Eight-Legs

In Lithuanian we don’t say “octopus”, we say “aštuonkojis” which is literally translates to “eight legs” and I think that’s beautiful.

Submitted by @svajinga-jura

anonymous asked:

Hello, yes, may I please have a Patton who is freaking out over a huge freakadoodling spider, bonus points if it touches him, double bonus points if it's Logicality.

 Of course you can!~ Enjoy!

Word Count: 1,122

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It was no secret that Patton was absolutely terrified by spiders. And rightfully so, considering how spiders, at least in his mind, must have been the hell equivalent of puppies. With their eight legs and eyes…and not to mention that some of them can even kill you! That was enough for Patton to firmly believe that his fears were completely rational.

Currently, Patton was knitting away on the couch, getting ready for Christmas. You see, every single year he would always knit each side something special. Not necessarily a sweater either. Like last year, he had knitted a stuffed cat for Virgil. He had also made a knitted bookmark for Logan, and a scarf for Roman.

It had been pretty fun! They had all loved their gifts. But this year Patton had wanted to step it up a notch. So he had decided on knitting them each their own blanket. He had to start way earlier than he normally did. But it would be worth it in the end! So far he had already completed Logans and Virgil’s, they were both pretty simple. Logan’s was just a dark blue blanket with black trim. And Virgil was a black blanket with violet trim.

It was a lot harder than just knitting a sweater or a scarf, and it took a lot more time. However, it was still fun! Patton found himself humming a Christmas song as he sewed away, not realizing how late it was getting. But eventually he looked up from his work and out the window only to see the dark, starry sky outside. He sighed, “I guess I better quit for the night.” He said to himself.

He couldn’t help but wonder why the others hadn’t been downstairs for a while. He hadn’t seen them since dinner. Normally by now Logan would have come downstairs to try to get a sweet without being noticed. (Logan had a huge sweet tooth, but didn’t want anyone to know. Patton didn’t really know why he tried to hide it. Only that he was bad at it.) It was normal for Virgil to just stay in his room after dinner to listen to his music and he knew that Roman was probably just out on another one of his quests in his realm. Perhaps Logan had just gotten too involved in his work again.

Stuff like that had become a common occurrence ever since Logan started studying astrology. Patton couldn’t blame him for that, since he was also known to get too drawn into his little projects. Plus it was incredibly cute how Logan would go on and on about space. How his eyes would light up, and his voice would get just a bit higher. Yeah, there was absolutely no doubt that that was the cutest thing.

Patton hummed softly as he went upstairs, holding his knitting supplies. He went straight to his room, putting the stuff away before he moved to lay down. It hardly took any time at all for him to start to drift off. It had been nice to get a day off from making videos, and even nicer that he had managed to get so much of his Christmas-knitting done.

It had been only a few hours later when he was woken up by a light tickling on his arm. The fatherly trait groaned, shifting around a bit to try to stop it. Only to be met by more of it. He frowned and opened his eyes, seeing a rather large blurry dark spot on his arm. Patton blinked, moving the arm that the dark spot wasn’t on so he could grab his glasses to see it clearly. He looked down at it and then was able to see it clearly. It was a spider.

Patton screamed immediately feeling tears start to build up in his eyes as he rapidly shook his arm back and forth, trying desperately to get the spider off of him. It worked, but that just caused the spider to fall back onto the floor. Patton kept screaming and moved back to press himself against the wall, trying to get as far from it as possible.

Logan had been reading earlier, and had just went to bed an hour before he was woken up by Patton’s screaming. He kicked off his blankets and put on his glasses, not hesitating to dart out of his room and down the hall. He opened the door and moved over to the moral side. “Patton! Are you alright?”

His question was just met by Patton pointing down at the spider,  which actually looked fairly small to Logan. He sighed and simply moved to step on what Patton referred to as a ‘creepy crawly death dealer’. The second he had, he felt a sudden weight on him. Patton had jumped off of the bed to hug the logical side, pressing his face into Logan’s shoulder.

“Thanks so much Logan! I was pretty sure it was going to eat me!” Patton moved back to wipe away his tears before he suddenly went back to hug Logan again. “It was nothing Patton. It was just a small spider-” “You mean creepy crawly death dealer.” Patton interrupted with a serious look. “Yes, yes. Whatever you insist on calling it. There was no possible way it could have eaten you. That would have been..well, completely and utterly illogical.”

