#iowa debate

[moderat50]

Making Women Sex Objects

It seems Maga approves of treating women as sex objects, toys. Men are allowed to grab them by the pu....y. Trump called this "locker room talk". Matthew 5:28 calls it adultery. Yet, there was very little objections by the Maga community and several christian leader supporters.

#democrats #republicans #election #donald trump #catholic #christianity #conservative #exvangelical #maga #gop #2024 election #iowa #iowa news #republican debate #nikki haley #ron desantis #evangelical

[odinsblog]

Meet Ron DeSantis, the most unnatural, uncomfortable retail politician since the creation of the Jeb Bush robot

#lol #politics #republicans #ron desantis #gop debate #iowa #iowa caucus #iowa caucuses #ron deathsantis

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

The FL law was in place to protect Floridians & their sitting governor from humiliation but $1 million dollars was more important to Jill Casey Black & Ron DeSantis so they CHANGED the law. 🤦‍♂️

Liar Liar Boots on Fire! 👢👢

Bootgate 👢👢👢👢

The boots dont fit your foot Ron! 🤦‍♂️

The reason Jill Casey insisted on boots:

"You are never going to be President!" 😂

If you'll lie about your height...👢

#Dishonest DeSantis #Jill Casey Black DeSantis #florida #GOP #debates #ron desantis #bootgate #liars #iowa #new hampshire #Loomer #laura loomer #Mark Dice #DeSimps #israel

[nodynasty4us]

From the November 15, 2023 article:

RNC Chair Ronna Romney McDaniel ... wants the remaining Republican candidates all to herself. In particular, she doesn't want them "debating" for anyone else.... Specifically, Bob Vander Plaats, CEO of the Family Leader, an Iowa evangelical group, is planning a "forum," at which all the candidates could salute Jesus and say that their favorite Bible passage is the (nonexistent) one where He condemns abortion.... Word got back to McDaniel that some or all of them had promised Vander Plaats that they were going to be there, come hell or high water. After all, nobody is going to watch the fourth and probably final debate, but every evangelical in Iowa is going to watch the Vander Plaats show. So she put her tail between her legs and backed off. After all, Vander Plaats calls his event, where all the candidates will be on stage talking about Jesus and politics a "forum," not a "debate." Presto! It is fine to participate. Problem solved.

#republicans #debate #iowa #ronna romney mcdaniel #bob vander plaats

[ponderlyapp]

♦️Election politics are heating up, what’s your take on national or local elections?

Which one has more of an impact on your goals and dreams for the future of America? Read, vote, and debate at Ponderly

#trump #vivek ramaswamy #ron desantis #iowa caucus #election #election politics #debate

[drfm-me]

Warren and Sanders Spar on Gender Issues at Iowa Debate

Sed ut perspiciatis unde omnis iste natus error sit voluptatem accusantium doloremque laudantium, totam rem aperiam, eaque ipsa quae ab illo inventore veritatis et quasi architecto beatae vitae dicta sunt explicabo. At vero eos et accusamus et iusto odio dignissimos ducimus qui blanditiis praesentium voluptatum deleniti atque corrupti quos dolores et quas molestias excepturi sint occaecati…

View On WordPress

#Bernie Sanders #Debate #Elizabeth Warren #featured #Iowa #Politics

[johnnusz]

Full text of Robert F Kennedy, Jr.'s open letter to the DNC:

Dear Chairman Harrison and Members of the DNC,

I know some of you well. A few of you are among my oldest friends. Others of you I have never met. But all of you are my family, as public servants and fellow Americans.

Families tell one another the truth, as best we are able with grace and love and, above all, with candor. When we take wrong turns, or fail to live up to our best selves, it is our family's responsibility to hold up a mirror and recall us back to our true purpose and highest self-expression. And so I feel compelled to write to you now, because in my view, limited though it may be, the Democratic Party has gone off track.

We live in times of division, disease, and turmoil, but they are not the first such times in our nation’s history. Rulers always face the temptation to maintain social control by denying the people their sovereignty and their voice. But from our nation’s founding, through many struggles, we have upheld freedom instead. Our founders shed their blood for it. The civil rights movement fought for it, and the Democratic Party supported that movement under the Kennedy and Johnson administrations, culminating in the Voting Rights Act. Throughout the modern era, the Democratic Party fought back against censorship, upheld civil liberties, resisted corporate influence, and sought to enfranchise as many voters as possible. The Democratic party truly lived up to its name — the party of democracy, the party of the people.

Unfortunately, in recent years our party leaders have succumbed to the siren of control. They have compromised the defining democratic principle of one person, one vote through repeated interference in the primary elections. They have hijacked the party machinery and, in recent years, directed the power of censorship onto their political opponents, raising political victory onto the altar in place of honest democracy.

In school rooms across this country, we teach our children that they have an inalienable right to self-determination, that no matter the town or creed or condition into which they were born, they each have an equal right to vote for the life and society of their choosing. And that someday, they too will have the chance to put forth their own ideas and be elected or passed over, based on the equal votes of diverse peers.

Never, in all the civics lessons in all the schools in America, did the teacher add “except for in states that the President lost in the previous election.” Never, in all the glorious retellings of our fight for universal voting rights, has any teacher added, “and the decision of the people should be overturned if it doesn't comply with the preference of the ruling elites.” Yet this is exactly the new page in history that the DNC's pending rules propose, casting out New Hampshire’s votes, limiting ballot access in Iowa, and deploying party operatives to water down the popular vote and ensure a controlled victory.

Equally disheartening is the DNC’s refusal to hold debates. The matter of precedent is spurious, as there has been no serious primary challenge to an incumbent in more than 40 years. (Although Al Gore, a sitting vice-president, did debate challengers in 2000.) Voters deserve — and democracy requires — a competitive process by which to determine nominees. It should be a party’s voters who choose a candidate, not party insiders who anoint one.

The DNC and the Joe Biden campaign have essentially merged into one unit, financially and strategically, despite the promise of neutrality in its charter and bylaws. The DNC is not supposed to favor one candidate over another. It is supposed to oversee a fair, democratic selection process, and then support the candidate that its voters choose.

Much has been said in recent years about our country’s endangered democracy. As someone who has spent decades battling corrupt corporate polluters, I can attest that endangered species are not saved by idle talk. We didn’t bring the Bald Eagle back to the Hudson River Valley by holding a press conference. We did it by cleaning up the pollution that threatened its survival and introducing new chicks to the wild.

Our endangered democracy is no different. Its salvation lies in cleansing our society of the toxic divisions and corporate greed that pollute our political waters. Its salvation lies not in sound bites, but in the careful seeding and nurturing and protection of healthy examples of democracy in action.

To my dear family of fellow public servants and caretakers of democracy, I would like to offer a heartfelt invitation. Please, lead by example and hold the most transparent, equal, accessible, and accountable election that has ever been seen in this country. You have the power to do this. You have the power to restore the faith of the people — faith in the Democratic Party, and faith in democracy itself.

Family to family, I urge you to reflect, privately and in consultation with your higher power, on what legacy you wish to leave. Will it be a fearful, desperate grasping for power at all costs? Or will it be the confident and graceful letting go that marks those who truly believe in democracy? And if, in those reflections, you find yourself seeking sage counsel, I offer the parting words of George Washington — a leader whose voluntary handover of power set a precedent that echoes to this day.

“Parties,” Washington warned, “become potent engines, by which cunning, ambitious, and unprincipled men will be enabled to subvert the power of the people and to usurp for themselves the reins of government, destroying afterwards the very engines which have lifted them to unjust dominion.”

I write to you now in the hope that you hold the engine of democracy as sacred as I do. I pray that, at a time of public discontent, you cede more power to the public, not less, and thereby do right by yourselves, by the American people, and by the ideal of self-determination that inaugurated our great nation.

In service of a more perfect union,

Robert F. Kennedy, Jr.

