they are only technically correct


So, as a lot of you know, I’m a huge fan of Thomas Sanders, and especially of the different “personality” characters that he has created. In fact, he and his characters are among my Special Interests. I rewatch all the videos that feature the personalities, plus a few others, at least once a day. And it’s because of this, that I’ve noticed something very important - something so important that I’m actually writing out a proper essay with punctuation and capital letters and everything.

What have I noticed, then, that is so important? Simple. In almost every aspect of his behaviour, Logic/Logan acts as though he is autistic.

While all iterations of Thomas are socially awkward, Logan takes it to a whole other level. As shown in the Valentine’s Day video, he has little to no understanding of how communication between humans actually works. He has difficulties comprehending emotions, especially the emotions of others. He has repeatedly been portrayed as unable to tell when something is a joke, and he takes everything very literally. When Anxiety said “Let me take a stab,” he didn’t understand that it was a metaphor but instead thought Anxiety had a knife and was about to stab someone. While he has expressed some interest in wordplay (“Don’t you mean a little… cat nap?), he gets frustrated and confused by a lot of Morality’s jokes - especially the ones that are built on facts that are only technically correct (such as the flamingo standing on one leg one). He shows signs of having Special Interests; when asked about his favourite book he immediately went straight to the ending - a typical infodump.

All of these are signs pointing directly to autism.

Now, I am very well aware that Logan was probably not intended to be written as an autistic character. He is most likely an invocation of the popular “emotionally stunted genius” trope, much like Sherlock Holmes or Spock or any other of the literal hundreds of characters who exhibit these traits. I mean, he was even explicitly compared to Sherlock in ‘Losing my Motivation’.

But this doesn’t change the fact that he is written like an autistic character, intentionally or not. He still exhibits these characteristics. Logan is autistic, and there is nothing that anyone can say to convince me otherwise.

I think it’s very, very important that people know this. As a person with autism, I so rarely see people I can see myself as in the media, and when I do there’s rarely any label attached other than the trope I mentioned earlier.

I would like to ask everyone who reads this to help me reach out to Thomas himself about this. Asks, tagging him in this, whatever you think will work best. When approached about his personalities resembling DID he took action to go educate himself on the topic to make sure he wouldn’t offend or hurt anyone. I’m sure, if made aware, he will do the same for this.

Even if you don’t want to help me out with getting the message directly to him, please spread this post around. I want it to get traction. I want it to be talked about. Please.

Oh, and also, just in case this works on the first try, @thatsthat24 I wrote this entire essay with the explicit purpose of getting you to see it.

Little Holmes Part 2 - Moriarty x reader

Originally posted by thekillersboy-blog

AN: Highly requested by many of you lovelies. I will probably be writing one more part after this one. It’s a little messy but I hope you still enjoy it!

Previous chapters: Part 1

Overall Summary: Moriarty teases Sherlock because he slept with you. Sherlock’s little sister. 

In this chapter: Sherlock confronts you on Moriarty which erupts a flood of memories to how it got to this moment.

Word count: 1,736

Warnings: None really, some hints of smut

“Honestly (Y/n), out of every single person on this entire planet you had to go for him! The man who tried to blow me and your brother up! The one who want us dead!” John threw his arms up in the air as he paced in front of you. You stared blankly at the wall behind him, you knew something like this would happen if they ever found out about your love life. 

“Technically, he only wants Sherlock dead.” You corrected him. 

Keep reading

Kissing in the Rain

Inspired by this amazing series of short videos about two actors who keep working together on scenes where they kiss in the rain.

AO3 Link

The steady drops of rain on his umbrella kept Lance grounded as he walked away. He focused on breathing and focused on the ripples in the puddles he passed and focused on standing tall. He focused on everything except-


He turned to watch as Hunk caught up to him, absolutely soaked without an umbrella of his own. Lance frowned, but otherwise didn’t react.

“Look, you have every reason to be angry. I messed up.” Hunk looked up at him, and Lance could swear his heart broke right along with Hunk’s voice as he continued, “Please give me another chance.”

Lance nearly folded in on himself, looking away before he answered, his voice rough, “And why should I? You just keep breaking my heart.”

“Because I love you.”

Lance chewed at his lower lip. “But you said-”

“I don’t care what I said.” By now, Hunk was close enough to reach out and touch him, but he held back, waiting for Lance to close the gap. “I love you, and nothing could change that, so please…” A soft hitch in his voice cut him off, and Lance stepped forward, almost mesmerized. “Please tell me it’s not too late.”

