#rewatching bones does

[kyurochurro]

"gentlemen i believe... we are lost."

(entering the new year with a stv drawing since im still on a st movie kick from the marathon my dad and i had HEHE >:D)

[lord-paul20]

Love that booth doesn't belittle temperance for asking "obvious" questions, love that he has an actual convo and explains it to her

[sesamestreep]

“requiem for methuselah” crazy ass episode for many reasons. Kirk is being fully insane, like I don’t actually think, even controlling for how quickly and easily and readily he seems to fall in love with anybody at the slightest encouragement, that he’d go that bonkers for that android woman he just met while everyone on the ship was this close to dying, but that’s neither here nor there, because in the background you’ve got an equally but much more subtly insane episode for Spock, who extremely uncharacteristically admits to experiencing an emotion (or nearly experiencing, whatever) and that emotion is ENVY of all things. And then spends the rest of the episode warning Kirk away from this new love interest (something that doesn’t usually happen, even when Kirk has very inadvisable love interests) and is, in the end, the person who accurately identifies that Rayna’s competing love for Kirk and Flint is ultimately what overwhelms and destroys her with the most killer line in maybe history???

And then to wrap it up we get an equally uncharacteristic sort of denouement scene (TOS loooves to cut an episode off right after the actual climax, leaving little time for falling action or character reflection, or to stick a sitcom-y button on the end where the gang all smiles and laughs at their misadventures and everything resets to zero, which is not a criticism, it’s just the style of that era of tv, honestly) where Kirk is literally miserable over Rayna’s death (again, kind of unusual for a lot of his love interests, he tends to be able to move on pretty quickly) and Spock goes to see him and he falls asleep right in front of Spock (also odd) and then when Bones comes in to give the final word on Flint, Spock waves him off from waking the Captain (tender) and Bones gives him that awful speech about how it’s sadder that Spock can’t even imagine the love Kirk felt for this random android woman than it is that Kirk lost her in the first place (debatable but also rude) and how his great tragedy is that he can’t love at all like they can and how all he wishes is that Kirk could forget about all of this and move on. AND THEN, to have Bones leave and Spock go over to Kirk and very gently, tenderly, reluctantly touch him and put his hand to his forehead and tell him to forget and HAVE THAT BE THE END OF THE EPISODE??? What am I supposed to do with that??

[helenofblackthorns]

"the atla live action is the worst adaptation ever" none of you people would have survived shtv

[did-sm1-say-catfish]

club au wendell you will always be famous to me.

[howdomaddie]

thinking about roxas's chosen keyblades being the ones that represent sora's relationships with both kairi and riku. considering the implication of roxas being his own person but simultaneously the living proof of sora's connection to the two people most important to him. chewing on it, even.

[moghraidhs]

one thing about sas rogue heroes is that the shipping potential is unmatched

[ludinusdaleth]

ludinus recommending the m9 go to a CURIO ANTIQUE SHOP he frequents. unfortunately this is an ELF 100% AFTER MY OWN HEART

[rangersoup]

Personal rant in the tags that I’ll probably delete later

[saph-yells-into-the-void]

have i ever mentioned on here that i watched alien stage in its entirety a few days ago :3

[breadboylovin]

they should NOT have let a gay man go to livemind my crush on riley is getting to embarrassing levels again

[deansguns]

jfc watching the s4 ep 20 and sam is so unempathetic with jimmy, i get that he’s running low on demon blood but if i were jimmy i would not have listened to him either

[gf2bellamy]

hello!

I sent a request some time ago but not sure if you saw it 💞could you do one where the reader is the one infected with anthrax instead of reid? maybe they are already a official couple? or not- whichever is fine. Fluffy at the end 💞bonus points for Hotch worried for both of them

Thanks love!

anthrax — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader is infected with anthrax , mention of being dizzy and exhausted , mention of fever, mention of nasal cannula, reader passing out , reader ends up in hospital a/n: hiii!!! i'm so sorry it took so long <3 also i rewatched the scenes on youtube ( instead of the entire ep ) so if i got something wrong i'm vv sorry !! hope you like this :)

Spencer frowned, mid-sentence, his words faltering. "What do—" He turned instinctively, expecting to see you beside him. But you weren’t there.

