the human spider

Our tiny half-human half-spider: *talks*
Me (OOC): That’s adorable. I need to punch the wall to feel manly again.
DM: Ok, roll to see if you hit the wall.
*rolls natural 20*
DM: Ok, roll for damage.
Me: Can I use my claws?
DM: Sure?
*rolls 11 damage*
DM: You manage to punch through the wall.
Centaur: Was that really necessary?
Wolf girl (me): I NEEDED TO FEEL MANLY AGAIN

An ancient philosopher once said that the bee extracts honey from the pollen of the flower, while from the same source the spider extracts poison. The problem which then confronts us is: are we bees or spiders? Do we transform the experiences of life into honey, or do we change them into poison? Do they lift us, or do we eternally rebel against the pricks? Many people become soured by experience, but the wise one takes the honey and builds it into the beehive of his own spiritual nature.
—  Manly P. Hall - Excerpted from “The Occult Anatomy of Man”
Arachnoids are weird af

So I had set up this campaign with some friends who’ve never played before, with me as the dm, since I’m the only one who knows shit. Well one of my players continuously asks if the can be a spider/human hybrid, in which this happened.

PJ: so can I be the spider centaur lady or not?
Dm: yknow what, its 11pm I’m exhausted and I’m too tired to say no.
Pj: sweet. Wait til you hear my weapon.
Dm: which is?
Pj: her left leg.
Dm: her left…im sorry what?
Pj: she has a knife on the second left leg from the front
Dm: …well sure I guess she does.
Pj: but if I roll a critical Miss or just don’t hit please just let me gently caress their face with my leg.
Dm:……….sure

I have worries going into this campaign

anonymous asked:

I'm pretty new to comics. When did Johnny find out Peter's identity?

He finds out in Spider-Man/Human Torch #5, in what is probably the greatest identity reveal of all time:

Peter’s teaching high school at this point in time, so they’re in their mid-20s and have known each other approximately 10 years.  Look at that nonverbal communication; to betray how long I’ve been in fandom, Spideytorch DEFINITELY pass the broccoli test.

Let me know if you have any other questions, anonymous!

scars [peter parker]

Originally posted by peterparkerimagine


warnings: mentions of sex, heavy make out, a bit of sadness in the beginning

request: @pradabiatch655 

word count: 1655


    Today had been one of the worst days of your life.

    It had started out just like any other day, you walked to school beside your boyfriend of two years, Peter Parker. The two of you always walked to school every morning, seeing as you lived in apartments that were close together. It was almost like a tradition for the two of you; meeting at the corner of the two of your building, before walking the fifteen minutes it took to get to school.

    Once the two of you had arrived at school, everything went downhill, fast.

    The moment you stepped into your first period class, your stomach had turned sideways, feeling as though your guts were turning themselves inside out. It felt as though something bad was going to happen as soon as you sat in your desk.

    And something bad was happening, indeed.

    Sitting in the cold, wooden desk aside Peter, you lowered your arm so that you could grab ahold of your bag. Pulling out a pencil, you straightened your back and relaxed into the seat. Raising your eyes, you noticed your teacher standing at the front of the room, a stack of paper in his hands.

    Pop quiz.

    An hour later, there were tears in your eyes, as you knew that you had down awful on the quiz. With the grade that you already had, this quiz would have decided your grade for the next few weeks.

    And that was not the end of the story.

    By the end of the school day, you had taken three tests, been bullied by the most popular girls in school, and tripped into the mud outside the school’s front doors on the way home. Now, you stood in front of Peter’s apartment, tears in your eyes. The cold, salty tears stung your dulled eyes as you knocked on his front door. Peter opened a few moments later, his body wrapped in a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. His wide eyes scanned your shivering frame before he was immediately grabbing you by your waist. He pulled you into his chest, strong arms wrapping around your hips. You inhaled his familiar scent as he pulled you closer to his chest, something that seemed almost impossible. The teen in front of you seemed sympathetic, his eyes filled with sadness and his heart filled with hurt.

    If Peter was being honest, when he saw the tears in your eyes, he was filled with a sudden rage. He wanted to find whoever had done this to you and use his newfound powers to show them that they should never hurt you. The teenage, human spider hated that you were in pain, even if it were not physical.

    Peter pulled you out of the rain, his grip never leaving your body. He pulled you into his apartment with strong hands guiding you to his room. He ducked past his Aunt May, trying to avoid her pestering questions, wanting nothing more than to get you warm and happy.

