“He can try,” Ohno replied, a competitive sneer creeping onto his face. “Anything you need, sir?”

“Get those mission reports from the unseated guys organized and filed, would you?”

“No problem, sir!”

Ohno saluted smartly and left.

Byakuya stared at this spectacle.

Their Third Seat was a prissy, waspish stickler for rules. He despised messes. He despised deviations from the usual order. Primarily, he despised Abarai.

Byakuya could feel an elongated “whaaaaaaat?” forming in his mouth, but he somehow couldn’t manage to get it out.

However, after their many years of working together, Abarai was quite adept at reading his captain’s unspoken thoughts. “The seated officers just love Milo,” he provided. “I told Ohno and Kuchiki whoever won their spar could give him his afternoon runabout. Both of ‘em went in-all in for it, I was surprised. Wouldn’t’ve pegged Ohno for a dog guy. Learn something new every day, eh?”

“I thought the dog was going to live at the Seventh!” Byakuya finally managed.

“Oh, no, sir, they’ve already got a dog.”

Byakuya squeezed his eyes shut.

- - -

Over the next few days, Milo made a grand tour of the Gotei 13.

He had pleasant visits at both the Third and the Fifth, but neither extended a permanent invitation.

Milo did not care for the Eleventh. “Too excitement much for an ol’ boy like him,” Abarai explained.

A thank you card arrived from the Coordinated Relief Station in appreciation for “cheering up the patients.”

He was promptly banned from the Ninth, something about a fundamental incompatibility between dogs and newspapers.

Captain Yadoumaru claimed to be “a cat person.”

Milo actually did find a new home at the Tenth for all of an hour, before Captain Hitsugaya, who had been in a meeting, promptly delivered the dog back to the Sixth, glaring harshly at Byakuya, as though he had anything to do with it.

Surely, something would pan out sooner or later.

Surely.

- - -

Friday brought Milo again, along with a very shamefaced Lieutenant Abarai.

“What is the excuse today, Lieutenant?” Byakuya intoned.

“Well, Rukia got home last night, sir,” Abarai explained.

“Ah. So you will now actually be seeking a home for Milo.”

“Not… exactly. Um, do you remember when I said I had a good talk with Ichika about settin’ expectations?”

“Relying on the practicality of a seven-year-old did not turn out as you hoped?”

“Ah, Ichika’s not the problem, actually… it’s just that same talk didn’t work so well on Rukia.”

Byakuya glared at his brother-in-law.

“Well, you know how she is about cute stuff! I mean, look at him, sir, he’s such a charming guy! ”

Milo, as was his usual habit, was asleep on his back, limbs splayed in all directions. Most of him had fallen off his pillow. His tongue had also fallen out of his mouth.

“Perhaps he could spend his days over at the Thirteenth, then,” Byakuya suggested dryly.

“Oh, no, sir, Lieutenant Sentarou’s allergic, you see.’

“I see. You do have a house, Lieutenant. I have been there.”

“Well, sure, sir, but now that Ichika’s in school, no one’s there during the day. He’s so social, I don’t think he’d be happy all by his lonesome.”

Social. Of course. A dog who appeared to sleep for upwards of 22 hours per day.

Byakuya folded his hands. “I have been very tolerant, Lieutenant, but the Sixth Division is a place of calm and deportment and…”

In a flail of legs, Milo suddenly rolled over and sprang to his feet. A noise was emanating from deep in his little doggie ribcage.

“What is happening?” Byakuya asked, alarmed. “What is that sound?”

“He’s growlin’,” Abarai replied curiously, brows creased. “You have a bad dream, guy?”

Milo crept over to the office door, lip curled, hackles raised.

“HEY, BYAKUYA-BOU!”

Every muscle in Byakuya’s body seized. He scrabbled for Senbonzakura.

The door was thrown open and that frightful woman, Shihouin Yoruichi, pranced in.

Or at least she started to.

“Guess who’s back in tow-- aiieee!” The Demon Cat danced backward when she noticed the ball of grey and white fur growling at her feet.

“Milo, heel!” Renji commanded, standing up.

“Milo, belay that!” Byakuya ordered, also standing.

“What the--?!” Yoruichi exclaimed. “When’d you get a dog, Renji? I know that thing doesn’t belong to Byakuya.”