Finally, Lance smiled, brushing a thumb over Hunk’s cheek. “For us? It’s never too late.”

Lance could almost hear the romantic music swell in the background as Hunk surged forward to kiss him, warm hands curved around Lance’s jaw. Lance slipped an arm around the back of his neck, eager to meet him halfway, and for one beautiful moment, they stood there, enjoying the shared heat between them and the backdrop of rain surrounding them.

“Cut! Take five!” Pidge’s voice interrupted them, and the two separated.

Lance sighed dramatically. “Why does it have to be raining? It’s so cold!”

“Feels fine to me,” she called back, sipping on what had to be her third cup of coffee.

“You’re wrapped in, like, five blankets! Of course you’re not cold!” Lance whined.

Hunk chuckled. “Hey, kissing in the rain is supposed to be romantic, right?”

“Yeah…” Lance grumbled and dropped his head onto Hunk’s shoulder. “But this is the fifth take. I’m tired, and I’m pretty sure she’s doing this on purpose.”

Hunk patted his back. “Well, if it makes you feel any better…” He lowered his voice as he continued, “I already bribed Rolo to give her decaf tomorrow as payback.”

Lance grinned. “You know, that actually does make me feel a lot better.”

Keep reading

Also tbh, it really shows how much word choice matters that Jotaro’s relationship with Joseph seems hugely different when you compare the Crunchyroll subs’ “old man” to the JJCA scanlations’ “grandpa”.

Both are technically correct translations; jijii does mean “old geezer”, but only when used to refer to someone other than one’s own grandfather. Otherwise, it’s not exactly the most polite way to say “grandpa” (ojii-san is very respectful, jii-chan is more casual), but it is still fairly acceptable. Seeing as Joseph is Jotaro’s actual grandfather, the fact that he calls him jijii doesn’t necessarily indicate any more disrespect than Jotaro’s usual manner of speaking. That being said, Joseph did get offended the first time Jotaro called him that, but he also seemed to be offended by just about everything Jotaro said that chapter.

As I said, both translations would work, so which one is used is entirely a matter of personal preference. But it’s definitely clear that using “old man” makes Jotaro seem a lot more callous, while “grandpa” implies more actual affection and respect for Joseph.


“You know, I’d like to say that I am personally offended that Courfeyrac didn’t build in a safe word for this piece of shit mistletoe mistake.” Grantaire hated pacing. His father was a pacer and most days Grantaire couldn’t stand being in close proximity to his father.

“It’s really not as bad as all that,” Enjolras said. He wasn’t a pacer, for which Grantaire was eternally grateful. There wasn’t enough room in this bubble for the both of them to be pacing. “There are a lot of worse things that Courfeyrac could have done to us.”

“Trapping us under enchanted mistletoe isn’t enough?” Grantaire raised an eyebrow. There were so many words that he had to say about that. “I don’t know about you, but I feel like this situation calls for at least a small bit of justified anger.”

Enjolras stared at him for a moment with an odd look on his face that Grantaire took special care not reading into. If he read into every strange look Enjolras had given him recently, he would be busy for months.

“I don’t know.” Enjolras shrugged. “I think there’s a pretty simple solution to mistletoe.”

“Seriously?” he asked incredulously. What the fuck was wrong with Enjolras lately? “We’ve been trapped under this stupid ass shrinking bubble for literally hours. There isn’t a simple way out of here for us.”

Enjolras smiled slyly. “We have the same options we did three hours ago,” he said.

“That’s technically correct,” Grantaire allowed. God, moments like these made him so glad he wasn’t claustrophobic.

“Technically correct?” Enjolras asked. His face screwed up with unspoken confusion. “How am I only technically correct?”

Grantaire smiled pleasantly. “We have the same zero options that we did three hours ago.”

Enjolras frowned, curling into himself almost unconsciously. Shit. What had Grantaire done now?

Whatever he’d done, it’d made Enjolras quieter than he’d been the entire time they’d been trapped together. Normally,  Enjolras wasn’t exceptionally talkative,  but he enjoyed talking to his friends. For whatever reason, Grantaire had found himself among his ranks of friends.

But now, they were trapped in awkward silence as well as Courfeyrac’s damn force field.

Grantaire wasn’t sure what was worse, his compulsive need to pace, or this unsettling quiet. He’d never seen Enjolras look so upset before. With reason, really. They weren’t very close and Grantaire was a giant fucking ass.