#robert f kennedy jr #Kennedy24 #Vote4Bobby #democracy #letter to dnc #chairman Harrison #potus #fair elections #debates #Iowa #new hampshire #democratic party #letter #Americans #values #USA

[reiding-writing]

erotomania [ s.r ]

01 - exhortations

Summary:

You’d found yourself with a stalker, one who seemingly had a romantic obsession with you, and you had no idea what to do, except maybe confide in one of your team members.

WARNINGS: Signs of stalking, mentions of break-ins, fears of violence, mentions of panic attacks

pairing: spencer reid x gn!bau!reader

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, mild fluff

wc: 6.8k

main masterlist!!

a/n: so… i decided to start a series- considering chapter length it’ll probably only be three parts and i hope to have them out once a week but knowing my college schedule i’m not sure about that 😭

<poem used - ‘my fire, my flame’ by ariana alonso>

thank you guys for all the love on my other uploads <33

series masterlist!!

01-exhortations, 02-avoidance, 03-revelations, 04-confession

It started with a rose.

A single white rose left haphazardly on your doorstep.

You didn’t really think much of it, your neighbours had a white rose bush they regularly pruned, and you figured the wind must have blown one of the loose roses cut from it over to your porch.

You’d often find scattered petals and wilting rose heads on your lawn, blown over by the wind to no fault of the old couple living next door. Although you did have to admit that a full rose was something that had never blown over before.

But hey, sometimes these things happen right?

That was the same rhetorical question you asked yourself two weeks later when a blank envelope was posted through your letter box alongside your regular mail. It looked like a birthday card, the envelope a pale yellow and closed shut with a small white sticker in the shape of a rose. Curious.

You debated on whether to open it at first, not wanting to accidentally intrude on somebody else’s private business, but after a few days of deliberating you came to the conclusion that reading what’s inside might help you find the intended recipient.

You didn’t find anything of note in the envelope, just a folded piece of white paper with a typed out romantic poem imprinted on its inner side. It was odd for sure, but it wasn’t anything to worry about.

You ended up throwing the envelope away. As much as you would’ve liked to have delivered it to its rightful recipient there just wasn’t enough information for you to do so. You just guessed that it was a teenager trying to romance one of their classmates and had posted their efforts through the wrong door.

It was harder to brush off the new succulent lining your kitchen windowsill.

You’d come home to your house after four days spend in Iowa on a case, absolutely exhausted. So much so it took you three separate trips in and out of your kitchen to realise that the three succulents usually lining your window had now been increased to four.

At first you just thought it was your exhaustion getting to you, but you knew for a fact that you’d only bought three. Garcia had made you pick them out specifically. And this new fourth one didn’t fit in.

You examined the new succulent closely, trying to figure out where it came from. It was a vibrant green colour, with small, round leaves that formed a rosette shape. Unlike your other succulents, this one had delicate white flowers blooming from its centre. It was a beautiful addition to your collection, but you couldn't help but wonder who had put it there and why.

You carefully examined the plant for any clues. There were no tags or labels indicating its origin, and it seemed to blend in seamlessly with the rest of your succulents, as if it had always been there. The thought of someone entering your home while you were away sent a shiver down your spine, but there were no signs of forced entry or any other evidence to suggest foul play.

You unfortunately didn’t have much time to mull over this new addition to your plant collection as the team were whisked away on another case, less than 24 hours after your last case finished.

Still, you couldn’t seem to get the small white flowers of the plant sat upon your windowsill out of your mind, and you were starting to question your sanity a little. Were you sure that you hadn’t bought four? Maybe you had. Maybe it’d been there the whole time.

“If it isn’t my favourite profiler, don’t tell Derek that,” Garcia almost immediately backtracked as she picked up the phone. “What can I do you for my sweet?”

“Hey Penny, just a random question, you remember when we went plant shopping a while back?” You held the phone up to your ear with your left hand, using your right to continue jotting down notes on the portable whiteboard the Montanna Police Department had provided your team with for the case you were working on.

“Oh of course I do my love. Why, Looking for a professional suggestion for your next addition?” You could practically hear Garcia’s smile through the phone as she spoke.

“No Pen, I just wanted to check something,” You let out a small chuckle at her exaggerated confidence in her knowledge of plants. ”Did I end up buying three succulents or four?”

“Three my love, two Chinese Jades and one Opalina I believe. Why’s that?”

“Oh no nothing, I was just checking which ones I’d bought with you and which ones I’d bought myself, thanks Pen,” You didn’t know why you felt the impulse to lie. Maybe it was your subconscious telling you that it was in fact you who had put the plant there. That you’d just been so busy that you’d forgotten about it. Either way you didn’t want to stir up the pot if you couldn’t prove anything was actually wrong.

But you also couldn’t rid of that feeling in the pit of your stomach that rose when Garcia confirmed you hadn’t bought the plant when out with her.

“Alrighty, anything else you need from her majesty of all knowledge?”

You give another small laugh at Garcia’s manner of speech. “No Pen, thank you.”

”Well then my dear, this lady’s got other fish you fry, I’ll catch you later,”

You hear the end dial through your phone before you can respond, a usual end to a phone call with Garcia, and whilst her little quips and jokes left you with a small smile on your face, it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

A pale yellow envelope.

You feel a sense of deja vu when you pick it up from the floor on the inside of your front door, seemingly slotted through your letterbox just like the former had been, white rose sticker holding it closed and all.

The difference this time however, was that when you turned the envelope in your hand it had your name inked on the front, scrawled out in a messy cursive that stained parts of coloured paper black, the ink having bled as the name was written from the sheer amount of pressure used.

That’s the moment that you started to panic.

You could put the signs together by now. A perfectly de-thorned rose on your doorstep. Messages posted through your door. A new succulent left in your kitchen after you’d expressed interest in them. It wasn’t just a series of coincidences, they were signs. Signs of something you didn’t particularly want to think about.

The last one was the worst. It meant that whoever had taken it upon themselves to form a fascination with you had somehow managed to get inside of your house whilst you weren’t there.

You triple checked the locks on your doors that night, leaving the new envelope unopened on your kitchen counter.

You ended up taking it to work the next day, tucked away in your messenger bag and left under your desk as you tried to distract yourself through with your files.

You tried to convince yourself that you were just overthinking. Maybe the indented recipient of the letter just happened to have the same name as you. Maybe this was just the last two weeks of continuous stress was just taking it’s toll on you and making you paranoid. You tried to convince yourself. But you knew.

“Excuse me,”

Your internal monologue was cut off by a soft voice, and your mind was momentarily wiped of your dilemma as you looked up towards the source of the noise, the small receptionist from the front of your floor.

“This was dropped off last night, I believe it was for you.”

In her hand was a small rectangular package, wrapped in brown paper, and she held it out to you with a small smile.

“Oh, thank you,” You return her smile with one of your own, taking the package from her hand and watching her retreat back to her desk. You weren’t expecting anything delivered, were you?

Unwrapping the package only left you more confused. It was a leather bound copy of Romeo and Juliet, the cover a deep red and embossed with with gold roses and an intricate border, the book’s name embossed in a similar fashion in the cover’s centre, although flaking in some areas from the wear of the book.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you turned the book over in your hands, but as you opened the front cover that expression fell straight back into concern. A small rose, etched into the inside over in a black ink pen, fit with a single letter, ‘R.’

“Hey Spencer, uh- can I- borrow you for a sec?” You stand from your desk, walking around the cluster in the bullpen to stand behind Spencer’s, head buried in the files he was working on.

“Of course, what’s up?” Spencer took a second to look up, folding the folder closed and leaving his pen inside to mark the page. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah uh- I uh- Were you expecting a book delivery?”

You held the book out towards him, eyes silently pleading for him to say yes. A part of your brain still denied the inevitable, that it wasn’t some outside person who had been leaving things around for you to find. That there wasn’t someone who knew where you lived, and now where you worked, sending you eerily creepy ‘gifts’.