“He is a member of the Sixth Division!” Byakuya roared.

Yoruichi tried to take a step forward, and Milo slunk around her, his growl rising in pitch. “I was just stopping by, can’t stay. Too busy, y’know.” She pointed an index finger at Byakuya. “I will find you later. I know where you live.”

“Ah, too bad, I am dining with the Abarais tonight!” Byakuya snapped. “At their house, where Officer Milo spends his evenings!”

“You are?” Renji asked, puzzled.

“Yes, it is the night you make that thing I like, is it not?”

“You don’t like anything I cook,” Renji pointed out.

“I have changed my mind!”

Yoruichi was growing more and more uncomfortable with the dog snarling at her heels. Finally, she leaned down, made an angry hissing noise and dashed out, slamming the door behind her. A moment passed, then the door slid back open and stuffed her head back in. “I’ll get you, Kuchiki! And your little dog, too!”

Milo barked a single bark at her.

Yoruichi shuddered and slammed the door shut again.

Milo very triumphantly trotted back to his pillow, circled once, and settled back down.

“Good boy,” announced Byakuya.

Milo was back again the next day.

When Byakuya entered the office, he and Abarai stood up in unison to greet their captain.

Byakuya strode up to the dog. “You have proven yourself useful,” he announced. “As long as you continue to do so, you may stay.” He knelt down, and affixed a handsome leather collar around Milo’s neck. From it hung a badge. On one side was etched the character for six, on the other, a camellia. “But members of the Sixth Division must be in uniform.”

[thoughtaftermind-blog]

Zaida

The first time I thought Mendel Glick, my elter-zaida, would pass away was in the seminary elevator. Mum’s text message was brief: what started as a typical check-up for a ninety-two-year old man turned into a cancer screening. His stomach, hardened from decades of owning a bakery and twice-daily bottles of whisky, was growing a stage four tumor.

He almost-died tens of times before I knew him. That’s what happens when you live through the Holocaust—tales of starvation, gas chambers, frost-biting winters run alongside conversations about challah recipes, pig farmers, and the footie scores.

Everyone rushed to be at the third-floor hospital room, catching lifts, riding the tram, hopping on a bike. Zaida’s room was crowded with his children: my grandfather, the Lubavitcher; Susie, the caterer; Nachama, the phycologist; Miriam, the Gerrer; Nutchy, Zaida’s right hand—even Leslie, the top-order lawyer, had left his offices, still cloaked in the long black robes, the fluorescent lights reflecting off his bald head.

Bubba sat near the bed. She was easy to miss, the only quiet and still one in the room. The loose-knit shawl was falling off her shoulders and the edge was shredding where she kept picking at the yarn. As the siblings spoke and argued and laughed and cried, her fingers twiddled and her eyes locked on Zaida, her partner of sixty years.

They’d met and married in Germany just after the camps were liberated. When Americans freed seventeen-year-old Mendel from the camps, he walked straight out of the iron gates, the shadows of “arbet macht frei” shrinking behind him.

On the streets he passed, smoke rose from piles of rubble. People, lone and alone, backs stooped from the weight of work and death, picked through the pieces. Their blackened faces welcomed sympathy and scared off those who may have some to give.

Each day of the war came with its own easy way to die. Gutt must love me if He let me live, Mendel reminded himself as he wandered. He had nowhere to go. His family gone...their house on the edge of town a smashed pile of tar and hay. It had been a small home, a poor one, filled with hungry children and happy songs. The kids filled their days with games they could play with the muddy sticks and stones from the road. When Shabbos came around, they skipped to the stream to clean their hair and scrub behind their ears. Every time his mammeh was due to birth again, Mendel shifted the rubbish piles for a shoe box to use as a cradle. There wasn’t enough money for cheder, so he learned from the simple stories his father repeated. When the chores were done and Tatteh wasn’t tired, Mendel would sit on the dirt floor near the slatted chair and ask his father to tell the story of Eliezer and Rivkah. It was his favorite one.

The meager life prepared Zaida for the camps. There was no food to be had in Bergen-Belsen; survival meant ignoring the emptiness. On the day that he was liberated, Zaida’s stomach still rumbled. Maybe a kind soul in that building at the corner had a hunk of bread to share. If someone offers me a drink, I’ll offer to marry them, he thought, drawing on Eliezer’s search for Rivkah. His strength the past three years had been imagining the life he would build after the war. He was desperate to create a family so large and so Jewish that the Germans’ failure would be paraded.