Of course, because Grantaire is such a massive ass, he decides that the best course of action to Avoid The Awkward is to ignore Enjolras entirely. There was no way that anything he said it did at this point would make Enjolras feel any better, and he wasn’t even sure what he did, so it was probably better if he just pretended that it didn’t happen and avoid Enjolras for a while. Of course, the avoidance would have to wait until Courfeyrac deigned to release them.

What the hell was he going to do?


Joly, as ever, was the most correct about Grantaire as anyone could ever be. That is to say that Joly had complained loudly that Grantaire was the most impatient, fidgety, cock-sucking fucker on the planet not even three days prior to this mess and Grantaire was proving him very correct.

“Could you please just sit the fuck down for, like, ten minutes,” Enjolras groaned. He’d looked so aggravated with everything since that almost-but-not argument that Grantaire was more surprised that it’s taken him this long to snap at him than the fact that he had snapped.

“My apologies, dear Apollo,” Grantaire drawled, bowing low.

“And would you fucking quit that already?” he snapped. The frown he was sporting could have brought empires to their knees if he wanted. “I am sick to fucking death of you acting like I’m some sort of god or something.” Sparks flickered off from his hair and stung at Grantaire.

Grantaire eyed him cautiously. What the hell was going on with him? He’d never seen him like this before.

“I don’t understand you,” Grantaire said. He walked marginally closer, but there was only so much closer he could walk in such a small bubble.

Enjolras scoffed. “Yeah, because I’m the one that’s difficult to understand.” He jumped up to take Grantaire’s place pacing but didn’t think to make sure that Grantaire was actually going to sit down instead of just gaping at him. And of course, since Enjolras is the most stubborn man in the world, he refused to just move a tiny, little bit so that Grantaire could sit and try thinking over this, the weirdest conversation he’d had since Bahorel and the goldfinch. Instead, they were stuck exactly where they were standing.

Seconds struck by like hours with Enjolras glaring at him and fuming. Grantaire wanted to kick himself so fucking badly. Why couldn’t he have just back up a few steps to sit down?

He attempted that now but ran into that cock of an opportunistic barrier.

“Fuck,” he whispered. He didn’t dare speak any louder so close to Enjolras. He already acted like an idiot around him, no need to be a loud, blundering fool right in his face. His eyes bounce between Enjolras’, resolutely avoiding his lips. “Fuck,” he repeated.

If he didn’t know better, he’d have sworn that Enjolras’ breathed hitched at their proximity, but…


Grantaire had known Enjolras long enough to know that he didn’t show interest in anyone, especially not him. He’d spent enough time mooning after Enjolras that he’d have noticed if something changed.

A micro vision flashed before his eyes only seconds before it started happening in real time.

Enjolras blinking, eyes tracking down before jerking back up. Enjolras starting to say something before the thought gets lost in his mind. Then, Enjolras leaning forward like he was going to-

Enjolras blinked up at Grantaire, eyes flickering down so quickly that he almost didn’t make the connection.

“What’re you doing?” Grantaire asked, leaning back as subtly as he could manage.

Something sour twitched across Enjolras’ face. “Getting us out of here,” he replied grimly.

“Can’t you find a magical loophole?” Grantaire really, really couldn’t kiss Enjolras right now. Or ever. Ever worked better for him.

“Can’t you?” Gold sparks snapped out at Grantaire.

He frown at Enjolras. Was that a fucking joke? “No, I can’t.” Enjolras flinched, but Grantaire kind of didn’t give a fuck at this point. “Don’t you remember, Apollo? I’m just a glorified, cynical, circus seer.” Oh God oh God oh God oh God. “Any prediction of mine should be taken with a disclaimer saying not to trust my warnings 100% because ‘cynics don’t have clear eyes’, right, Chief?” Why wasn’t his mouth fucking stopping?

Enjolras stood stock still, breathing heavy for long moments while Grantaire silently freaked out about that blow-up. Because how the hell didn’t he see that coming? He saw a kiss that didn’t even happen, but not that immense fuck up?

“You still think about that?” Enjolras finally spoke.

“About what? Your views on what little magic I have?” What the fuck was going on with the day? When had the gods found time to fuck with his life like this?

Enjolras looked stricken. “You have to know that’s not true.”

“Sounded pretty true when you said it-”

“Yeah, nine years ago!” he exploded. “When I didn’t know you! When I thought you were faking it for laughs!” Enjolras sucked in a hard breath. He puffed his cheeks out in an obvious attempt to not yell before letting the air out as slowly as he could physically manage. “Before I saw you protect Bossuet from himself from things nobody but a seer could’ve seen coming. Before I saw you try to stop a riot from forming days beforehand. Before so many things, R.” He winced so hard, Grantaire was almost afraid that he’d fall right through the force field. But Courfeyrac was an amazing barrier maker and Enjolras only bounced off of it and straight into him.