“No it wouldn’t! It still could have done it,” Patton insisted stubbornly. “But still…thanks Logan. See, that’s why you’re my hero!” Logan tried his best to shrug it off even though he felt his face heat up. “Th-Thank you, Patton…do you think you will be able to sleep?” He questioned, looking away. “I guess.. But I really don’t want to sleep alone. What if another creepy crawly death dealer comes? Will you stay with me?”

Okay, that probably just made the blush worse. Luckily Patton knew better than to bring it up. “I suppose that would be alright…but if the room starts affecting me I will have to leave.” He told him, Patton seemed to accept it and simply nodded. The fatherly trait moved to lay down on the bed, moving so that Logan could join him.

Logan layed down next to him, feeling a bit awkward. But he didn’t try to move away when Patton cuddled him close. He didn’t want to upset him. He simply sighed softly and watched as the fatherly trait drifted off. It took Logan a while to follow suit, but once he did it was the best rest he had gotten in his life, all thanks to a silly little spider.

Concept: an RPG setting where the ruling class consists of talking spiders with a penchant for fancy hats. Not anthropomorphic spiders - just regular-looking spiders, about the size of a largeish dog, that are sapient and capable of speech. The setting isn’t a horrifying arachnid dystopia or anything; it’s actually a fairly conventional high fantasy milieu, except that all the royals, most of the hereditary nobility, and a fair chunk of the gentry are spiders, with all the cultural strangeness that implies.

(Stairs are considered lower class - the spiders climb, of course - so wealthy humans build multi-level dwellings with no stairs and develop their free-climbing skills in order to imitate their eight-legged neighbours. The spiders, for their part, pointedly ignore the handholds cunningly disguised as decorative moulding, because it’s rude to draw attention to a person’s disability.)

2

In case you don’t know this story, the Norse gods wanted a wall around Asgard to protect themselves and a jotun only known as The Builder offers to make it in exchange for Freya, Sun and Moon. Freya gets rightfully pissed and refuses (no word on Sun or Moon’s feelings about this), so Loki turns into a female horse and lures The Builder’s horse away, causing all work on the wall to stop. Because he can’t finish the wall The Builder has to leave without Freya, Sun and Moon. Loki disappears for 9 nine months and returns with an eight-legged foal (yes, he had sex with the horse and got pregnant. I know you all love that part). The end.

For some reason people often leave out that The Builder wanted Sun and Moon too, and English translations often translate it to “the sun and moon” as if he wanted the heavenly bodies, but no, he wanted the goddess and god responsible for said heavenly bodies. He absolutely intended to have sex with all of them which is why a lot of translations leave out Moon because ew that’s gay.

Freya didn’t want to marry a Jotun, let alone as part of a god damn harem me thinks.

anonymous asked:

Hello! A few minutes ago you posted a submission about Lithuanian and the the word for octopus translates to 'eight legs'. My correction hies is that in English we say so as well. The word octopus derives from two ancient Greek words octo (οκτώ=eight) and pous (πούς=leg).

Hi, hi. I’m aware that that’s the case but I decided to post it regardless of that fact because my blog also has a ‘teaching’/'informative’ character meaning I want to show interesting language facts which others can relate to. You know what I mean ? In this case I want to portray that other languages took the word from Greek to adapt into theirs, same as in English. :)

anonymous asked:

*shyly whispers* do u think u could do another Greek Mythology story~

“Your tapestries are so fine,” the merchant says in wonder, “that you must be blessed by the goddess Athena.”

Arachne tosses her head, braided hair falling over her shoulder like an obsidian waterfall, “What’s Athena got to do with it? My hands wove these, not hers.”

The merchant blanches and looks to the sky, as if expecting Zeus himself to smite them for blasphemy. Personally, she thinks the king of the gods has better thing to do with his time. “Ah,” he says weakly, “I suppose.”

He pays her for her wares and she leaves, almost immediately bumping into a hunched old woman with grey eyes. “Do you not owe Athena thanks for your talent?” she croaks, gnarled hands curled over a cane.

Arachne is not stupid, but she is foolish. They will tell tales of it. She looks into those grey eyes and declares, “Athena should thank me, since my talents earn her so much praise.”

She pushes past her and keeps walking, ignoring the goddess in humans skin as she disappears into the crowd.

They will tell tales of her hubris. They will all be true.

~

The next day she bumps into the same old woman at the market. Everything goes downhill from there.

“Know your place, mortal,” Athena says, grey eyes narrowed. There is a crowd around them, and Arachne could save herself, could walk away unscathed, and all she has to do is say her weaving is inferior to that of a goddess.