The brass handle on the door of the building was covered in soot. Mendel wiped it with his black-and-white striped shirt before turning. The carpet inside withered in dust. The large glass windows were covered in boards that blocked the sunlight; darkness clung to every corner. The flame of a short wax candle flickered and danced on the bottom step of the stairwell, casting a glow on the small area around it. It was the only sign that someone had been through the house recently.

“Anyone there?” Mendel called out, glancing front and back.

A dark-haired girl, our Bubba, stepped down the stairwell. She stopped halfway and leaned over the railing to talk to Zaida. “You look terrible, boy—can I get you a drink?”

Bubba and Zaida married a month after they met in the lobby of the girls’ orphanage. Their first home: a DP camp. Their first child: born in its barracks. Less than a year after the war ended, they were already a family of three. When they crossed to Australia, they were four. In the hospital room years later, they were nine. Grandkids and their babies walked in and out, coming with food, leaving with updates for those overseas. Mum and her siblings called a travel agent to book flights for them to gather around their father in Australia.

“Go home,” the doctors told Zaida when they came for afternoon rounds. “You’ve lived long enough to die quietly.” Their professional opinion was to forgo chemotherapy and live out the time left.

Zaida thought the doctors were right—he should go home. Since the first day of his new life in Australia, he hadn’t missed a day of work—even a child’s wedding didn’t mean he couldn’t work a sunrise shift. First was his job as a delivery man for the bakery, then a cashier, a baker. When he saved enough, he opened his own bakery, the first kosher one in the gold coast. Being ninety-two meant that work slowed, but it hadn’t stopped; it was time to get back to the shop.

I told Basya about Zaida’s diagnosis after I read about it in the elevator up to our tenth-floor dorm room. Israel was just as far from Australia as America was, but in the hills of Tzfat, no one else knew my great-grandfather. It was a pain I couldn’t pass on.

Months later, Basya and I sat at the checkered table in the cheder ochel, picking at piles of soggy vegetables and discussing Shabbat Chafshah plans. “How’s your grandfather, by the way?” The answer—that he was fine and dandy, still working and teasing and catching every minyan—felt like a betrayal of what I’d told her in the jolty elevator. Back then, we thought he was about to go. Apparently he hadn’t been in the mood. Each scan astounded the doctors—this old man had a monster in his belly, and was thriving as though he didn’t. When doctors said two months, Zaida took two years. Gutt must love me if He let me live. He survived hunger and SS guards and forced labor. Cancer wasn’t going to be what killed him.

The next time Zaida almost-died, I didn’t think he would pass away. We’d already run down that path and come back for air. The stoke would just be a day off work. Tomorrow he’d be cracking eggs in the kitchen or bagging someone’s challah. This time we already knew that he was invincible, so Mum didn’t even look at tickets to Australia.

On the second day, Binyamin got off the trolley one stop early so that he could whisper the entire Tehillim in the white room and lay tefillin on Zaida, who hadn't missed a day of either since 1950.

On the third day, someone dipped a cotton ball in whisky and prodded it between Zaida’s lips. No one talked about the alcohol, how he covered his pain in bad, teasing jokes. On his white bed, Zaida became a hurting man, one who reminded himself each day that “Gutt loves me��� because if he didn’t, the harrow of his early years would run through him.

On the fourth day, Bubba came to visit. Dementia had clouded her memories and each day she relived a nightmare. Zaida wouldn’t know that his wife didn’t come to his hospital room, and she would be heartbroken to be there. Nechama didn’t agree, “If that were me and Barry, I would want my kids to bring me.” She would forget the hospital visit afterward anyway, she argued. Her daughter Chevy picked Bubba up an hour later.

No one told Bubba why she was there. She sat in her wheelchair near the hospital bed. Her last time with him was the quiet second when she lifted his limp wrist and kissed it. With the gentle silence of a life spent together, she put his hand back on his bed, straightened the blankets to cover him better, and looked to the floor, away from her husband. Chevy paused at the door on their way out, in case Bubba wanted more time, but Bubba had already said her goodbyes. She looked ahead and spoke for the first time during the visit, “please take me home.”