Spencer inspected the book in his hands, examining it closely with narrowed eyes.

“Not that I know of...” He looked up at you, eyebrow slightly raised as he handed the book back to you. “I already have this copy at home,”

Your stomach dropped a little when he confirmed it wasn’t his.

“Right, sorry,” You take the book back from him with a pursed smile, holding it in both of your hands and tapping your nails against the back cover.

You logically knew it wasn’t for him, Spencer was all for buying things second hand, but he would never pick up a book with this much wear and tear unless was a first edition owned by some prolific scholar, the spine damaged and the pages folded and scrawled with annotations that you weren’t sure you wanted to read, but hearing the confirmation just made it sink in a little further.

“Are you alright? You seem a little tense.” Spencer’s voice cut you out of another internal spiral, and you gave him a quick nod.

“Hm? Oh yeah i’m alright, thanks anyway Spence,” You give him a small smile and a half wave as you retreat back to your own desk with the book in hand.

Spencer stared at you for a moment longer, watching as you sat back down at your desk, discarding the book behind your stack of files as if you couldn’t bare to look at it any longer.

Something seemed very off with you.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

My fire, my flame,

My one and the same.

Swiftly swinging from life to end,

Through the times, we meet again.

My lover, my friend,

My mirror, my mend.

My fire, my flame,

No darkness can tame.

Ochre to blue, two as one.

Never unbroken, never undone.

Healing the hurt, flame dims down.

Fire prevails, doubt it drowns.

Forever and true, I am your blue,

The one you felt, the one you knew.

Drunken to sober, you are my ochre,

The one who inspires all my desires.

Over and over, we dance again,

Swiftly swinging from life to end.

It was nearly midnight, and yet you felt wide awake.

A part of you wanted to sleep, lay in bed and pretend that nothing was happening, but you knew that your mind wasn’t going to let you.

You’d sucked up the resolve to open the envelope you’d stored away in your bag, another poem left inside. Except this time instead of being typed out and printed, it was written in the same ink that had adorned its sleeve.

Some of it was barely legible, but you found the words ingrained in your mind almost as soon as you read them. They were sweet from a surface level, a message of true and eternal love, but under your circumstances the only emotions that it evoked from you was a mix of dread and fear.

Your mind soon flickered over to the book you’d left on your nightstand, and you soon found yourself curled up under your duvet with the book in hand, lamp left on both to aid your reading and provide you with a small sense of security in the warm light it cast over the walls of your bedroom.

The narrative of the story was what you’d expect, the traditional tale of Romeo and Juliet, but that wasn’t what you were interested in, it was the annotations, written in the same handwriting as the poem left discarded on your coffee table.

It seemed like a lot of references to love, mainly to the female protagonist in Romeo and Juliet, and you noticed that your initials and “R.” were written a lot.

It seemed that whoever had taken a liking to you really liked you... a little too much.

There were references to your personality, how much you loved things like animals, reading books and eating dark chocolate. They had even written that your favourite colour was burgundy.

You were starting to find this rather unnerving.

The part that really sent you over the edge into a panic was one line in particular, underlined so many times that there was a small rip in the page.

These violent delights have violent ends.

The book in your hand was soon replaced with your phone, held up to your ear as took in slow breaths through your nose.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” You heard Spencer’s voice ring through your phone.

“Hey uh, I’m so sorry to call you so late but uh- Can I ask you for a favour?” The tone of your voice wavered slightly as you spoke, not at all aided by the small tremble of your hand.

“Yeah of course, anything for you, what is it?”

“Can I uh,” You hesitate for a second. “Can I come over?”

“Yeah, of course,” Spencer responded quickly. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah I just, don’t want to be on my own right now,” It wasn’t exactly a revelation. There had been a few instances where tough cases left the team feeling more comfortable spending the time after in the company of someone else.

Most of them had family or lovers as their comfort, but in the case of Spencer, not having any contact with his father and his mother institutionalised, and your parents living across the country, you often found comfort in each other instead.

“Thank you,”

It seemed like you wouldn’t get any sleep tonight.

“It’s no problem at all, I’ll see you soon?” Spencer’s voice was soft and understanding, and you found yourself increasingly grateful for his insomniatic nature.

“Yeah, see you soon…”

You let out a small breath of relief as you hang up the phone, piling some things into a backpack, tattered book included, before locking up the house and driving to Spencer’s apartment

The drive there seemed to be one of the longest drives of your life, constantly deliberating with yourself on whether to confide in Spencer about your theory. Part of you wanted to tell him, you knew with an outside objective view alongside his intelligence that he’d be able to find you a solution, but you also didn’t want to burden him.

When you reach his apartment, you knock on the door twice. “Spence?”

The door unlocked almost before you’re finished knocking, and Spencer stands on the other side, dressed in tardis pyjama pants and a black t-shirt, his brown hair a little flattened, presumably from tossing around in bed trying to get comfortable.

“Hey,” He stepped aside to let you in, adjusting the crooked glasses sat over his nose.

“I’m so sorry for bothering you so late, thank you for letting me come over-“ You blurt out a hasty apology for your intrusion as you take your shoes off at the door and slump down on Spencer’s couch, dropping your bag on the floor next to you.

Spencer followed you with his eyes as he closed and locked the door behind you. “It’s totally fine, it doesn’t matter if it’s 2pm or 2am, you’re always welcome, you know that,”

Spencer smiles at you before asking, “So, what’s going on?”

“I think I’m being stalked-"

The words almost melded together with how fast you spoke them, and it’s only after the whole sentence leaves your mouth you realise that you’d blurted out the thing you’d been mentally fighting over telling him or not.

Well, so much for dealing with it on your own.

Spencer’s smile immediately disappears, being replaced with a look of concern. “Stalked? What do you mean? What’s been happening?”

You sigh softly at Spencer’s expression. There was no backtracking from this now. So you start right from the beginning.

“Well, a few weeks ago I found this perfectly pruned rose on my doorstep,"

Spencer listens to your explanation with a small nod. “Right…”

“But I wasn’t like concerned or anything because my neighbours have a rose bush, and I figured it was just the wind or something. You know, sometimes that kind of stuff happens right? But then over the last few weeks things keep turning up and I know that it’s not normal you know?”

Spencer’s look of concern only grows as you begin explaining, and he took a seat next to you on the couch. “What kind of things have been showing up? Apart from the rose?”

“Like two-ish weeks after the rose thing, there was an envelope posted through my door alongside the rest of my mail, and I ended up opening it because it didn’t have a name on the front and I wanted to to figure out who it was for right?”

Spencer gives you a small nod as a gesture for you to continue.

“I thought it was a birthday card at first, but I’m pretty sure it was a poem, it was just typed out and stuck in the envelope, no names or addresses or anything. So I just threw it out and moved on. I figured it was some teenager who’d posted a love note through the wrong door.”

You use your hands to gesture your explanation, your right leg bouncing absentmindedly as the nervous tension builds up in your body.

“And then after the case we had in Iowa I came home and instead of three plants on my kitchen windowsill there was four. And that was when I was like ‘okay something’s not right here’, and I even rang Penny to check and she confirmed that I’d only bought three,”

Spencer raises a brow, his expression furrowing further if that was possible. “Wait, it turned up in your house?”

You give him a small nod. “I checked all the doors and windows and everything but there was no evidence that anyone had broken in, and by this point I’m like genuinely questioning my sanity over whether I’d actually just bought this stupid plant myself and was freaking myself out over it, but then yesterday evening after I got home from the Airport I found another envelope by my front door, same colour, shape and everything, they even both had the same sticker keeping them closed, but this one had my name written on the front of it,”

By this point, your explanation had turned into more of a ramble, and by the time you had reached a comfortable place to stop, you were feeling short on breath.

“And you opened it?”

You respond to Spencer’s question with a nod, brushing a piece of hair from your eye. “I opened it an hour ago maybe?”