She will not lie.

“I do,” she says coolly, “and in this matter, it is above you.”

She is not honest as a virtue, but as a vice.

Athena challengers her to a weaving contest. She accepts.

~

Gods are not so hard to find, if you know where to look.

“It’s a volcano,” the baker repeats, looking down at her coins, as if he feels guilty for taking money from someone who’s clearly not all there.

She grabs her bag of sweet breads and adds it to her pack before swinging it over her shoulders, “Yes, I know. Half a day’s walk, you said?”

“A volcano,” he insists, as if she did not hear him perfectly well the first dozen times.

“Thank you for your help,” she says. He’s shaking his head at her, but she knows what she’s doing.

She walks. She grows hungry, but does not touch the bread she paid for, and walks some more. The sun’s begun to set by the time she makes it to the base of the volcano. It’s tall, impossibly large, and for a moment the promise of defeat threatens to overwhelm her.

But Arachne does not believe in defeat, in loss. They will tell tales of her hubris. Those tales will be true.

She ties a scarf around her braids then hikes her skirt up and ties the material so it falls only to her thighs. She fits work roughened hands into the divots of cooled magma and begins her slow ascent.

~

The muscles in her legs and arms shake, and her hunger pains are almost as distracting. Her once white dress is dirt smeared and torn and sweat makes her itch as it covers her body and drips down her back.

“What are you doing?”

Arachne turns her head and bites back a scream, looking into one giant eye. The cyclops holds easily to the volcano’s edges, even though her hands are torn and bleeding. She swallows and says, “I heard you like honeyed bread. Is it true?”

The creature tilts his head to the side, baring his long fanged teeth at her. She thinks he might be smiling. “You’ve been climbing for hours. What do you want?”

“Is it true?” she repeats, refusing to flinch.

“Yes,” he says, looking at her the same way the baker had, “it’s true.”

“There’s some sweet bread in my pack, baked this morning,” she says, “it should still be soft.”

His hands are big enough and strong enough that it could probably squeeze her head like a grape. Instead he gently undoes her pack and reaches inside. The honey buns look comically small in his large hands, and he swallows half of them in one bite. He licks his fingers clean when he’s done, and his smile is just as terrifying the second time around. “I am Brontes. Why are you climbing my master’s volcano?”

“I’m the weaver Arachne,” she takes a deep breath, “I need your master’s help.”

~

They tell tales of Hephaestus’s ugliness.

They are not true.

He’s got a broad, angular face and short brown hair. His eyes are like amber set into his face, and his arms are huge, and he’s rippling muscle from the waist up. He has legs only to his knees. From there down his legs are bronze gears and golden wire, replacements for the legs destroyed when Hera threw him from Mount Olympus.

“Had your look, girl?” he asks, voice rough like he’s always a moment away from breaking into a coughing fit.

“Yes,” she says, and doesn’t turn away, keeps looking.

His lips quirk up at the corners, so it was the right move. The heat is even more oppressive inside the volcano, and all around him cyclopses work, forging oddly shaped metal that she can’t hope to understand. “You’ve gone to an awful lot of trouble to find me, girl. What do you want?”

She slides her pack off her shoulders and holds it out to the god, “I have a gift for your wife. I have woven her a cloak.”

He raises an eyebrow and doesn’t reach for the bag, “You believe something made with mortal hands could be worthy of the goddess of beauty?”

They will tell tales of her hubris.

“Yes.”

They will all be true.

With a gust of wind the oppressive heat of the volcano is swept away, leaving her chilled. In its place stands a woman – more than a woman. Aphrodite has skin like the copper of her husband’s machines and hair dark and thick and long. Her eyes are deepest, richest brown, piercing in their intelligence. People don’t tell tales of Aphrodite’s cleverness. That is because people are stupid.

“Let’s see it then,” she says, reaching inside the pack and pulling the cloak from its depths.

It unrolls beautifully. It’s made from the finest silks, and it shimmers in the light from the forges. The hem of the cloak is sea foam, speaking of Aphrodite’s beginning, and up along the cloak is intricate patterns it tells of her life, of her marriage and her worshippers and escapades, all with the detail of the most experienced artist and the reverence of her most devoted followers.

Her lips part in surprise and she slides it on, twirling like a child. “Gorgeous,” Hephaestus says, though Arachne knows he does not speak of the cloak. She doesn’t take offense.

The goddess smiles and Arachne’s heart pounds in her chest. She does her best to ignore it – Aphrodite is the goddess of love, after all. It is only expected. “Very well,” the goddess says, “you have my attention.”