His stomach twisted as he spun in place, scanning the area. Derek was a few steps away on the sidewalk, wearing the same confused expression. You had been right there just moments ago.

Then Spencer's gaze snapped to the house. The front door was swinging shut.

He surged forward, reaching the door just as it latched shut. His hands pressed flat against the wood before he fumbled with the handle, rattling it frantically.

“Hey! What are you doing?” His voice wavered as he rattled the door handle, his hazel eyes wide with panic. He could see you clearly through the glass pane. 

Derek was right behind him now. “Open the door. What the hell are you doing?” His voice was demanding, but Spencer could hear the underlying fear laced in it. 

That’s when he saw it. 

The small, shattered vial on the floor. 

Tiny, glimmering shards of broken glass spread across the tile, barely catching the light. But Spencer didn't care about the glass—he cared about what had been inside of it. 

Anthrax. 

The realization hit him like a freight train. His mind, always so quick, always analyzing, now felt sluggish, as though he were processing everything in slow motion. 

The room you were in had been compromised. You had inhaled it. 

“No,” Spencer whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. 

His hands pressed against the cool surface of the glass, as if he could reach through it and pull you back to him. Derek muttered a curse under his breath, his jaw tightening, but even he knew—there was nothing either of them could do. Not right now. 

You swallowed hard, blinking up at Spencer. He could see the fear in your eyes, the resignation settling in. 

"I’m sorry," you murmured. 

A lump formed in his throat. His fingers curled into fists against the door. 

“Don’t. Don’t say that.” His voice cracked. “You’re going to be okay. We can fix this. We can—” 

Your lips trembled, and though you tried to smile, it faltered. 

Spencer had never felt so helpless in his entire life. His mind screamed at him to think, to find a solution, to do something.But for the first time, he had no answer. 

And that terrified him. 

You weren’t sure how much time had passed. Minutes? An hour? The room felt both too hot and too cold at the same time. Your head rested against the door, your body slumped slightly as exhaustion settled into your bones. You weren’t in pain, but you felt weak—like all the energy had slowly been draining out of you. 

Through the glass, Spencer was still there. 

He hadn’t moved an inch. 

Derek had tried—more than once—to get him to step away, but Spencer refused. His back was pressed against the door, his knees pulled up as he sat on the floor, staring at you like if he blinked, you might disappear entirely. 

“I’m not leaving,” he had said, voice quiet. And that was that. 

You exhaled softly, letting your fingers trace invisible patterns against the cool surface of the glass. Spencer noticed immediately. His gaze flickered to your hand, then back to your face. 

“You’re sweating,” he murmured, concern evident in every syllable. 

You gave a small, lopsided smile. “Yeah. I guess breathing in bioweapons does that to a person.” 

Spencer frowned. “That’s not funny.” 

“Little funny,” you teased, tilting your head to look at him. 

He sighed, but you could see the slight twitch of his lips, like he wanted to scold you and smile at the same time.

A comfortable silence settled between you two, despite the chaos unfolding around you.

“You’re okay,” he said suddenly, more to himself than to you. “Your symptoms aren’t progressing rapidly. That’s… that’s a good sign.” 

You raised a brow. “You’re diagnosing me through a glass door now, Doctor Reid?” 

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Actually, rapid-onset symptoms from inhalation of anthrax typically appear within a few hours. Since you’re only experiencing mild weakness and slight sweating, it’s possible that the exposure was minimal. And if that’s the case, early treatment should be highly effective—” 

“Spence,” you interrupted gently. 

He stopped rambling. 

Your voice was softer this time. “I know you’re scared.” 

His eyes darted away for a split second, but then he sighed and met your gaze again. “Of course I am,” he admitted. “I—” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair before resting his palm against the door, mirroring your position. “I can’t lose you.” 

Warmth spread through your chest, even as your body trembled slightly from exhaustion. 

“You won’t.” 

You weren’t sure if it was the truth or just something to comfort him, but you needed him to believe it. And maybe, just maybe, you needed to believe it, too. 

Spencer took a slow, shaky breath. “Just… keep talking to me, okay? Stay awake.” 