“And it was another poem?”

You give Spencer another small nod in affirmation at his prediction.

“Okay, what else? Did anything else happen?” Spencer’s hand reaches out towards the curve of your knee, effectively halting the nervous tic you’re using to release your tension.

“Well, I showed you this earlier-”

You bend forward to pull your backpack up onto your lap, rifling through it to pull out the worn copy of Romeo and Juliet to present him with it once more.

“it was left at the office’s front desk which half makes me want to believe that it’s not related, but I was reading the annotations earlier and they’re really specific and I freaked myself out which is why I called you in the first place-“

Spencer’s brows crease under the rims of his glasses as his eyes pour over the book’s cover again. “Who left it for you?“

“I don’t know Spencer that’s my issue," You sigh softly as you turn the book over in my hands. “Can you just read through this for me please? I didn’t finish it because I freaked myself out and then immediately came over here so-“

You over-explain your reasoning for wanting him to read through the book for you, figuring that if you could give him a valid reason then you would feel less guilty about asking him to do it in the first place.

Spencer takes the book from you hands whilst you’re still explaining yourself, beginning to flick through the pages one by one, pulling his middle and ring fingers down the page as he scans over the writing.

It’s times like these you’re thankful that Spencer’s reading speed is 85 times faster than the average person’s, and you find your eyes following his fingers as he traces them over the pages, taking note of how he bends his middle finger ever so slightly so that his fingertips are level with each other and how he keeps his index finger raised away from the paper’s surface. It was oddly distracting to watch.

It takes him little more than five minutes to have read through the whole thing, with him stopping a few times along the way to make a couple of comments as he does.

“Well he makes reference to your favourite colour, and your birthday...”

“....your job...”

“...and of course your name.”

“Jesus, the guy’s really obsessed with you isn’t he.”

You furrow your face as Spencer confirms your concerns, rubbing your hands over your legs as a self-soothing technique.

Spencer thinks again for a moment as he shuts the book in his lap. “I think you should spend the night here.”

You can see his gears are turning, the same cogs turning when he’s deep in a profile. He’s gone from being concerned to calculated. “No way in hell am I leaving you alone tonight.”

“I don’t wanna burden you this is a me problem-“ You immediately shut down his suggestion despite you having stayed at his apartment on multiple occasions in the past.

You’d gotten an objective opinion on the situation. That was all you wanted. You didn’t need to drag him any further into your personal issues.

“Hey no,” Spencer shakes his head as he places the book down on the small oak coffee table in front of you. “You’re not burdening me, okay? You don’t have to be alone tonight, you can sleep here.”

“I’m not letting you leave now,” Spencer adds with finality. “You’re clearly anxious, and you look like you need to get some proper sleep.”

You bit the inside of your cheek at Spencer’s insistence, flickering your eyes over to the book on the table, its embossing glinting slightly under the warm overhead light.

He might not exercise it often, but Spencer definitely knew how to put his foot down when he needed to.

“Thank you…”

“Hey, look at me?” Spencer waits until you look at him, then he offers you a soft, reassuring smile. “...Everything’s gonna be okay. Okay?”

You give him a short nod with a pursed smile, not entirely convinced of his assurance but wanting to go along with it anyway for the sake of being able to calm down enough to at least get some sleep. “Okay,“

“Let’s get you set up for the night. We’ll talk this through in the morning.”

Spencer stands up, pushing himself up from the sofa with his hands and leaving into the bedroom. “Get as comfy as you’d like okay? I’ll be back.”

He turns to leave then stops at the door and looks at you one more time. “Oh, and... do you want to borrow one of my T-shirts?”

The invitation was obvious. “Uh yeah if you don’t mind…”

He gives you a small nod as he retreats into his bedroom, re-emerging a few minutes later with a fleece blanket, one of the pillows from his bed, and a black T-Shirt identical to the one he was wearing. “Here, my couch probably isn’t the comfiest place to sleep but-”

He hands the T-shirt over to you with a small smile, stacking the blanket and the pillow on the end of the sofa.

“Don’t be silly Spencer, I’m grateful for you even letting me in let alone letting me stay over on such short notice,” You return his smile with one of your own as you take the shirt from him, retreating into the bathroom to change into it.

You feel the soft cotton against your bare skin as you pull the fabric over your head, noticing that it’s been washed recently, and it still has a slight smell of Spencer’s cologne. It falls quite low, Spencer having to have bought a bigger size than he realistically needed due to the length of his torso.

Your mind continues to run rampant as you exit the bathroom, a mix of the overwhelming stress of your situation and the conflicting feeling of serenity from the solicitude radiating from Spencer.

It was a lot to process for it to be just 1am.

You basically collapse onto Spencer’s couch, burying your head into his pillow with a groan and unfolding the blanket to throw it over yourself.

“If you need anything, anything at all just wake me up okay?” Spencer continued to express that kind compassion that made your chest tingle a little, definitely not helped by the faint scent of his cologne radiating from his pillow, joined by a trace of lavender, most likely an essential oil he’d been using in the hope it would help him sleep better.

“Yeah, thank you again Spencer, it really means a lot.” Your voice is half muffled by the angle of your head against the pillow as you crane your neck to look at him.

“It’s really no problem. You’re always welcome,” He switched off the small lamp keeping the living room, dimly lit, allowing it to fall into a comfortable darkness. “Get some sleep okay?”

“Yeah, thank you Spence…” Spencer gives you one last smile, joined by a half wave that you found more endearing than awkward, before leaving for his bedroom and clicking the door shut behind him.

For the next half hour or so you lie awake on his couch, trying in vain to sleep despite the rampaging thoughts running through your head. It was only when you heard Spencer open the door and quietly enter the room that you finally turned your head to look at him.

The surprise on his face told you that he hadn’t expected you to be still awake. “Why are you still up?”

“My mind’s running a million miles a minute, why are you up?” Your voice is partially hoarse from tiredness, and you shift around on the couch until you are lying facing in his direction.

“Just wanted to get a glass of water…” Spencer purses his lips slightly as his eyes trail over the position you’re lying in, clearly feeling a sad-sympathy at your mind’s insistence at you staying awake. “Hey, can I try something?”

Spencer slowly makes his way over to where you’re lying, taking a seat on the edge of the coffee table in front of you.

“Sure?” You raise an eyebrow slightly, rubbing one of your knuckles over your eyelid. Spencer smiles at your reaction, extending his hand palm-up.. “Alright... can I have your hand please?”

“Should I sit up?” You extend your right hand towards him, using your left to prop yourself up onto your elbow.

Spencer shakes his head. “No, no, keep being comfortable... I think I know how to fix your problem.”

Spencer then reaches out and takes your hand firmly in his, holding it between both of his hands with your palm facing the ceiling. “Ready?”

You give him a short nod in expectancy, eyes flickering between the way his hands hold yours and his eyes as you lie on your back.

His hands were frigidly cold compared to the warmth of his apartment, but you couldn’t say that it was uncomfortable, it was actually quite soothing, a nice contrast from the small cocoon of warmth under the blanket.

Spencer slowly rubs his fingers on the inside of your palm, adding a gentle pressure first to the bases of your fingers and working his way down slowly, pressing the pads of his fingertips into your skin in small circles. “Close your eyes and breathe deeply.”

You follow his guidance with no hesitation, relaxing back into the pillow beneath your head and closing your eyes as you focus on the feeling of Spencer’s fingers dancing over the palm of your hand.

“Just breathe in and out....” You can hear the confidence in his voice as he continues to move the pressure downwards, pressing his thumb against your wrist and gently massaging it.

“A lack of sleep is usually the cause of delayed melatonin production, and studies have shown that certain pressure points on our bodies can help speed up the process.” Spencer begins to explain the reasoning and process behind the gentle hand massage he’s giving you, his voice soft and quiet.