Arachne swallows. Aphrodite’s attention is a heavy thing. “I have offended Athena,” she says, “She has challenged me to a weaving contest.”

Their faces somber. Hephaestus rubs the edge of a sleeve between his fingers and says, “Athena will lose such a contest, if judged fairly. She does not take loss well.”

“I know,” she says, “you are friendly with Hades, are you not?”

There are no tales of their friendship. But she’s staking her life on its existence, because why wouldn’t it exist – both of them even tempered, both shunned by Olympus, both happily married.

Gods hate being made to feel lesser. It is why they say Persephone was kidnapped, why they say Aphrodite cheats with Ares. It is why Athena will crush her when Arachne wins the weaving contest.

“Clever girl,” Hephaestus says, smiling.

Aphrodite stares at her reflection in a convenient piece of polished silver. Arachne assumes Hephaestus left if lying there for that express purpose. “Very well!” the goddess says, not looking at her, “when Athena sends you to the underworld, we will entrench upon our uncle for your release.” She turns on her heel and points a finger at her. Arachne blushes for no reason she can think of. “In return, you will weave me a gown, one equal to my own beauty.”

A gown as exquisite as the goddess of beauty. An impossible task.

They will tell tales of her hubris.

“I accept.”

They will all be true.

~

The contest goes as expected. Athena’s tapestry is lovely, but Arachne’s is lovelier.

The goddess’s face goes red in rage, and her grey eyes narrow. Arachne stands tall, ready to accept the death blow coming for her.

The blow comes.

Death does not.

~

She is an insect. Even if she can make it back to Hephaestus’s volcano, even if they can help her, they will not know it is her. She has no hope left, no course of action, she should just give up. But –

She doesn’t believe in defeat, in loss.

It was a terribly long journey on foot, that first time. It is even longer this time, although now she has eight legs instead of two. She makes it to the volcano, and creeps in between crevices, until she finds out a hollowed room, one with a sliver of sunlight and plenty of bugs to keep her fed.

Athena’s cruel joke of allowing her to weave will be her downfall. Her silk comes out a golden yellow color – it will look exquisite against Aphrodite’s copper skin.

~

It takes seven years for her to complete it. She hasn’t left this room in the volcano in all that time, and as soon as it’s done she scurries out back toward the village. She’s a large insect, but not that large.

She arrives just as the sun begins to rise, and leaves before the first rays have even touched the earth, her prize tied to her back with her own silk.

Arachne doesn’t return to her room. Instead she goes to the more popular parts of the volcano, hurries and runs around terrifying stomping feet until she finds who she’s looking for and scurries up his leg and onto his shoulder.

“Huh,” Brontes looks onto his shoulder and blinks. “What on earth are you?”

She cautiously skitters down his arm, waiting. He bends closer and lightly touches her back. “Is – is that a piece of a honey bun?”

She looks up at him, waiting. It’s her only chance, if he doesn’t remember, if he doesn’t understand –

His face slowly fills with a cautious kind of wonder. “Arachne?”  She jumps in place, being unable to nod, and Brontes cautiously cradles her in his massive hands, “We must find the Master immediately!”

She jumps down, landing in front of him and running forward. “Wait!” he calls, and she makes sure he’s running after her before skittering back to her corner of the cave. It’s almost too small for him to enter but he squeezes inside and breathes, “Oh.” He stares for several moments, and Arachne climbs her web and waits. Brontes shakes himself out of his reverie and uses his powerful wings to bellow, “MISTRESS APHRODITE!”

There’s that same breeze and she’s in the crevice with them, “What was so important, Brontes, that you had to yell?”

Arachne sees the exact moment that the goddess sees the gown, golden yellow and glimmering, made entirely of spider silk. “Beautiful,” she says, reaching out a hand to brush down the bodice. Her head then snaps up, “Brontes, where’s Arachne?”

She warms at that, that Aphrodite knew it was her weaving even though she hasn’t been seen in seven years.

They’ve told tales of her hubris.

They are all true.

Brontes points at the web, and Aphrodite steps over and holds out her hands. Arachne crawls onto the goddess’s palms. “Athena is more powerful than I am, I cannot undo her work,” she says, “but I know someone who can.”

Then they are in front of a river. A handsome young man stands there waiting with a boat. “Goddess Aphrodite,” he says, “we weren’t expecting you.”

“Thanatos,” she returns, “I need to see Persephone.”