You smiled. “Only if you promise to stay with me.” 

His eyes softened, his fingers twitching slightly against the glass. 

“I promise.” 

Your body felt heavier now. The exhaustion was creeping in faster than before, and you could see the way Spencer’s expression kept shifting—his mind was racing, cataloging every symptom, analyzing every possible outcome. You knew what he was doing. He was trying to calculate how much time you had, how bad it would get. 

You couldn’t let him spiral. 

“Spence,” you said, voice softer than before. You blinked a few times, trying to focus, forcing yourself to sit up straighter. He immediately caught on, his hands pressing against the glass like he could hold you up through sheer willpower alone. 

“I’m here,” he reassured, but his voice was tight. 

You gave him a small, tired smile. “Do you remember our first date?” 

Spencer’s forehead creased. “Why—why are you bringing that up right now?” 

“Because I want to talk about something good,” you murmured, tilting your head slightly, “and because I want you to stop staring at me like I’m a math equation with a really bad solution.” 

Spencer’s lips parted like he wanted to argue, but then he let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “That’s not how I look at you.” 

“Little bit,” you teased. 

He sighed, but his shoulders relaxed—just a fraction. “Of course I remember our first date.” 

You smiled, waiting for him to continue. He shifted slightly, his eyes flickering over you, still scanning, still worried. But he played along, just like you wanted. 

“I was terrified,” he admitted after a beat. 

Your brows lifted. “You were terrified?” 

“More than you could ever imagine,” he said, his lips twitching at the memory. “I had wanted to ask you out for months, but every time I got close, I chickened out. Then one day, you just—” 

“I made the first move,” you finished for him, grinning. 

Spencer rolled his eyes but smiled despite himself. “You didn’t ask me out. You just—assumed we were going on a date.” 

You laughed, though it was weaker than usual. “Because I knew you wanted to. You weren’t exactly subtle.” 

“I thought I was,” Spencer muttered. 

“You were not.” 

His cheeks flushed slightly, and even though you felt awful, you still found the energy to appreciate how endearing he was. “Okay, fine. But that didn’t make the date any less nerve-wracking.” 

You hummed. “Yeah? What part was the worst?” 

Spencer barely hesitated. “When I spilled coffee all over my shirt before we even sat down.” 

You giggled, your fingers tapping lightly against the glass. “I remember that. You looked so horrified.” 

“I was mortified,” he corrected. “And then you just… laughed. Not at me, but—you laughed like it was the best thing that had happened all day.” 

You grinned. “Because it was adorable. You were so worried about being perfect, but I already liked you, Spence. The coffee disaster just made you even cuter.” 

Spencer exhaled a slow breath, his eyes studying you. The warmth of the memory had softened the tension in his face, but not entirely. “I didn’t think you could like me back,” he admitted quietly. “Not like that.” 

Your chest ached—not from the anthrax, but from him. 

You pressed your palm against the glass, mirroring his. “I always liked you. I was just waiting for you to catch up.” 

Spencer let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “God, I love you.” 

Your breath hitched, just slightly. Even though you’d heard those words before, they always felt brand new coming from him. You let them settle in your heart.

“Good,” you whispered, your eyelids growing heavier. “Because I really, really love you too.” 

Spencer noticed immediately. The slight droop in your posture, the way your blinks lasted just a second too long. His body tensed. 

“No, hey, stay with me,” he urged, his voice sharper now. “You have to stay awake.” 

You forced a smile, tilting your head against the door. “I’m still here, Spence. Just a little tired.” 

Spencer’s jaw clenched. He turned his head sharply toward the nearest agent. “Where the hell is the medical team?” 

“They’re almost here,” someone answered. 

“Not fast enough,” Spencer muttered under his breath before looking back at you. His fingers curled into fists against the glass. “You have to stay with me.” 

“I will,” you promised, though you weren’t entirely sure you had a say in it. 

Spencer sucked in a shaky breath, forcing himself to stay calm. “Tell me more about our first date.” 

You blinked up at him. “You remember it all.” 

“Tell me anyway.” His voice cracked. 