“It was traditionally used in China as a part of acupressure, with six identified pressure points on our bodies that encouraged the production of serotonin and melatonin to help with relaxation and reduce chronic pain, but in the present day it’s been adapted into a massaging technique to help people fall asleep.”

The softness of his voice paired with the gentle massaging of his fingers on your wrist quickly left you feeling more relaxed.

“There are two pressure points on different points of your ankles, one point on each foot, one between your eyebrows, one behind each of your ears, and one on each of your wrists.” You find yourself nodding along to his explanation absentmindedly as you enjoy the gentle pressure of his fingers.

“Although, the only pressure points that have been reliably linked to melatonin production are those on your wrists and behind your ears, here, lie on your side for me.” Spencer gives your wrist a gentle pull to encourage you to turn over, which you very gladly oblige to, humming a soft agreement as you turn to lie of your side facing him with your eyes still closed.

He gently slides his hand up the side of your neck, the coldness of his fingers sending a small shudder up your back, and he presses his thumb into the small gap between your jaw and the rest of your skull, rubbing it in slow circles.

You let out a small, almost inaudible sigh at the gentle pressure he’s applying, and Spencer can tell that you’re quickly falling into full relaxation. “The best results from acupressure occur after 3 - 5 minutes of continuous pressure and…”

His voice trails off slowly as he feels the tension in your jaw release, and he glances down towards your face, a small smile adorning his features at your relaxed expression. “…is best done in a comfortable environment…”

He continues to rub gentle circles into your skin for the next few minutes before gently removing his hand from you, standing up from where he was sat on the coffee table with a soft smile still gracing his features.

“Sleep well..” He whispers the words under his breath as he slowly retreats back to his bedroom, the glass of water he originally sought after completely forgotten about.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It’d been a few days since you’d confided in Spencer about the stalking situation and stayed the night with him, and fit with a new set of locks on your doors, you’d gone back home to stay on your own.

You walk into the BAU office expecting to see Spencer at his desk like always, ready to talk through your next steps forward with him, except he wasn’t there. You check the watch on your wrist. 7:45. He should’ve arrived by now. Why wasn’t he here?

"Hey uh, do you know where Spencer is?" You approach Morgan over at the kitchenette, leaning against the counter top with your elbow.

“Good morning to you too lover.” Morgan gives a half-laugh at your lack of your usual greetings, making sure to throw in a tease about how the first thing you talk about is Spencer’s whereabouts, not something entirely unfounded considering how close you and Spencer had been getting over the last week or so.

“Ha ha very funny, do you know where he is?” You respond to his quip with a slight roll of your eyes.

Morgan shrugs his shoulder slightly, taking a sip of his freshly made coffee. “Maybe he slept in,”

“Spencer Reid? The man with four wake up alarms?” You furrow your expression slightly. Something about Spencer not already being in the office didn’t sit right with you.

“Okay okay, maybe that was a bad guess, but I don’t know, who knows what he might be doing,” Morgan remains nonchalant if not a little heedless. “Maybe he stumbled on an antique Russian novel collection on the way to work or something,”

“He’s never late for work-“ You mutter to yourself under your breath, half-ignoring Morgan’s attempts at explaining Spencer’s lateness, and you pull your phone out of your pocket, dialling Spencer’s number and holding up the phone to your ear, the consecutive rings echoing out of your phone’s speaker.

Pick up Spencer.

If anyone on the BAU team would know Spencer’s whereabouts, it should be the two of you. And yet neither of you had any clue where he was.

The phone continues to ring until it reaches his voicemail. there’s no answer.

Something was wrong.

You try to call him again. Nothing. This was not like Spencer at all.

Your anxiety spikes as your subconscious links his lack of answering back to your stalking situation, What if Spencer was in danger? What if this stalker had followed you to Spencer’s apartment that night you stayed with him and now knew where he lived?

The minute your brain made the connection you were turning on your heels to exit the office, grabbing your car keys from your desk as you did so.

“Hey-” Morgan follows you over to your desk, putting an arm out as you try to walk past him. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to Spencer’s apartment.” You try to push Morgan’s arm out of the way, only for him to block you with his entire body instead.

“Slow your roll there turbo, everyone is late every now and again, that doesn’t mean we have to turn up to their house out of nowhere.” Morgan’s explanation would be logical under normal circumstances, but he didn’t know that you were being stalked. Nor did he know that this stalker had possibly found Spencer’s address due to your own stupidity leaving him in potential danger.

“Listen Morgan I appreciate your apprehension but I do not have time for this right now.” You manage to swerve your way around Morgan and push your way out of the glass doors of the BAU office, bee-lining it down the stairwell instead of waiting for the elevator.

“Hey! Wait up!” Morgan’s voice echoes down the stairwell as he runs out of the office after you, only managing to catch up to you as you stop to unlock your car, and he blocks the door from opening with his hand. “What is going on?”

“Morgan, if you want to ask me questions, get in the car.” The tone of your voice leaves no room for argument, and Morgan can tell be this point taht you’re not alright, so he gives you a short nod and goes around the front of the car to get in the passenger’s side.

Please be okay, please be okay...

That’s what’s going through your mind as you leave the BAU building, running the speed limit as you drive towards Spencer’s apartment with an awful feeling in your stomach.

“So are you going to tell me what’s going on or what?” Morgan begins his questioning as soon as you hit the main road.

“I think Spencer is in danger.” You keep your eyes trained on the road, both hands braced against the steering wheel as you turn a roundabout.

“Okay, listen.... I’m with you in the fact that this is very out of character for Spencer... but there’s no use in jumping to conclusions, okay?” He puts a hand on your shoulder, clearly concerned at how fast your mind linked Spencer being late with him being in danger. “Let’s just approach this calmly and rationally.”

“I am being rational.”

“No you’re not, you’re panicking,” Morgan gives your shoulder a squeeze before letting his hand fall back into his lap. “Just take a deep breath and a second to think.” Morgan’s voice was full of a calm, soothing reassurance even as you were clearly anxious. “You’re gonna give yourself a panic attack if you don’t.”

“I know I know I’m fine-“

You open your palms against the steering wheel as if to emphasise your point, exhaling heavily through your nose as you pull into the parking lot of Spencer’s Apartment building, leaving your car parked at an angle across two parking spaces.

You’re thankful in this moment that Spencer lives so close to the office building, and you shut off the car quickly, exiting it with the same haste.

Morgan follows closely behind you as you jog across the concrete towards the entrance of the building, locking your car remotely as you pushed the outside door open and started your ascent of the stairs.

“Come on, calm down you don’t need to run-” Morgan called after you as he followed you up the stairs, continuing to try in vein to get you to take a step back and just calm down a little.

You didn’t listen of course, and you only come to a halt once you’ve reached Spencer’s apartment door.

You reach out your right hand to knock as Morgan reaches your side, but as your knuckles come into contact with the wood of the door it creaks open, the hinge pin of the door not fully closed.

Oh no.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds angst #criminal minds x reader #mgg #spencer reid angst #erotomania

[wilwheaton]

Only Chris Christie stood up and said that “regardless of what you think about the legality of Trump’s actions,” someone had to “stop normalizing the conduct.” He went on to say that Trump’s “conduct is beneath the level of the office.” Chris Christie may have a noble intent, but he happens to be a terrible messenger. In a new Des Moines Register/NBC News/ Mediacom Iowa poll published Monday, Christie has a mind-blowing 60% “unfavorable” rating. That’s probably a higher number than the Ken dolls in the “Barbie” movie. And yet Christie forged ahead in a mission that is either full-on kamikaze or the only strategy with the slightest chance of actually taking down Trump. He did land a few hard punches, but with Trump nowhere to be seen, the impact of those zingers was neutralized. His reward for calling out Trump’s behavior as “beneath the level of the office” -- a simple recitation of reality – was that the Republicans in the hall showered Christie with catcalls and boos. The boos rose to a decibel level where Christie was drowned out. FOX moderator Brett Baier made the extraordinary gesture of turning and admonishing the audience. But that moment is really all you need to know about today’s Republican Party. Chris Christie was making a fair and, in fact, wildly understated point: that Trump’s conduct is beneath the dignity of the office. But today’s Republican Party cannot handle the truth.