The man’s face stays cool, and for a moment Arachne fears they will be refused and she will be stuck in this form forever. Then he smiles and says, “My lady is of course available for her favored niece.” He holds out a hand to help her onto the boat, “Please come with me.”

~

Arachne weaves a dress for Hades’s wife as a thank you, and returns to her volcano.

“I can take you somewhere else,” Aphrodite says, “you don’t have to hide here.”

Arachne pauses at her loom. She has lived in this volcano for seven years. It’s her home. “Would you like me to leave?” she asks instead.

Aphrodite scoffs, “Of course not! How could I dress myself without you here?” She’s wearing the spider silk dress Arachne spun for her, and she’s working on another for the goddess now. Aphrodite runs a gentle finger down Arachne’s cheek and for a moment she forgets to breathe. “You are the finest weaver to ever exist.”

She looks up at the goddess, “Then as the god of crafts and goddess of beautiful things, where else would I belong besides with you and Hephaestus?”

To declare your company equal to that of gods is the height of arrogance and blasphemy.

They tell tales of her hubris.

“An excellent point,” Aphrodite murmurs, and tucks a stray braid behind Arachne’s ear.

They are all true.

gods and monsters series part iii

If Vikings had memes
  • I want Freya to break into my house and use her falcon cloak to strangle me, killing me instantly
  • The Lokasenna but every time someone is kinkshamed it gets faster
  • Self-care is putting your hand inside a giant wolf’s mouth
  • Wake Brynhildr up (Wake Brynhildr up inside)
  • “Girls are so hot. Guys are so hot. Why is everybody so hot?” “It’s Ragnarok, and Surtur’s already fucking shit up”
  • Date a boy who thinks goats make wonderful pets
  • Are you a Frigg wlw or a Fulla wlw
  • “Are you a man or a woman?” “I’m Loki” “No, I mean, what’s your gender?” “Mischief” “Ok, but what’s between your legs?” “Sigyn, generally. Or Angrboda. Or Svadilfari. Or Odin, that one time…”
  • Brace yourself: Fimbulvetr is coming
  • Njord: *takes a deep breath* I lo-
    Skadi: yes, you love the sea, I know, you love the sea so much, it’s the light of your life, you love it so much, you just love the sea, I KNOW, you love the sea you fucking love the sea ok I know, I get it, YOU LOVE the sea. I GET IT.                                                              
  • “don’t talk to me or my eight-legged foal ever again” 
  • Mani: *currently engaged in a flame war over mooncourse with Artemis*
  • Odin: *disguised as a harmless old wanderer* A buddy of mine saw Odin take his shirt off in the shower and he said that Odin has an eight pack, that Odin is shredded
    Frigg: Your friend’s a liar, Odin is a punk bitch

anonymous asked:

What would you recommend to someone who is just starting to watch horror movies?

Oh hell, yeah!! I love giving recs and I LOVE when people start getting interested in horror. I’ll give you recs in a few different categories so that you don’t watch anything you wouldn’t enjoy:

Early Horror Movies (Most Are Black and White, 1900′s-1950′s):

Personal Favorites From the 1960′s (Suspenseful):

Must-Sees of the 70′s (The Beginning of the Golden Era):

1980′s Cult Classics (The decade of good special-effects make up):

Horror-Comedies:

Best of 2000′s-now:

Other Favorites (AKA 90′s horror):

Zoologists: spiders have eight legs

Pokemon: how’s this

Zoologists: no… eight legs

Pokemon: OH sorry our mistake, how about this one

Zoologists: this is not difficult, spiders have eight legs and that clearly has four

Pokemon: damn you right okay we’ll try again, give us a few years

Pokemon: how’s this

Tough as a Tardigrade

Without water, a human can only survive for about 100 hours. But there’s a creature so resilient that it can go without it for decades. This one millimeter animal can survive both the hottest and coldest environments on Earth, and can even withstand high levels of radiation. This is the tardigrade, and it’s one of the toughest creatures on Earth, even if it does look more like a chubby, eight-legged gummy bear. 

Most organisms need water to survive. Water allows metabolism to occur, which is the process that drives all the biochemical reactions that take place in cells. But creatures like the tardigrade, also known as the water bear, get around this restriction with a process called anhydrobiosis, from the Greek meaning life without water. And however extraordinary, tardigrades aren’t alone. Bacteria, single-celled organisms called archaea, plants, and even other animals can all survive drying up.