You swallowed, nodding slightly. “Okay,” you whispered, gripping onto his voice like a lifeline. “We got ice cream after coffee. You ordered vanilla.” 

Spencer exhaled a small laugh. “It was the safest option.” 

“And then I let you try mine, and you hated it.” 

“It was mango,” he scoffed. “It tasted like… tropical regret.” 

You giggled again, your body sagging just slightly more against the door. Spencer noticed. His fingers twitched like he wanted to reach through the glass and pull you up, hold you steady. 

“Keep going,” he urged desperately. 

You blinked. “We… we sat at the park for hours.” 

“Yeah?” 

You nodded sleepily. “You kept talking about stars.” 

Spencer swallowed thickly. “Because I wanted to impress you.” 

“You already had.” You smiled softly, the memory flickering in your mind like an old film reel.

"Do you remember the first time you told me you loved me?" 

Spencer's lips parted, his brows knitting together as he searched his mind. He was stalling. 

"You do," you teased, your voice barely above a whisper. "You just don’t want to admit how ridiculous it was." 

A faint blush crept up his neck. "It wasn’t ridiculous." 

You let out a weak chuckle. "Spence. You said it because you were delirious from a fever." 

Spencer groaned, tipping his head back against the door for a brief second before looking at you again. "It still counts," he muttered defensively. 

You grinned, the exhaustion pressing heavy on your limbs, but you fought to stay awake—if only to see the way his ears turned pink at the memory. 

"You were so stubborn," you mused. "You refused to admit you were sick, and then, the second I forced you to lay down, you grabbed my hand and just—" 

"I love you," Spencer murmured, finishing the sentence before you could. 

You blinked at him. 

"You didn’t even remember saying it the next morning," you reminded him, smiling despite the heaviness weighing down on you. 

Spencer huffed. "That part was unfortunate." 

"I don’t know," you teased. "I kind of liked getting to tell you that you'd confessed your love to me in the middle of a fever dream." 

Spencer let out a breathy laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. His fingers twitched against the glass, his entire body taut with barely restrained panic. 

"Tell me more," he said suddenly. 

You blinked. "About what?" 

"Anything. Everything. Just keep talking." 

He was trying to keep you awake. 

You knew it. 

But you didn’t argue. 

You smiled softly and whispered, "Okay," before slipping into another story, your voice carrying through the glass like a lifeline. Spencer held onto every single word. 

At some point, though, Spencer had to move when the medical team came rushing in. You barely registered it—just the sound of frantic voices, the distant feeling of your body being dragged into motion. You were barely holding on, your eyes fluttering shut despite Spencer calling your name. 

Then— 

Water. Cold, drenching, shocking. 

You remembered that much. The hazmat team had hosed you down. There was vague, fleeting awareness—Spencer shouting at someone about being gentle with you, the sting of something against your skin, and then— 

You were drenched, clothes clinging to your frame, hair plastered to your face, looking equal parts miserable and very out of it. 

Then—nothing. 

When you woke up, everything felt… hazy. Heavy. Your body ached, your limbs stiff as if you’d been asleep for days. A nasal cannula rested under your nose, cool oxygen flowing through it, making each breath feel easier. 

You blinked slowly, adjusting to the hospital room. The beeping of monitors filled the space, and— 

Spencer. 

He was sitting in the chair beside your bed, staring into the air, his hands clasped together tightly. His eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, his usually neat curls disheveled, his clothes wrinkled like he hadn’t moved in hours. 

“Spencer?” 

Your voice came out hoarse, barely more than a whisper, but the second it reached him, he jolted upright. His head snapped toward you, his breath catching in his throat as he stood so quickly the chair scraped against the floor. 

For a moment, he just stared down at you, his hazel eyes wide, disbelieving—like he wasn’t sure if you were real or if his mind was playing some cruel trick on him. 

Then, in a rush, his hand was on yours, gripping tightly, his fingers trembling slightly. 

“You’re awake,” he breathed, like he had been holding those words in his chest for hours. 

You tried to smile, but your lips barely moved. “Hey, Spence.” 

He let out a choked breath, his free hand pushing through his hair, trying to keep himself together. 

“You—God, you scared me,” he whispered, his voice raw. 