Grantaire raised an eyebrow, more because he knew Enjolras couldn’t and it would irritate him than about any sort of surprise- though there was plenty of that, too. It was becoming a real problem, him going out of his way to bother Enjolras, honestly.

He smiled the best he could with how confused he was. None of this was making any sense. Why the fuck didn’t Enjolras make any sense anymore?

When had he stopped making sense?

“Grantaire?” Enjolras whispered. He ducked down to try meeting Grantaire’s eyes. “Will you look at me, please?” If their arms weren’t pinned to their sides by Courfeyrac’s horrible, shrinking mistletoe-bubble, Enjolras probably would have been holding Grantaire’s face so that he couldn’t look away. “Look at me,” he repeated.

Grantaire shook his head. He really didn’t want to talk about this. If he had a list of all the topics he didn’t want to talk about, his opinion of himself would be right underneath his feelings for Enjolras.

“Please?” Enjolras asked. And that was un-fucking-fair, how was Grantaire supposed to be a surly, drunken seer when Enjolras started acting like this?

Slowly, Grantaire looked up, trying to make sure that Enjolras realized exactly how grudgingly this was.

“You never realized?”

Gaea’s great tits, why was Enjolras asking so many questions today? There was absolutely zero reason for them to be having this conversation. Grantaire knew exactly how irritating he was, he didn’t need the man he was in love with telling him exactly how much he couldn’t stand him.

Was it getting hotter in there? Grantaire looked around them, hoping for some sort of distraction. Hoping for someone to come walking up the steps and into the backroom. Hoping for something. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to be realizing, Enjolras,” he admitted, hoping vainly that it would shut the conversation down quickly. His fingers were twitching vainly against his thighs and he really, really wanted to just melt into a puddle, but he didn’t see that happening anytime in the near-ish future.

Enjolras stepped closer, pressing them chest-to-chest himself before the barrier had a chance to shove them. He dipped his head low to look into Grantaire’s face and when the hell did his eyes become so blue? That wasn’t fair at all.

“Are you sure you’re alright? You’re, uh, you…” Grantaire trailed off when he noticed where Enjolras’ eyes were focused.

“I thought that you were ignoring my feelings for the sake of friendship, or something,” Enjolras said. He shifted somehow closer, which, again, not fair.

“Feelings?” What the fuck was even happening? “What feelings?”

“My feelings,” Enjolras said. He licked his lips slowly, drawing his bottom lip into his mouth a bit and Grantaire was dying a little bit.

“Nope.” Grantaire turned his head away. This was fucking cruel.

“’Nope’?” Enjolras asked. There was an inexplicable hitch in the words that Grantaire didn’t know how to place. “‘Nope’ what?”

Grantaire sucked in as large a breath as he could hold before even attempting to answer.

“Nope to this,” he attempted to gesture to everything happening but was abruptly reminded that Courfeyrac was a fucking bastard. “I cannot deal with you pretending to be interested in me so we can get out of here.” Grantaire’s voice did not crack like a fucking pre-teen. He was a fucking grown up; he could handle his damn emotions. “I’d really you rather do this as clinically as possible and just fucking spare me that humiliation.” Oh, god, his fucking feelings were spilling all over the place. What the fuck was wrong with him?

“Prete- what?” Enjolras’ eyes bugged out. “Why the hell would I pretend to be in love with you?”

“Why the hell would you actually be in love with me?” Grantaire’s thighs twitched painfully, in some sort of failed attempt to get free from this hellish situation. His insides were quivering from the stress, but somehow he miraculously hadn’t vomited. That would really make this awkward.

“Do I need a reason to be in love with you?”

“It doesn’t matter if you have good reasons to be in love, Enjolras, that doesn’t mean that you are,” he snapped. He was so fucking done. There was no way that Enjolras was actually attracted to him, let alone in love. Being in love means that you actually enjoy spending time with someone and that you, presumably, want to spend a lot of time in the future with them. Enjolras didn’t even want him around during the one-hour ABC meetings.

“You don’t get to tell me how I feel Grantaire,” Enjolras growled. His eyes were bolts of lightning, lashing out against their human cage; they were ice chips, reaching out to freeze Grantaire; they were so beautiful that for a moment Grantaire forgot that he needed to keep fighting with Enjolras.

