LOL.

Back When I Worked as a Waitress

Manager: You can't wear that.

Me: My pentacle...?

Manager: Your necklace, yes.

Me: It's a religious thing. Plus, I wear it under my shirt most of the time. It just falls out every now and again.

Manager:You still can't wear it.

Me: What about Suzy McChristianson over there with her cross necklace?

Manager: That's different.

Me: It literally isn't though.

Seriously, everyone is missing OP’s point that EVERY religion except the Christian religion analogue is treated like crap. If that’s not Christian bias, I don’t know what is. 

CONFESSION:           

 I’m still mad about the retconning of the Elven Pantheon in Inquisition. If they were set on Mythal being betrayed by the others and Fen'Harel being more than a trickster god, they could have done that without making all of the Elven gods straight up evil. I understand that fleshing them out would require making them less perfectly benevolent. Instead they lack any nuance and they basically made them the Elven equivalent of power hungry Tevinter Magisters. The Maker is still real though.            

Beautiful fanart of Bastila Shan. 

Bastila Shan by Corbin Hunter

Bastila | Juhani | Revan | Mission | Canderous

So hypothetically, how much do I need to donate to get a season two of this amazing show. 

The Seer Sisters

Percy, holding the door for Mary: After you :)

Mary: No, after you :)

Percy: I insist, after you :)

Byron, pushing pass the both of them: No, after me.

This is both hilarious and accurate for Lord Byron, who really was that arrogant.

Damn! This is surprisingly heartwrenching. 

Liminal Space

Darth Malak deserved better - not just because you have no choice but to kill him in game (thank goodness for fanfic options!) but because the tragic fall is always more interesting than cartoonish evil.

And Alek of the KotOR comics is the perfect set up for the tragic fall.  Someone never quite sure of himself, someone too caught in the orbit of Revan’s brightness. Bound to burn out.

Here’s a bit of my take on Darth Malak, fighting against being Alek. Liminal Space on AO3 It was right there, Revan’s ship.  He’d expect it, of course, this betrayal, maybe even wanted Malak to try to give him an excuse to strike back.   Revan had been displeased with him again, seemed to always be these days.  Alek, we have much to discuss when I return, he’d said before he’d left, a slight threat in his cold monotone.  Alek.  When it was just the two of them, Revan insisted on the name still.  That hurt, a reminder of what should be, the thing they’d broken.   Revan was, of course, only Revan now. Revan hadn’t removed his mask that last time.  Even so, Malak had felt his eyes, watching, tracing the metal line of his jaw.  Do you like what you’ve made, Revan?  He’d brushed the edge of the mask, daring Revan to do something, anything, but he’d just stared, face hidden, and said nothing. Malak had decided then.  Hating stopped the hurting or at least made you forget. And hating made you strong.  Revan had tried to keep him from the Star Forge, Alek, you let it control you.  Lies.  He was jealous, Revan, jealous because the Star Forge spoke to Malak in ways it didn’t speak to him.  Malak could feel it pulsing in his veins, the rhythm of the crystal that fueled it, felt himself growing stronger the longer he stayed. He’d watched the battle from the bridge of his own ship, unable to contain his laughter, or rather that cruel mechanical sound that passed for his laugh, when the Jedi strike team had boarded Revan’s ship.  Truly the Force was with him, wanted him to win, wanted him to take out Revan and the Jedi all in one blow. Admiral Karath, fire on Lord Revan’s ship. Sir? Fire.  On the bridge.  I want no survivors. The explosion was beautiful, the flashes of light against the black of space.  If he’d had a mouth, Malak would have smiled.  He felt it, Revan’s death; didn’t feel like he’d expected, though, thought it would hurt, but it was barely a whimper. Later, when he was alone, Alek would blink back silent tears that knotted his throat, would wish he’d been on the bridge of the ship exploding in the emptiness of space.

Bi people and genderfluid people being told to “pick a side”, or being told we can’t possibly understand ourselves. 

I’m bisexual and I’m feeling solidarity in this Chili’s tonight

A gruesome, but excellently drawn art of Mark Antony dying in Cleopatra’s arms. 

Antony and Cleopatra

Stories always begin the same way: There was and there was not. There is possibility in those words, the chance for hope or despair.

Girl, Serpent, Thorn by Melissa Bashardoust (via miithridatism)

So true. 

“Incredible,” Justin thought. “They punish their women for what sounds like male weakness to me.”

In which Richelle Mead writes a complex male character who sleeps around without being a sexist asshole.