Your fingers twitched against his, a weak attempt to squeeze his hand. “Sorry.” 

Spencer let out something between a laugh and a sigh, shaking his head. “Don’t. Don’t apologize.” 

There was a beat of silence, and then you gestured vaguely toward the hospital bed. “So… can I get a hug, or are you just going to stand there looking like a lost puppy?”

Spencer hesitated, his eyes flickering to the monitors and wires surrounding you. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Spencer, I’m not made of glass. Hug me.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. He leaned down carefully, wrapping his arms around you in a gentle embrace. You sighed, melting into him, your face buried in the crook of his neck. He smelled like coffee and antiseptic, and his shirt was wrinkled beyond repair, but you didn’t care.

“I was so scared,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your hair.

You tightened your grip on him as much as your weakened body would allow. “I know. But I’m okay. Thanks to you.”

Spencer pulled back slightly, his brows furrowed. “Me? I didn’t do anything.”

“You stayed with me,” you said simply, your voice soft. “That’s not nothing.”

Spencer’s eyes softened, and he brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering for a moment. “I told you I wasn’t leaving.”

“And you didn’t,” you said, smiling up at him, though your smile wavered slightly as you noticed the dark circles under his eyes, the way his shoulders sagged with exhaustion.

You watched him carefully, taking in every little detail—the way his fingers curled tightly around yours, the lingering fear in his eyes, the exhaustion weighing down his entire body. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“How long?” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer swallowed hard, his gaze flickering away for a moment before meeting yours again. “20 hours.”

Your chest tightened. No wonder he looked like he hadn’t slept.

“You stayed?” you asked, though you already knew the answer.

He let out a soft, breathy laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Of course I did.”

You let his words settle over you, the warmth of them sinking into your skin. Slowly, you turned your hand, just enough to thread your fingers through his. His grip tightened instantly.

“I’m okay,” you murmured, your voice steady despite the fatigue pulling at you.

Spencer exhaled shakily, nodding, but his eyes betrayed him—he was still scared.

“Yeah,” he whispered, squeezing your hand like he needed to convince himself. “You are.” And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he finally let himself believe it.

The door creaked open, and both of you turned to see Hotch stepping into the room. His usual stoic expression softened slightly as his eyes landed on you.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of relief. “How are you feeling?”

You managed a small smile. “Like I got hit by a truck, but… I’ll live.”

Hotch nodded, his gaze flickering to Spencer for a moment before returning to you. “You gave us quite the scare.”

“Sorry about that,” you said, your tone light. “I’ll try to avoid inhaling bioweapons in the future.”

Hotch’s lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile you were likely to get from him. “I’d appreciate that.” He paused, his expression growing more serious. “The medical team said you’re responding well to treatment.”

You nodded, feeling a small weight lift off your chest. “That’s good to hear.”

Hotch glanced at Spencer again, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the young agent’s disheveled appearance. “Reid, when was the last time you slept?”

Spencer blinked, caught off guard by the question. “I, uh… I’m not sure.”

Hotch sighed. “Go home. Get some rest. I’ll stay with her.”

Spencer shook his head immediately, his grip on your hand tightening. “No. I’m not leaving.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow. “You’re no good to anyone if you collapse from exhaustion. Go home, shower, eat something, and then you can come back.”

Spencer opened his mouth to argue, but you cut him off.

“He’s right, Spence,” you said softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “You look like you’re about to fall over. Go take care of yourself. I’ll still be here when you get back.”

Spencer hesitated, his eyes searching yours for a moment before he finally relented with a sigh. “Fine. But I’m coming back as soon as I can.”

You smiled. “I’d expect nothing less.”

Hotch stepped aside as Spencer reluctantly stood, his movements slow and stiff. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before straightening up and heading for the door.

Once he was gone, Hotch moved closer to your bed. “He didn’t leave your side the entire time,” he said quietly. “Not even when the medical team told him to.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, but you swallowed it down, nodding. “I know.”

Hotch studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. “You’re important to him. To all of us. Take care of yourself.”

You smiled faintly. “I will. Thanks, Hotch.”

He nodded once, his usual stoic demeanor returning. “Get some rest. I’ll be outside if you need anything.”