You Want the Truth, Republicans? Debate Proves You Can’t Handle the Truth.

[drdougdouglass]

“You know, every time Donald thinks things are not going in his direction he claims, whatever it is, is rigged against him. The FBI conducted a year-long investigation into my emails, they concluded there was no case. He said the FBI was rigged. He lost the Iowa caucus, he lost the Wisconsin primary. He said the Republican primary was rigged against him.”

“President Obama said the other day, ‘When you’re whining, it just shows you’re not up to doing the job.’ "

[precious-little-scoundrel]

i was thinking about what late night talks with bucky would be like (call me crazy), and it got me thinking:

other than dying (though arguably some are not afraid of dying), what do you think some of the mota men’s greatest fears are? i could write a hundred essays on each of them, they all are so different!

Gosh, this is an incredible ask and it got me thinkin. Too hard, probably. And while I didn’t summarize thoughts for everyone I did think of them for Bucky.

So much so I wrote a little blurb on it. Sorry Nonnie if you’re not even into this universe, I totally get it but I found fic to be a more enlightening method for exploring this. I wanna hear those thoughts of yours! Send them, I beg!

Greatest Fear

They got a bit existential as the weeks went on and their nights got more conscious. Ida and Bucky’s minds grew restless in the cold now that their bodies were healing. Huddled in their bunk they had debated baseball vs football endlessly, and argued regarding the accuracy of each other’s training anecdotes, the morality of mobsters and who was the better boxer: Braddock or Baer.

They’d ended up talking of the war, and both being sick of the dead end that the question of the future brought, they circled back around more concrete -if troublesome- thoughts. Most hairy landings, worst sounds either heard from their crew over the radio and what flashed across their minds when they had to finally press that abandon ship control.

And finally, Bucky ended up asking her what her worst fear was. And when Ida didn’t have it readily to hand -too used to suppressing any such thoughts even to her own self- he clarified: “Besides dying, I mean. If you’re even scared of that. Knowin’ you, maybe you aren’t.”

“I’d rather not.” she admitted.

“So? So what gets you scared?”

“This your way of fishing for another ghost story?” Ida teased.

“No. Just feels like sometimes you gotta remind yourself what it’s all about. Scared of dyin’ means you like livin’ enough to rather not stop. That sorta thing.”

“You’re saying love for one thing drives fear for another.” She summarized.

“Dunno. Just mullin’ it over.”

“I’d go through anything not to lose John.” she conceded, “Funny enough I’m positive he feels the same, so what a snarl.”

“I know he does.”

“Yeah.”

“If they put a gun to Buck’s head I’d tell ‘em Roosevelt's address and his favorite drink order, too.” Bucky expounded, tongue loosened by her tiny admission of frailty. “And he’d hate me for it.”

“All different kinds of loves out there.” Ida murmured consolingly, thinking hard on how her brother had been in a rage at her condition when he first saw her, and yet one of his first questions was whether she’d given anything up. Her Johnny knew she couldn’t live with herself if she had and he wouldn't've wanted her to. And nothing about that struck her as cold. Just as Bucky’s dangerous devotion to Gale didn’t strike her as weak. Just different.

“I saw a train.” Bucky began a thought but his voice died out with such finality Ida wondered if he’d ever pick the subject up again. But after a long moment he did, with some far away quality present in his voice that she’d never heard before, “On the way here. We were on one set of tracks and it was comin’ up the other.”

Ida had memories of trains, a lot of them. Going south all alone, first trip down to the uncle and aunts during the worst year of the depression. Old enough to know her own folks couldn’t support her, old enough to question how a ticket could be arranged but not supper. There had been trains that took her to training in Texas, then on to Iowa and Nebraska. Trains that took her deeper into Germany. One entire train car just for herself and too many German soldiers. Then the train that took them away from Ravensbruck. Ida felt an unsettled anticipation around trains that the peaceful rightness of flight had never caused her.

When Bucky mentioned trains and didn’t go on, Ida folded her hand into his huge one and squeezed it tightly. “What about those trains, John?”

“Heard ‘em before we saw ‘em.” he clarified, nodding his head conversationally as he was want to do, like he was gaining momentum towards a hard saying. Ida braced herself, squeezed just a little harder. “Not the engines, the screams. Car after car, and nothin’ but arms and faces reachin’ out. Screaming.”

Bucky’s bruised eyes were fixed, downcast gaze somewhere in the vicinity of her throat, but Ida knew he was seeing something far away. “I think I saw where they take them.” she muttered before she even had time to weigh her contribution to this horrid tale.

His eyes focused again and he looked at her with silent inquiry. “They took us to a labor camp first. Before here. Apparently one of the nicer ones, they had intentions of treating us as civilians.” Ida had been preoccupied with her aching body and her sharp terror of failure while at Ravensbruck, but not so much as to not notice the haunting vestiges of humanity answering roll beside her. “I felt like I was in Hades, the cold hell. Where the living damned can peruse each special misery waiting for them when they die. Called it a labor camp but I don’t know how skeletons like that could produce anything. Last bits of human resilience used to put together some industry to keep their oppressors fed, equipped. What an end.”

“Scares me shitless.” Bucky replied vehemently, and Ida realized they’d gotten full circle in their talk, that he’d dragged more out of her than she ever intended. Somehow neither his statement of fear nor her own felt weak in the moment. “That folks could get so hard they could do that to each other -I don’t know what to do with that, Ida. How’s it get to that point. Why’ve you got Fritz and then you’ve got…that? Same country, same sauerkraut, same uniforms. Scares me shitless.”

MOTA taglist, I only have one so ignore if this is not the universe you signed up for:

@stylespresleyhearted

@ab4eva

@earth-to-lottie

@suraemoon

@blurredcolour

@steph-speaks

@crazymadpassionatelove

@rubyfruitjungle

@taestrwbrry

@storysimp

@javden

@sexualparkour

@jointherebellion215

@sunny747

@ask-you-what-sir

@xxanaduwrites

@pretty4u

@yorkshirekiwi

@waitedforlove743

@elvismylove04

@blikebarbie92

@luminouslywriting

@euryno-j47

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@ka-ski

@darkestbeforethedawn16

@slowsweetlove

@richardslady121

@barbeygirl

@prfctplcsreads

@vaf24

@harrys-housewife

@claireelizabeth85

@pearlparty

@piastrinho

#Ida and Bucky snuggling and having some seriously angsty chats #but also- I’ve been long pondering what may have fucked Bucky up most about his time before the Stalag and I don’t think it was the lynchin #masters of the air #mota #mota fanfic #integrated au #those who can

[captainjonnitkessler]

George Hull was an atheist in the 1860s, and he was pretty pissed off at biblical literalists. In particular, he was pissed off about the gullibility of those who insisted that giants had once roamed the earth, simply because it said so in the Bible.

Hull, a big fan of science and the still-new theory of evolution, decided to do what any rational, science-minded man would do: He spent today's equivalent of $60,000 buying a bunch of stone from Iowa, sending it to Chicago to have it fashioned into a giant statue of a man in absolute secrecy, shipping it to his cousin's farm in New York, burying it there in the dead of night, waiting a year, and then having his cousin hire two men to dig a well in that spot so they could "discover" the giant. Obviously.