On the fifth day, the teenaged grandkids pulled into the hospital parking lot with a trunk full of sleeping bags, chicken soup, and wine. They were going to spend Shabbos with Zaida at the hospital. Each had their own story to share, the time Zaidy called them his ugly monkey, the days when they worked in his shop after school, how they tried switching his whisky out for water.

On the sixth day, Motzei Shabbos, Nechama was the only one with him. The week ahead would be long; the rest had gone home to clean up from Shabbos and prepare.

“BDE,” she posted on the family chat. No one wrote back.

Mum and I watched the the live hookup of the levaya from her bed. For us in America, it was still Motzei Shabbos, just minutes after we turned on our phones and realized he was gone.

Nutchy’s white knuckles gripped the podium when he quoted on of the few things Zaida ever said: “A man has two names—the one he is given and the one he makes for himself.”

On the ship’s manifesto, Zaida’s young family is listed as Mendel, Sarah, Avraham, and Suzie Unglick, the unlucky ones. When he walked off the ramp with a brown suitcase in hand, he introduced himself to the port staff as “Mr. Glick.”

Zaida made the choice to live the life of Mr. Glick every day—when he shivered on his wooden bunk at the camps, when he walked the blackened streets looking for a wife, when he left the hospital with cancer cells attacking his body, when he fought the terrorized dreams of the war with his glass of whisky each morning.

His life floated through the sunlight in that white hospital room—G-d, his wife, sons and daughters, tefillah, talks of the Mr. Glick’s Bake Shoppe, and the whisky that gave him permission to create a unpained reality. Gutt most love me if He let me live. His soul moved higher on the breaths of his name and what it took to create it continued on.

[hgfstreamchats]

The Wicker Man

Welcome to the 'highglossfinish' room. Zephra85: WOO HOO Look who ACTUALLY made it to a stream for the first time in a million years yYYEAH Knock Out: Zephra human! Knock Out: Good to have you! Zephra85: :D Hi Knock Out! Zephra85: HAH I'm not only here I'm here FIRST Zephra85: amazing Thenightetc: I've been "here" a few minutes :) Zephra85: psh Thenightetc: *criiiiiiiiiinge* thebestdecepticonleader: #me Zephra85: wtf Thenightetc: Noooooo why did she eat it Thenightetc: that was so unnecessary Thenightetc: floor tuna :( Knock Out: Dirty, bloody floor tuna. Zephra85: I've had worse