“No, but I can tell when you’re lying.” Grantaire bit his tongue. “I’d rather you didn’t lie to me about this, thanks.”

Enjolras closed his eyes for a few seconds and just breathed.

“Why would I lie to you?” he asked finally. “I have no reason to.”

“To get out of here? For a bet? There are probably dozens of reasons.” Well, maybe not, but Grantaire had dozens of reasons to want out of this situation fucking now.

“If I just wanted out, I could just kiss you, without doing anything else. And do you really think I’d do something to deliberately hurt you?” His lower lip wobbled dangerously.

Shit. “No.” Motherfucking- “No, I don’t think that. I’m sorry.” He swallowed around the lump in his throat, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. Why was Enjolras so much taller than him? It made unobstructed ceiling watching very difficult. “I’ve never thought that and it was wrong of me to say it.”

“I wouldn’t lie about this,” Enjolras whispered. His breath fanned out over Grantaire’s face just enough for him to feel vaguely faint with it. God, he was so gone over him. “I’m sorry to be doing this when you can’t run away, but you’ve been running away from me for months and I need to tell you.”

Everything inside of Grantaire was made of pudding. That was the only way that they could be shaking this much. Organs and muscles didn’t shake like this, only pudding did, as far as Grantaire knew.

“Tell me what?” he asked. His breath was almost visible from how intimate this felt. Everything felt more electric, somehow, more alive than before.

“That I’ve been in love with you for the better part of six years,” Enjolras breathed.

A small infinity must have passed in the time it took for Grantaire to absorb that information. He stood as still as he could manage, taking the time to just… process. Something twitched in his back semi-painfully, enough to grab his attention and pull it back out of his head.

If it wasn’t for the hazy glow around the moment Grantaire wouldn’t have caught the vision.

“May I kiss you?” vision-Enjolras asked, because he was probably the most considerate person on the planet. He didn’t even lean in until Grantaire nodded his okay. The first touch of their lips was so gentle that he almost didn’t feel it.

He did feel it, though, when a muscle in his back spasmed abruptly and yanked him out of the vision to Enjolras staring at him like he was the most precious thing in the world.

“May I kiss you?” he asked. He didn’t move forward, but his hands somehow managed to curl around Grantaire’s. That was probably the sweetest thing Grantaire had ever been a part of.

Squeezing softly on Enjolras’ hands, Grantaire nodded.


anonymous asked:

Grammar police, it's 'moot point' not 'mute point.' #sorrycarryon #ivejustseenitmultipletimes

That’s true. Only moot point is technically correct but I can see how people swap in mute point sometimes because mute does mean silent and moot means subject to debate. Maybe we should make mute point a new thing!

- B

You know the Bindi is Caste right?

While I don’t think that white girls wearing a bindi look good, and they often are doing so in the context of exotization, non Deshi people wearing the Bindi is, like most claims of Cultural Appropratoin, utter BS.  Becuase you know what the Bindi represents?  The Caste system, which I think can go straight to hell. I mean technically people should only wear the exactly correct form of the Bindi.  I’ve spoken about CulturalAppropriaten before

and I will say it again, cultures mixing is normal, it happens.  Most of Japanese Culture is Chinese or Korean in origin, and as for India… you know how Hinduism works?  Its like the borg of religion, it is all about taking ideas from other religions and fitting it into their pantheon.  THat is why Hinduism has thrived while most other Polytheistic religions have failed, because of its willingness to mix religious traditions.  I mean Jesus is a Hindu god…I’m not even kidding.  

You know who stands around wanting cultural purity and lamenting a long gone time before culture was “bastardized”?  Nationalists.  ANd if your response to massive racism is Nationalism then….hi Imperial Japan.  

  • cishet aces: some really bad ahistorical discourse that amounts basically to calling lgb people slurs
  • gay ppl: counters with discourse that is technically correct, but is only a very shallow understanding of what it means to be "lgbt+" and what it means to be perceived as asexual by people who enforce the gender binary, and how these things are connected to the social construct of strict gender identities, which is a tool of colonialism; thus creating a set of ideas that are themselves also ahistorical, but less immediately so
  • ace lesbians: *frustrated groans*

When Riley’s adult companion makes the common mollifying observation that, “If boys want to buy pink, they can buy pink, right?” he is only right in the way that it’s technically correct to say that men can wear dresses to work if they want.

Gendered toy and book marketing doesn’t create gender stereotypes, roles, and norms, but it does reinforce them. It may be profitable to corporations, but there is a social cost—and science offers no moral comfort that there is a biological justification.