He and his cousin set up a tent and charged people for admission to see the "Cardiff Giant" and made absolute bank from the hundreds of people per day that flocked to it. Experts insisted it was a hoax, but many people were convinced it was proof of the Bible's inerrancy. Eventually Hull sold his part-interest to David Hannum for today's equivalent of over $500,000. PT Barnum, the infamous showman and ringmaster, then tried to buy it and when Hannum refused to sell, he made his own copy. He declared his to be the original and Hannum's version the fake, potentially leading Hannum to coin the famous phrase "there's a sucker born every minute". He also sued Barnum, but according to Wikipedia "the judge told him to get his giant to swear on his own genuineness in court if he wanted a favorable injunction".

Eventually Hull proudly confessed to the hoax, putting an end once and for all to the debates about either giants' genuineness. Hull claimed that his intent had been to reveal the gullibility of Christians and to refute anti-science religious fundamentalism.

Then he moved to Colorado and did the exact same thing again, except this time he added a tail and called it the "missing link" between humans and apes.

(Big shoutout to the podcast The Constant: A History of Getting Things Wrong, where I first heard about the Cardiff Giant. If you like weird stories from history you need to check out this podcast it is SO fucking good)

#western new york has a lot to answer for in terms of spirituality and woo - and again we are SO fucking sorry about joseph smith - #but at least we also have this #anyway there's not a point to this post i just think it's a fun and weird story #also i think more people should listen to the constant. PLEASE it is so so good #also the original giant is still on display in cardiff new york! i'm thinking about going to see it sometime #atheism #skepticism umbrella

[wcbblife]

caitlin’s a great player but like those refs were insane

im actually tweaking rn

Look I'm going to be very clear. Caitlin is a great player with great basketball IQ and skills. There is no debating that because we've seen what she's capable of.

However what I saw today was absolutely absurd on the refs part. You had Caitlin pushing off left and right and ofc NO CALL which is something we see her do all the time sadly. But as soon as the Uconn girls even breathed around Iowa they counted the foul. I mean c'mon we all saw that ONE foul where KK didn't even touch the Iowa player. They should honestly be investigated but let's be fr rn...that ain't gonna happen because it NEVER does in the NCAA.

The NCAA had such an opportunity to let these talented women battle it out (fairly ofc without the bs calls the refs made) and let them outplay one another and they also could've let a historical ending play out (if Paige made it ofc and if Li hadn't been called for that STUPID offensive foul) but instead, they ripped a trip to the finals clean out of these kids hands without a second thought.

YOU NEVER CALL THAT. NOT WITH LITERAL SECONDS LEFT IN THE CLOCK. NEVER. It was an atrocious call and the refs really swallowed their whistles until there was a possibility of Caitlin losing. Like I GET IT you want her to get her team to the finals so she can get her revenge but on the other hand my heart breaks for Uconn.

So yes, I too am tweaking. This crap makes basketball unenjoyable.

SC better beat their butts Sunday. I MEAN IT

#wcbb #women's basketball #iowa hawkeyes #iowa wbb #paige bueckers #uconn huskies #uconn wbb

[nodynasty4us]

[Larry] Elder was quick to mention... that he needed more contributions to his campaign in order to qualify as a candidate for the first Republican primary debate. In order to qualify, candidates must receive a minimum of donations from 40,000 different people. It seems to be what his candidacy is focused on—multiple times he mentioned he simply hoped he will shape the conversation in the field.

Eleven Iowa State Fair Scenes That Define The GOP Primary - Iowa Starting Line

#larry elder #debate #iowa #2024

[blackphanto]

Chucky predictions

SPOILER WARNING FOR CHUCKY S3E5!

I wanna make Chucky theories so bad, but I can't think of any! This show is so crazy that I can't even predict or speculate on what could happen next. There are some people teasing on twitter though and all they've been doing is making me even more hyped for how this season is going to end. So here are some of my predictions based on everything that's been teased so far.

Jake will enter the spirit realm:

I don't think he's necessarily going to die, but he's so fixated on ending Chucky for good to the point where he refused to run away from it all like Devon suggested. And we've heard the doctor, the only way you get to the spirit realm is by dying, but what if you didn't need to die? I believe that thanks to all the supernatural shit occurring there, the White House will become some sort of passage between the two realms. Jake will cross it to try and destroy Charles' soul, but if he will fail or succeed is still debatable...

Caroline helps Chucky get young again:

If Jake fails in permanently killing Chucky, Caroline will come to the rescue. We know she'll be back, but what role will she play in this mess? When she'll return, all hell already would've broken loose and she'll just make it worse. Her sudden entrance at the White House will cause quite the emotional reunion for Lexi and her. Yet, Caroline didn't come alone. Armed with the Voodoo for Dummies book, sure, but she brought another friend, who's none other than the Good Guy Doll creator played by John Waters. He came with a new doll, a new vessel for Charles and with Caroline's newfound knowledge of Voodooism, she'll get Damaballa's blessings and give Chucky a new body, a new chance to not disappoint the almighty Iowa and if he plays his cards right, he might even become forever young.

Grant will survive:

I don't have any evidence to back this up, I just like him and think it's unfair that Lexy always has to say goodbye to someone she loves each season and I just don't want it to happen again. From a psychology standpoint it just desensitized her and would lead to her not getting attached to anyone else besides Jake & Devon next season, in fear of someone else always having to die because of her. And from a writing perspective it just gets repetitive, predictable and boring. So please Don Mancini don't kill him, also I love Jackson Kelly.

The past will haunt everyone:

Charles Lee Ray isn't the only ghost the Terror Trio will have to deal with in the newly supernatural possessed White House. We've seen the past of the Collins family haunt them time and time again, we've seen Henry talk about ghosts and fearing what they told him almost every single episode. Why would that stop at Joseph or Charles? Wouldn't it be horrible for our trio to be faced with the lives they lost thanks to a doll they couldn't stop? How would Jake react upon seeing his father again, disappointed at him for being gay. And Lexy, the poor girl, facing Junior, the boy she watched die, trying to save her... Not making at least one ghost of the past come back would be a wasted opportunity.

Tiffany will survive, but Jennifer's body might not:

Tiffany's possible death has been brought up in every interview Jennifer Tilly made following the comeback of Chucky season 3. At this point it even became a ‘will they, won't they’ situation. Does Mancini really have the guts to kill off a cult favorite character and actress he loves so much? Or will we just say goodbye to seeing Tilly on screen and welcome only her voice? I mean the trailer kinda made it clear for me that this isn't the end of Tiffany's story, but maybe that of Jennifer's body.

#chucky #charles lee ray #chucky series #chucky season 3 #chucky syfy #lexy cross #jake wheeler #devon evans #childs play #tiffany #tiffany valentine #jennifer tilly #devon sawa #brad dourif #tyler bass #grant collins #jackson Kelly #alyvia alyn lind #zackary arthur #bjorgvin arnarson #don mancini

[palmtreepalmtree]

Alright, here it is, the totally unasked for review of Irish Wish from a woman who does not have the time to be doing it but can't stop thinking about it SO HERE WE ARE.

The Worst Movie on Netflix right now is Lindsay Lohan in Irish Wish.

Alright, so if you don't know the premise, I will recap for you. Lindsay plays Maddie, a book editor who has edited a bestselling novel on behalf of this uber wealthy and allegedly Irish dude Paul Kennedy who is a bestseller (whether he was a bestseller before or after Maddie helped him on this, his second book, is unclear, but I refuse to debate it). She has a huge adult lady girl crush on this man, but has not told him yet.

Our movie, such as it is, begins at his book launch where Maddie is girding her loins to try to tell him how she feels---and instead he winds up vibing with her gal pal Emma. FAST FORWARD and Emma and Paul are getting married. And Maddie is miserable and still pining. So she manages to make a wish to a wish-granting (Catholic?*) Saint Bridget that she wishes she were marrying Paul instead. AND THEN HIJINKS ENSUE.

Here's the CRAZY thing -- that there is a world-altering wish granted by some random Irishy fairy/saint is the least logically offensive thing to happen in this insane, inhuman, bizarre series of events that we're calling a "movie."