Zephra85: The sunny atmosphere says 'delightful romp' but the music says 'countdown to murder time' Thenightetc: You said the same thing twice. Thenightetc: ;) Zephra85: I love how Hollywood keeps trying to make Nicholas Cage cool Thenightetc: *leans back* thebestdecepticonleader: Oh this is the second one, right? Zephra85: Like watching Sisyphus and his boulder Thenightetc: ...omg Thenightetc: OH NO I'VE HEARD ABOUT THIS Zephra85: I actually don't know anything about this one Thenightetc: I've heard it's hilariously bad Thenightetc: I've seen the original, but not this thebestdecepticonleader: BEEEEES Thenightetc: I mean, uh, I don't mean to make light of the... tragedy? thebestdecepticonleader: That's all I'm going to say Thenightetc: *already working up to some kind of horrible joke about that scene* Thenightetc: So they were from Spookyville thebestdecepticonleader: I'm sad no one did the bee movie with everytime bee is said it's replaced with the BEES from this movie Thenightetc: Oh my god Zephra85: I feel like at least 70% of these streams are just the lot of us trying to come up with clever zingers at the right times Thenightetc: That would be GREAT Thenightetc: Wicker Man but every time they try to be serious it gets faster Thenightetc: bee products Knock Out: Well, that certainly had a point. Thenightetc: It was foreshadowing! Thenightetc: Oh hey it's the kid from the wreck Zephra85: 'We're cops and there's a missing child that's come to our attention but it's not your problem since your ex is involved' Zephra85: like what even Thenightetc: Is it their jurisdiction, though? thebestdecepticonleader: This movie is already a mess Thenightetc: "hey!  Didn't get blow up?" Thenightetc: *didn't you blow up Thenightetc: hahahha Thenightetc: Did that... work? Thenightetc: "Look, when I say they're 'private', I mean they murder outsiders." Zephra85: 'I have money' Zephra85: 'Oh well in that case enjoy your murder' thebestdecepticonleader: What is this accent? Thenightetc: "Uhhhhhhh not a child" Thenightetc: "mating house" :| Zephra85: I thought she said 'meeting house'. Was it 'mating'? Thenightetc: But what's IN the bag? thebestdecepticonleader: I thought maiden Thenightetc: I hope it was meeting house thebestdecepticonleader: as in, un-married women Knock Out: Same difference. Thenightetc: Why do they even have an inn Zephra85: ikr Thenightetc: "It's where we keep victims" thebestdecepticonleader: newsflash: mating/meeting/maiden all mean the same thing.  Good luk figuring out what your boss wants. thebestdecepticonleader: *luck Thenightetc: Called it Knock Out: She should have spit in his whatnot. Zephra85: Official police business involving a missing child BUT LET'S HASH OUT OUR PERSONAL DRAMA FIRST Thenightetc: "why did you leave me" "idk why do anything" thebestdecepticonleader: Romance, ugh Thenightetc: "Yeah, you have to be indoctrinated into this" Zephra85: The brainwashing from birth helps Thenightetc: *heavy sighing* Zephra85: This movie does NOT know how to create an atmosphere Thenightetc: Not at all CaffienatedGlitter: eyyyy CaffienatedGlitter: what'd i miss Knock Out: Half an hour of absolute rubbish. CaffienatedGlitter: ok but what HAPPENED CaffienatedGlitter: did anyone die Thenightetc: Not YET CaffienatedGlitter: also what is this weird and stilted mockery of human conversation Thenightetc: There's a missing kid, he's there "investigating" Thenightetc: Because his ex wrote to him about it CaffienatedGlitter: how does that make sense Zephra85: The only thing that's died is any sense of competent cinematography. Thenightetc: Well, he's a cop Thenightetc: But in another state, so I don't think he's REALLY there AS a cop, per se Thenightetc: it's the bird's desk now