But...the clocks...weren't wrong?

We always, from the very beginning, said that 4, 8, and 10 (on the clocks and episode wise) were representative of birth(4), death (8), and resurrection(10). 


Number on the clock: 4. = Beth, whose whereabouts have been unknown for six episodes (and a whole summer and plus of hiatus waiting), is shown to be alive in some kind of hospital environment, after being presumably kidnapped. Beth wakes up and opens her eyes, a very important scene. This represents rebirth, or reawakening. This is in episode 4: Slabtown. 

Number on the clock: 8. = Though this is shown still in episode 4, it is in sequence with 4, 8, and 10 on the clock and obviously represents episode 8, which was titled Coda. Though not the only or technically correct meaning, many, many fans just love to gloat that this Coda means ‘an end of a musical passage.’ And who’s the only character on the show related to music? Beth. So obviously this must mean an end of Beth, no? Alright sure, let’s just run with that for a minute. So Beth 'dies’ in Coda. Episode 8. This correlates to the second of the time sequence, 8 = death. This was, even as stated by AMC, 'The day the music died.’

Number on the clock: 10. = If that wretched 10 was never shown on the clock, I wouldn’t be here right now. But it was, so I am. They did not throw in that 10 into the sequence for no god damn reason. They didn’t actively film and edit that third visit to the clock after '8’ for fun. Bullshit! So the 10 following the 8 happens in episode 4, but 10 also happens on other clocks in the episode (Get Well Soon) and even on other episodes (5x9.) In our theory, 10 = resurrection, or the return. And there was. The music was resurrected. Beth is music. So she wasn’t there in the flesh? Don’t let that discourage you. The clock in Slabtown, we theorized, showed the numbers of the episodes that Beth was the focus of. 4 (Slabtown) was her solo episode, and rebirth. 8 (Coda) was the end of the music, her 'death’, and 10 (Them) was resurrection. There was a resurrection of music, music that was the especially made to represent Beth, the music box. And Beth was the major theme of the episode. I wouldn’t say this was a failure, would you? Thanks to Lauren Cohan, who only confirmed what we already knew, the music box is Beth. And the music is back. And she will be too. I know that now. I don’t know when, or how, but she will be. I also think it’s so important to show that the music box, at first, was broken. But not smashed, cracked, or damaged beyond repair. Just unable to work without a little help. And when it got that help, though not at first, it was able to play music again. I really feel like this is a great metaphor for Beth being shot and seriously injured(broken), but with medical treatment (help/fixing) she is able to pull through and survive and sing again (music playing at the end of the episode.) Because Beth fucking deserves to survive. I also feel like the fact that the music box didn’t play at first means that Beth may have (either physical or psychological in nature) problems with speech/singing, and will have to relearn or let herself do it again. (This works well with the theory of Beth surviving the gunshot but having some short term brain injury that she needs to recover from, maybe with therapy? idk) 

I think that this major symbolic hint (music box metaphor) was the biggest clue that The Walking Dead could give us at this time, while still following the clock foreshadowing. I think it was a success for Team Delusional and any fan who believes Beth Lives. I know I’m not the first person to point out all this information, and I don’t take credit for discovering it first, but I just wanted to put it into my own thoughts. I may not post all the time, but I’m really glad to be a part of Team Delusional. And if being delusional means creating smart, well-thought out, creative, and engaging theories based on visible clues and easter eggs, well, then I guess I’m bat-shit crazy! Don’t lose hope, team, our girl will make her comeback and it will be glorious. Lots of love to all Beth fans!

Also, I find it hilarious that 'haters’ have no problem and even actively associate Beth to music is Coda, saying that the music died so she’s definitely 100% dead for real like for sure totally true facts no doubt dead dead dead super crazy dead as a doornail absolutely deceased 4 sure and then when it comes to 5x10 with the music box, they are trying so hard to discredit that by saying the music box actually represents hope of them going to the ASZ? Like, what? It’s just hilarious to me, sorry. 

Long live Beth! (and Team Delusional) And also I’m always up for discussion, so if anyone wants to talk theory, just message me! 

cats--and--feminism  asked:

Okay, I KNOW I'm splitting hairs, and I KNOW it's supposed to be a joke, but I really just want to clarify for myself to know that I'm not going crazy - Baby Got Back doesn't /actually/ past the Bechdel test, does it? Because technically only one of the women is named?

You are correct!

We just needed more ‘90s one hit wonders on our Tumblr so