I mean less than 5 minutes into the movie, Maddie is having a speakerphone conversation with her mom in the bathroom of the book launch where she is openly speaking about her feelings for Paul.

What is she a boomer!? BUT ALSO you hope your mom in fucking IOWA (Jane Seymour, cashing checks) has not told anyone about your feelings for Paul that you are discussing on SPEAKERPHONE in the bathroom AT PAUL'S BOOK LAUNCH!?

Not two seconds later, a pair of extras leave the bathroom stalls and exit the bathroom behind her. And she doesn't react in any concerned way. She does not react at all. Is she not worried about who just overheard her? Is she not embarrassed? Maybe these are friends of Paul who would be interested to know that his Editor has a crush on him!? We are in fact at his book launch!? This is a startlingly weird lack of reaction! Like......... we are less than 5 minutes into this movie and I am already wondering where basic human logic just went. WAS THERE NOT A SINGLE HUMAN PERSON ON SET OR IN THE EDITING ROOM WHO THOUGHT THIS WAS A PROBLEM!?

Alright, somehow, I have to get further into this movie than 3 minutes and 55 seconds.

So Maddie's gearing up to tell Paul her feelings and as soon as he sees her, he says he wants to talk to her about something important. And when they sit down together, he takes her by the hand, gazes deeply into her eyes with the sincere, smoldering look above, and says this: I feel like it's time we take our relationship to the next level. And she lights up. CAUSE THIS IS HER MOMENT AND SHE DIDN'T HAVE TO DO ANYTHING OR RISK ANYTHING! But then Paul just asks her to work with him on his next book. And she is devastated.

But here's the thing. WHO FUCKING SAYS THAT!? What man does that? THAT IS A TRASH MAN, MADDIE! He is obviously manipulating her to get what he wants. GET OUT OF THERE, MADDIE! GET OUT OF THERE!

The thing is the movie does not reckon or deal with this moment at all (because it is not a movie it is just a semblance of scenes). When the movie fasts forward and Paul is marrying Emma, we're meant to believe that Maddie is still friends with him, works with him, and admires him. The MOVIE ITSELF never questions this---is Paul a sincere authentic dude who was just oblivious to how he was coming over? Or was he screwing her over!?

I don't need a fucking idiotic Saltburn-style reveal, but the movie should have a fucking opinion about this and it should be reflected in it. It should be there in the mise-en-scene, the costuming, the subtext, SOMEWHERE. But this is not a movie, it is just a semblance of scenes.

I have written many words, and I am 7 minutes into the movie. So I am going to take a break and come back to his.

============= LUNCH BREAK ============

Alright, look, there are about 90 more minutes left in this movie and there are just dozens and dozens more moments like this where people do things and say things that just defy logic or are otherwise untreated and unacknowledged by the narrative. Parts of this movie approximate real life, but they don't come near it.

Rachel Handler over at Vulture does a granular breakdown (and still misses things cause omg this movie is a mess!) that you can check out here. She suggests that this movie could only have been written by AI. I get where she's coming from.

So much of this movie includes rom-com tropes like it's ticking off boxes rather than adding value to the overall story. For example, Maddie is repeatedly portrayed as a klutz---tripping over things, nearly breaking things. Why? I'm too tired to even be mad about this. Just.... why?!

The common wisdom is that gorgeous actresses need to be more relatable to audiences and making them klutzy is an easy shorthand for relatability.

The thing is this trope---and so many rom-com tropes---are deeply offensive to the women who make up much of the target audience. I mean JFC, gorgeous women can be single! For so.many.reasons. And I don't know about you, but I don't need an absurd narrative justification for why that might be that diminishes the main character and makes her look silly.

I mean, I'm a fuckup, but I don't get into a tug-of-war battle at the airport over luggage. (wtf, why didn't she just look at the fucking bag tag? This is insane behavior! Is this a sad little attempt at humor!? Barely 11 minutes into the movie now!).

The theme of this movie, to the extent there is one, (TO THE EXTENT THIS IS A MOVIE AT ALL) is that Maddie needs to learn to speak up for herself to get the things she actually wants. But she spends half the movie saying MY MOM WILL FIX IT! Just wait until my mom gets here!

Again, how is this a likeable or interesting character trait? It's one thing for a character to need to speak up for themselves. But there is something remarkably juvenile about a character who repeatedly says her mom will fix it.

In her review, Handler notes how unbelievably sexless this movie is and I 100% agree and noticed it immediately. To the extent that Maddie suddenly wakes up in the exact world she wants, she is remarkably embarrassed about getting the thing---THE MAN---she wants. She seems obviously afraid to kiss him, and "accidentally" (massive side-eye) kicks the shit out of him when she finds him in her bed.

It's like the movie doesn't want her to want anything. While simultaneously telling us she doesn't ask for the things she wants.

By the way, this is an insane contrast to the recent Netflix movie Players in which Gina Rodriguez spends the whole movie asking for the things she wants, pursuing it, and getting it. Fuck yeah, Gina.

I'm not saying a movie has to be sexual to be romantic or to work or anything like that. I'm saying don't be so fucking coy about it that you're inadvertently telling women that sex is NOT a part of love or that you're telling women they should be ashamed of desiring someone emotionally and physically. That's fucking ridiculous puritan SHIT.

Alright, this is the rare review that I have not thoughtfully organized in humorous stages. There's really just too much here to mine. There are the absurd accents that Seamas O'Reilly noted and understands much better than me in his review for the Irish Examiner here.

He also noted the uncanny valley of the location that feels totally phony the whole way through. And probably for good reason. I mean, first of all, we're supposed to believe that this candy pink dock is a real fucking place in Ireland??????

(Allegedly the lake is real, but fuck me I hope the dock is fake!!)

And honestly, of course it's fucking FAKE. Not sure if you can see the planter of flowers that are supposed to be just wild in the landscape, but I sure could.

But you don't really need evidence to tell you that everything about this movie is a contrived, fake, phony mess.

And here, ultimately is the problem.

Irish Wish is an objectively bad movie. I mean, I don't really care that there are always going to be tons of people whining about how 'it's a fun movie!' and 'it's just not that deep!' Like FUCK OFF. HAVE SOME FUCKING STANDARDS IN YOUR LIFE. It's a bad movie.

But there's almost zero way for this to impact Netflix's assessment of what works and what doesn't on their network and what they should invest in moving forward.

According to some sources, Players (a perfectly fine, predictable movie with good actors, okay writing, and actual production values) had 16.3 million views on the first week. Irish Wish had 19.5 million. Netflix has no way to determine whether one is of better quality than the other. It rewards the shitty writing, shitty production, equally, if not more.

I didn't get so mad after watching Irish Wish that I canceled my subscription. No, I just recognized that, 'oh hey, Physical 100 has a new season out next week.' So I just waited for that and watched the next thing on Netflix.

Sigh. And honestly, Irish Wish is so bad it's kind of fucking hilarious to watch, so maybe that's worth something here. Hard to argue with that.

I don't want to declare a genre dead, but we're running so hard in the wrong direction in the world of rom-com, that it's becoming painful to love these movies. It doesn't help that critics constantly give low ratings to rom-coms because of their predictability instead of understanding that being predictable is an essential part of the genre. But there's still a stark difference between Players and Irish Wish and I don't think that's properly reflected in a 4% audience score differential on Rotten Tomatoes. Like... what are we even doing here guys!? HAVE SOME STANDARDS, I AM BEGGING YOU.

But I do love this genre. I really do. I love these movies. I don't know what it's going to take to save them. But I can tell you one thing.

We can't count on Lindsay Lohan doing it for us.

*I am not getting into the religious implications here cause I'm an atheist Jew, so leave me out of this.

#ptpt reviews #fucking hell this is a #long post #sorry i guess #don't @ me #i honestly do not care #players is good #not nearly as good as someone like you #but gina rodriguez is still super charming #i feel like there are a lot more tags for this that i am forgetting #but i gotta get back to work #so over everything