CaffienatedGlitter: ok i just read the plot on wikipedia because screw this movie Zephra85: DON'T TELL ME I HAVEN'T SEEN THIS MOVIE Thenightetc: he totally doesn't have jurisdiction there CaffienatedGlitter: i won't CaffienatedGlitter: i havent seen it either but i read the wikipedia page anyway because again CaffienatedGlitter: screw this movie CaffienatedGlitter: and it seems like this is some kind of like??? what the heck??? what is with all this religious subtext Thenightetc: "technically undead" Zephra85: She used future tense CaffienatedGlitter: GUYS CaffienatedGlitter: GUYS THIS IS A REMAKE OF THE ORIGINAL MOVIE CaffienatedGlitter: the original was well-liked by critics and audiences. this was probably made to cash in on the popularity Thenightetc: Yyyyyup Thenightetc: she totally has CaffienatedGlitter: wait but the original was made in 1973??? what kind of freaking sense does that make Zephra85: 'YOU *ARE* THE FATHER' Zephra85: Shocking. Thenightetc: Pfffff Thenightetc: How long ago was that engagement, again? CaffienatedGlitter: this movie is way too freaking stiff CaffienatedGlitter: its PAINFUL Thenightetc: well then CaffienatedGlitter: wait what CaffienatedGlitter: knockout what's going on CaffienatedGlitter: status report Knock Out: Everything's fine! Zephra85: Famous last words Knock Out: Just scrapped everything up trying to archive the chat. CaffienatedGlitter: hahaha Zephra85: Ain't it always the way Thenightetc: ...Oh, I thought he was actually going under the dock to check CaffienatedGlitter: every time nicholas cage speaks i am for some reason compelled to kill someone Zephra85: A perfectly natural compulsion. Zephra85: Good thing he's not within his jurisdiction Zephra85: Otherwise he might have needed a warrent for that Thenightetc: Yeah, now he's just some schlub breaking and entering CaffienatedGlitter: so is this like??? demonizing old religions??? but also having a bunch of women who are blatantly mysandrist??? did i miss something important what is this CaffienatedGlitter: like that teacher lady was???? what???? CaffienatedGlitter: I'M JUST AS ANGRY AS YOU NICHOLAS CAGE thebestdecepticonleader: HOW DOES SHE NOT KNOW??? thebestdecepticonleader: Then leave thebestdecepticonleader: again Thenightetc: really Zephra85: Wow thebestdecepticonleader: why??? CaffienatedGlitter: what is this CaffienatedGlitter: i'm so thebestdecepticonleader: It's the newer, worse wicker man CaffienatedGlitter: yeah instead of apple trees it's honey CaffienatedGlitter: SUBTLE FREAKING METAPHOR thebestdecepticonleader: which is saying something because there were a lot of boobs in the first one Thenightetc: and BEES CaffienatedGlitter: RUN NICHOLAS CAGE Knock Out: Just look at him go. CaffienatedGlitter: why is he coughing Zephra85: He's allergic Thenightetc: Allergic reaction CaffienatedGlitter: ooooooh CaffienatedGlitter: he's deadxc Thenightetc: ...It's another dream, right thebestdecepticonleader: Probably Thenightetc: Oh, maybe not CaffienatedGlitter: so the men are servants??? Zephra85: Vague enough CaffienatedGlitter: i'm sorry but the entire concept of this movie is making me confuzzles thebestdecepticonleader: This movie is just????????????? Zephra85: Nothing's really been explained so Nicolas Cage is just as confused as the rest of us thebestdecepticonleader: I feel like that isn't enough question marks thebestdecepticonleader: But I don't want to spam too many CaffienatedGlitter: ???x100,000,000,000 thebestdecepticonleader: Yes CaffienatedGlitter: that batter? CaffienatedGlitter: better? thebestdecepticonleader: Much CaffienatedGlitter: good CaffienatedGlitter: because i am so CaffienatedGlitter: ???x100,000,000,000 Thenightetc: Oh no Zephra85: Did she just CaffienatedGlitter: what is this??? Zephra85: did anybody see that CaffienatedGlitter: do what? Zephra85: She like Zephra85: looked him up and down and licked her lips CaffienatedGlitter: oh my god Thenightetc: Least believable thing in the whole movie so far CaffienatedGlitter: RUN, NICHOLAS CAGE thebestdecepticonleader: No, no, sacrificing isn't murder, really CaffienatedGlitter: OH HO STOP TOUCHING HI M LADY CaffienatedGlitter: oh god exposition time thebestdecepticonleader: celtic OH Thenightetc: *heavy sighing* thebestdecepticonleader: This movie: *hitting people in the face with book* Exposition, exposition, exposition Thenightetc: why this CaffienatedGlitter: is this like, trying to bash feninists CaffienatedGlitter: like???? CaffienatedGlitter: Whattttt?? thebestdecepticonleader: Probably CaffienatedGlitter: same nicholas cage CaffienatedGlitter: i am freaking bepuzzled Thenightetc: No way there's actually a corpse in there Zephra85: Those crazy ancient celtics and their wacky pagan ways amirite? CaffienatedGlitter: sorry i got disconnected what happened Thenightetc: He opened up the grave and there was a SPOOKY DOLL in it CaffienatedGlitter: oh yeah i read it CaffienatedGlitter: frook i keep getting disconnected thebestdecepticonleader: If she's dead, in a grave, calling her name won't help Zephra85: Except the grave was corpse-less thebestdecepticonleader: Still not going to help if she's dead in what looks like catacombs though