As he left the room, you leaned back against the pillows, letting out a long breath, as you fell asleep once again.

And when Spencer returned an hour later, looking significantly more put together and carrying a cup of coffee for you (decaf, because he insisted), you couldn’t help but smile.

“Miss me?” he asked, setting the coffee on the table beside your bed.

“Always,” you said, reaching for his hand.

[calicosturns]

tw/cw: p in v, sextape

⎯⎯⎯⎯

"lets put it riiiight there—," his voice hoarse as he looms over your frame, his arm stretchs out to put a digital camera on the side or your bed for a better angle, "cant hold it while fuckin' ya, can i?" matt smirks before he pulls you closer roughly, his lips crashing against yours as he claims your mouth in a dominant kiss, grinning into it faintly when a soft moan slips past your lips.

his hands quickly make their way to your hips, gripping your hip bones tightly and pressing you against his erection. brunette lets out a soft his from the contact of your body through the clothes, his head tilts back and necklace dangles, almost hitting your face, but you don't seem to mind it at all.

camera will capture this moment perfectly, it will become one of matt's favorite and he's gonna rewatch it almost every single day of his life. his big, calloused hands ripping off your underwear in a second, leaving you gasping for air from the sudden cold air hitting your heat. legs wrap instinctively around matt's waist, bringing him closer, if its even possible in your position.

"f—ck, did the camera turn ya on that bad?" matt speaks teasingly before sliding his own boxers down his legs and his erection presses against your slick lips, rubbing teasingly against them. you press against his body only more, a shaky sigh escapes your lips. your arms gripped his shoulders as you lean closer and captures your lips in a heating kiss. matt knows what does it mean; he always knows.

while he works with his tongue in your mouth, brunette, with a swift motion, slides inside you, causing you moan into your kiss as he swallows every sound you make with his lips against yours. his whole body is on fire as he thurts into you for the first time, letting you adjust to his size before escalating his pace and hitting the spot right where you need him the most.

loud, almost pathetic moans slip past your lips; matt grabs your jaw and turns your head to the digital camera on the bedside table, making you look right into the lens with the biggest smirk on his face while he slams into you with more force than before. his hands roughly, but not enough to hurt you, squeeze your cheeks and holds you in place as you become a babbling mess around his dick. and he knows he's gonna rewatch this video all over and over again, enjoying it like a damn sadist. because there's no better view than your face when he fucks you.

⎯⎯⎯⎯

a/n: not proofread. english isnt my first language. sorry this is too short, i'll make it up to yall later, promise <3

© calicosturn, 2025

[genderkoolaid]

maybe my least favorite anti-autistic stereotype is the trope that autistic people are ultra-rational and thus chock full of bigotry. like house m.d does this*, bones does this, i'm pretty sure the good doctor also did this with their trans episode. allistic showrunners looovee writing an autistic character who says blatantly racist, sexist, ableist, etc. things & justifies it by saying that autistics are simply too Rational and Incapable Of Understanding Emotion to pretend that our current social hierarchies aren't natural!

it sucks for one because it promotes the stereotype that all autistics are hypoempathetic, AND that being hypoempathetic means that you uncritically believe bigotry. but it ALSO sucks because it also promotes the idea that bigotry is driven by rationality and being anti-bigotry is driven by irrational emotions. and that the fight for social justice is really about making people set aside their rational bigoted beliefs because its mean. rather than making arguments based on the actual material evidence of oppression, and how the logic of oppression is deeply flawed and often extremely contradictory because it's only goal is maintaining power. and how that is in fact morally wrong.

my examples are mostly TV but i was thinking about this while rewatching munecat's video debunking evopsych (around 2:47:06). in which an evopsych guy is justifying a misogynistic paper arguing that women are less inclined towards STEM because Evolution, by saying that the author is "Aspy" and thus ~too rational to tone himself down for The Woke~. It's such bullshit and it hides behind aspie supremacy and fantastical ideas of autistic people as robots instead of human beings filled with biases and fallacies and yes, EMOTIONS, in order to push the narrative that bigotry is rational and the left is motivated by our squishy soft womanly irrational empathy rather than the fact that systemic racism objectively exists and misogyny is a self-contradictory mess.