For many tardigrades, this requires that they go through something called a tun state. They curl up into a ball, pulling their head and eight legs inside their body and wait until water returns. It’s thought that as water becomes scarce and tardigrades enter their tun state, they start synthesize special molecules, which fill the tardigrade’s cells to replace lost water by forming a matrix. 

Components of the cells that are sensitive to dryness, like DNA, proteins, and membranes, get trapped in this matrix. It’s thought that this keeps these molecules locked in position to stop them from unfolding, breaking apart, or fusing together. Once the organism is rehydrated, the matrix dissolves, leaving behind undamaged, functional cells.

Beyond dryness, tardigrades can also tolerate other extreme stresses: being frozen, heated up past the boiling point of water, high levels of radiation, and even the vacuum of outer space. This has led to some erroneous speculation that tardigrades are extraterrestrial beings.

While that’s fun to think about, scientific evidence places their origin firmly on Earth where they’ve evolved over time. In fact, this earthly evolution has given rise to over 1100 known species of tardigrades and there are probably many others yet to be discovered. And because tardigrades are so hardy, they exist just about everywhere. They live on every continent, including Antarctica. And they’re in diverse biomes including deserts, ice sheets, the sea fresh water, rainforests, and the highest mountain peaks. But you can find tardigrades in the most ordinary places, too, like moss or lichen found in yards, parks, and forests. All you need to find them is a little patience and a microscope.

Scientists are now to trying to find out whether tardigrades use the tun state, their anti-drying technique, to survive other stresses. If we can understand how they, and other creatures, stabilize their sensitive biological molecules, perhaps we could apply this knowledge to help us stabilize vaccines, or to develop stress-tolerant crops that can cope with Earth’s changing climate. 

And by studying how tardigrades survive prolonged exposure to the vacuum of outer space, scientists can generate clues about the environmental limits of life and how to safeguard astronauts. In the process, tardigrades could even help us answer a critical question: could life survive on planets much less hospitable than our own?

From the TED-Ed Lesson Meet the tardigrade, the toughest animal on Earth - Thomas Boothby

Animation by Boniato Studio

ok i’m so sorry but here are a few more shining moments of pure beauty from the mbmbam pilot

  • “one time i saw a video of a rancho molt its skin and my eyes went to hell”
  • it’s so hilarious that griffin, who was in an anti-bullying PSA as a tiny babe, again speaks out against bullying, holding a basketball like a hip 90′s kid
  • griffin mcelroy only carries $3 in his wallet
  • when the spider guy tries to bring a molted spider skin into travis’s spider-free palace the boys are like “nononono seriously stop.” what good bros
  • ranchos are the coolest. and i gotta tell ya, babes dig ranchos the most. eight legs of justice
  • “please don’t trip. please don’t trip. oh no he tripped! he’s rolling down a hill onto the highway! he’s in a lake! why are you filming, help our dad!”
  • why were they eating spaghetti in a pool
I’m way too late to the party

But since humans are super hard to kill and try to be friends with everything, a common unspoken rule in space is that if a human is afraid, you better be pissing yourself in fear.

So the crew hears a scream from the quarters, and a crew member rushes to see what’s happening.

“Human Jane, what’s the problem? Are you hurt!?”

and she just fukin shrieks “SPIDERRRRRRR!!!!!” and everyone goes batshit insane and spiders are cataloged as extremely dangerous death creatures.

But then on another ship, a human crew member asks if they can bring a small pet, and it is approved as long as the human can prove that it’s not dangerous.

So they pull like a tarantula out of its little cage and let it crawl all over them and the other crew members stare in horror as the human just pets their eight-legged death beast and coos at it like a baby.

You know what D&D doesn’t have enough of?

Non-humanoid portrayals of deities.

Imagine:

  • The deity of nature is a five-headed boar with tusks the size of mountains
  • The deity of light is a literal flaming sphere        
  • The deity of war is a war elephant with seventeen tusks, and a body covered in gleaming chitinous plates like an insect’s exoskeleton
  • The deity of shadows is a million-tentacled eldritch horror with no discernible face, eyeless but with many whispering mouths belching darkness into the air
  • The deity of the hearth is a six-legged bear with a literal heart of fire and fur more like feathers of the softest variety
  • The deity of the harvest is an orchard tree with 100 different faces along its trunk and 1,000 different fruits along its branches
  • The deity of protection is a two-headed, four-legged, eight-armed being; each head facing opposite ways and forearms like enormous turtle shells

There can still be a few humanoids deities though. Like the goddess of music, who’s a fusion of Nicki Minaj, Lady Gaga, & Beyonce