Zephra85: Why does this movie want Nicolas Cage to get wet so badly Thenightetc: he sure likes going swimming! Thenightetc: PFF CaffienatedGlitter: WHAT IS MY LIFE thebestdecepticonleader: Nic Cage you genius Thenightetc: How's he going to get out of THIS mess! Zephra85: With his charm and his sparkling personality as always Thenightetc: Oh, that's just mean. CaffienatedGlitter: MORE FEVER DREAMS thebestdecepticonleader: Ew Thenightetc: Hate it when my coworkers explode into bees thebestdecepticonleader: Relatable Thenightetc: ew it's all wet though Zephra85: Ew don't hold that up to your mouth Zephra85: It's been in dirty catacomb water for god knows how long thebestdecepticonleader: It's underwater dude, she was down there, she drowned Thenightetc: ew don't kiss her Zephra85: They said she likes to swim though Zephra85: if she was a good swimmer she might have managed thebestdecepticonleader: In catacombs? Thenightetc: er thebestdecepticonleader: That were shut after her Thenightetc: dude Zephra85: Anything is possible with the power of sh*tty writing Thenightetc: BEE DRESS thebestdecepticonleader: Disturbing Thenightetc: pfffff Zephra85: This movie is is trying to hard to be creepy but it's just coming of disjointed and weird thebestdecepticonleader: Yeah thebestdecepticonleader: At least the original had the unnerving boob scenes Thenightetc: ...yikes Zephra85: That was called-for Thenightetc: lol bee costumes CaffienatedGlitter: yeah i'm goin bye bye Zephra85: Bye! Thenightetc: bye! CaffienatedGlitter: i'm not staying for the whole giant burning fricking Knock Out: Sensible choice. CaffienatedGlitter: bye everyoneeee thebestdecepticonleader: Bye Zephra85: It's good to know your limits CaffienatedGlitter: cheer on the death of nicholas cage CaffienatedGlitter: for me CaffienatedGlitter: yes CaffienatedGlitter: goodbye!!! Thenightetc: They do just sort of utterly fail to establish any kind of sympathy or anything for him CaffienatedGlitter: yes CaffienatedGlitter: ehehehe CaffienatedGlitter: bye thebestdecepticonleader: Oh good masks, now the facebling people can tell just as much as normal people about who's who thebestdecepticonleader: <- faceblind Zephra85: Idk man I'd be pretty freaked out being carried off by a complete stranger into the woods in a bear costume Zephra85: She's handling this awfully well Thenightetc: Yeah, weird, isn't it? thebestdecepticonleader: Yeah, but she'll probably be less dead Zephra85: Although if *I* had to choose between certain death/being alone in the woods with Nicolas Cage I'd be a little torn. Thenightetc: pfffff thebestdecepticonleader: But he's supposed to be a virgin Thenightetc: ...Oh hey, yeah thebestdecepticonleader: That was how it worked in the original thebestdecepticonleader: If he has a daughter, he's definitely not a virgin Thenightetc: Like he has enough bullets for every...welp! Zephra85: So much for THAT plan thebestdecepticonleader: I would have shot the old crone anyway thebestdecepticonleader: Or myself Thenightetc: He didn't have any bullets Knock Out: Did they cut out the bees? thebestdecepticonleader: Oh... right Thenightetc: I think the bees are... coming up Zephra85: 'Here ya go honey go light your father on fire' thebestdecepticonleader: Honey, lol Zephra85: HAA Thenightetc: ikr Thenightetc: ...They did cut out the bees? Thenightetc: the heck Knock Out: We'll look it up. thebestdecepticonleader: yeah thebestdecepticonleader: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-1GadTfGFvU Zephra85: .... Is that James Franco thebestdecepticonleader: I think so Zephra85: So the cycle begins again with another cringey actor Zephra85: Yeah what was this scene everyone kept talking about Thenightetc: ....wow thebestdecepticonleader: yes Zephra85: Was it a deleted scene or something Thenightetc: he died as he lived Thenightetc: covered in bees Thenightetc: Oh my god thebestdecepticonleader: I don't know honestly I think it was the extended cut Zephra85: ahh Thenightetc: Wow Zephra85: Oh god this is incredible thebestdecepticonleader: It would have been better like this honestly Thenightetc: AND BEES. Zephra85: I'm absolutely dying here Knock Out: Isn't it majestic? thebestdecepticonleader: Would have been better as a comedy Thenightetc: It kinda WAS a comedy thebestdecepticonleader: True, but it tried to be serious Zephra85: Yeah it probably would have actually worked as a satire of horror tropes thebestdecepticonleader: :( Zephra85: Does Doctor Bees die and come back every episode Knock Out: That he does. thebestdecepticonleader: Apparently Knock Out: And that's all I've got! Thenightetc: And what a beeautiful time it was Knock Out: Hah! Thenightetc: :) Zephra85: Well that was certainly an experience Thenightetc: *snickering* Zephra85: PSH Knock Out: Thank you all for dropping in! Have a glorious, bee-filled evening! thebestdecepticonleader: Thanks for the stream :) Zephra85: Thanks for the stream, Knock Out! Knock Out: That was not supposed to be in italics, but it's better for them. Knock Out: Anytime! Thenightetc: Thanks!  This was, honestly, amazing Zephra85: Glad I could come to this one, say high to Breakdown and Impact for me! Knock Out: Will do!