also it's just a way of avoiding the reality of their own bigotry. if misogyny isn't scientifically valid, then that means they must choose to hold misogynistic beliefs, rather then those beliefs being natural. which means they have to actually grapple with the question of whether or not it is moral to maintain a misogynistic system rather than deconstructing it and creating a more equal society. if misogyny is just Nature and Facts and Logic then they can pretend that it's all out of their hands! they want to side-step the question of whether or not its right by arguing making an appeal to evolution as some divine ruler which will destroy our society if we ever deviate from 1950s US social hierarchies.

*to give this show credit, it has other reasons why house is Like That, and he also has plenty of moments where he criticizes the status quo and/or the audience is meant to disagree with his behavior/views. but they still do engage in "house is bigoted and his bigotry is justified by the story" such as in the infamous asexuality episode. but the writers also refused to make him canonically autistic even when they wrote him Like That so who gives a fuck

[hellsitegenetics]

genome THIS (pleag. it would make me happy):

STUPID IDIOT MOTHERFUCKING JURGEN LEITNER GOD DAMN FOOL BOOK COLLECTING DUST EATING RAT OLD BASTARD SHITHEAD IDIOT AVATAR OF THE WHORE BIGGEST CLOWN IN THE CIRCUS LAUGHED OUT OF TOWN COWBOY MOTHERFUCKING JURGEN LEITNER

STOP PINNING ME WHEN I TALK ABOUT JURGEN LEITENER I HATE HIM SO MUCH WHY DOES HE HAVE SO MANY FUCKED UP BOOKS WHY DID HE DECIDE TO FUCK AROUND AND FIND OUT JUST SET THEM LOOSE IS HE DEAD IS HE A BASTARD MAN HAS SUCH A VISCERAL AFFECT ON ME NOT EVEN IN THE ROOM NEVER SEEN THIS MANS FACE AND I KNOW HE HAS THE WORLDS SHITTIEST BEARD GET AWAY FROM ME

if i wanted to get into heaven and god said jurgen leitners waiting inside i would piss on gods feet for the sole purpose of getting sent back down

if i have to deal with jurgen leitner speaking one word in person on voice in podcast not only will i close the tab i will delete my bookmark out of spite and have to rewatch the entire series again for the experience of being able to skip all the times when he is mentioned or alive

i dont even know why i hate him so much. he collects books but i am just mad because i am angy

he better have some fucked up backstory to explain this if hes just some rich shithead whos a fan of creepypasta and wanted the irl version ill go ham

BETTER have had a book make him kill a man cuz if he didnt Im going to make him

paypal.com/IFuckingHateJurgenLeitner

episodes not even about him. vaguely mentioned what is supposed to maybe be his library and I lost it

where the fuck is jurgen leitner if hes still alive im going to so deeply wish he wasnt

crusty old man

ill punch leitner and his sad frail old man twig bones will simply flake apart under my epic huge meat fist and he will disintegrate until all thats left is one final book he kept on him at all times simply titled Now You Fucked Up in ancient yiddish

im not breathing im hyperventilating at this point

i hope theres a date given for when jurgen died or will die so i can make it a reminder on my phone

everyday once a year i will see it and do anything but pay respects to the man who had so many fucked up if true books

String identified:

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T G TA AT G T AT C A A C C T C A A T T T T A A ATA A A C A CA ACT T T T A AC A A T TTT A GT AA

at t gt t a a g a g t atg g t t gttg t ac

a t a t g t ag c cat t c t ta t a t t a a t atc t t aga t c g a t a t t t a

t at c. cct t a t a ca a ag

tt a c act t a t t c ta a a cata a at t g a

TT a a a a a a c t gg t a

aa.c/cgatgt

t at . ag t at t a a a t t

t c g t t a gg t at

ct a

c t a a a a tg a aat c g at t a tgat t a tat t a t at a t tt c act

t atg tatg at t t

t a at g g ca a t a

a c a a t a atg t a ct t t a a a c t

Closest match: Calendula officinalis genome assembly, chromosome: 11 Common name: Marigold