    When he reached his room, he grabbed a pair of his old sweats and a large shirt of his. He handed them to you, not uttering a word before gently pushing on the small of your back. He pushed you towards his bathroom, letting you get changed out of your wet clothes and into his fresh, warm ones. While you changed, Peter moved across his room, turning on his television screen. He let the vibrant screen play quietly in the background of his room for a few moments before he grabbed a movie beside the television. He pushed it into the slot of the screen before moving back to his bedside, moving the blankets and bunching them up in order to make part of a fort.

    When you exited Peter’s bathroom, you were surprised to see what he had done. Your eyes scanned the small room and laid them upon Peter’s figure; he was sorting the blankets and pushing pillows to the side of his bed so that there would be room for the two of you.

    Making a sound from the back of your throat, you alerted Peter of your presence. The teen turned his attention in your direction, his eyes immediately falling upon your frame. His chocolate brown eyes took in your broken stature; scrubby, red eyes, sunken-in frame, and wet, knotted hair.

    “Oh, baby,” Peter spoke sadly, moving the distance to take you back into his arms. He let your forehead fall against his broad chest, new tears soaking his sweatshirt. Peter rubbed small circles into your back, his head laying atop of yours, breathing in your scent. He let you cry for a few more minutes before he pulled you towards his bed. He layed you down in front of him, letting him lay behind you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you back into him. The position felt natural, as if he were meant to lay beside you.

    For the next hour or so, you and Peter cuddled into each other and watched movies, letting you get more comfortable.

    While you were focused on the movie, you did not see Peter watching you. You did not notice Peter’s eyes as he scanned your face with adoration in his eyes. He watched your eyes as they crinkled when you laughed, and the way that your lips curled at the end when you smiled. His eyes shined and reflected immense happiness when you smiled, grinning happily when you did. His eyes roamed every inch of your face, from the scars and lines. He knew that you did not like the scars and acne marks on your face. You claimed that they were ugly; that they made you look different and not perfect.

    But Peter thought differently.

    He thought the marks made you beautiful. He thought they made you look strong; as if you had survived through hell and much more. Peter thought that scars were not a sign of imperfection; they were a sign of strength and beauty. He loved the scars on your body, even if you did not.

    Lifting his hand, he let the tip of his index finger trail along the scar behind your ear, dropping it to follow the short line to its end. He moved his hand again, towards another one of your scars. It was one caused by acne, a scar that you hated because it was on your face, right underneath your cheekbone.

    When you felt the tip of his finger trail across his face, you turned, watching Peter as he stared at your face. His chocolate brown orbs gazed into your eyes, taking in every feature of your face with complete and utter awe. His lips twisted into a smile as he watched you take in his features as he did to you.

    With one final look, Peter lowered his lips until they were inches away from yours, “You are so gorgeous, love.”

    You shook your head with a blush, before you leaned up to connect your lips to his. Peter responded almost immediately, his lips moving against yours. He tilted his head so that his lips could slot against yours in a smoother fashion. You groaned against his lips, moving your lips faster so that you could keep up with him. Peter moved, his back muscles shifting as he let you fall back against his bed sheets. You sighed happily, complete euphoria and love rushing over your body.

    This was Peter Parker.

    The man you had loved since the day you met him.

    The man you would love for the rest of your life.

    You moved, your back lying flat against the sheets of Peter’s bed. Your hands clutched the sides of Peter’s face, one pulling itself through his hair with a groan. Peter smiled against your lips, his contagious personality rubbing off, causing you to smile as well.

    “God, I love you,” Peter groans. His hips roll into yours for a short moment, eliciting a moan from your mouth. He continues to roll his lips into yours, sighs of happiness and love coming from both your mouths.

    To anyone other person, the scene may have looked like two people wrapped up in lust and euphoria.

    However, that was not what was happening.

    No, this was different.

    This was something bigger; something pure and beautiful. Something that no one could have predicted, a motion that most people would never achieve in their entire lives. This was something that made the stormy days brighter, and the bad days just a little bit happier. It was the sort of thing that made your stomach flutter with excitement and your heart beat just a little bit faster. It made your eyes shine brighter and your steps feel lighter. This thing made you happy, sad, and excited all at the same time; the simple mention of it made you nervous and happy all at once.

    It was love.

    This love was the feeling in your stomach when Peter mumbled how much he loved you; it was the feeling of Peter’s lips against yours. Love was the ache in your gut as Peter’s hips rolled against yours.

    And most of all, it was what you felt for Peter; and similarly, it was what he felt for you.

So

If humans are special because of our unique ability to make dank memes, what does that imply? What allowed us to select for the strongest memes in the galaxy?

What if humans just have way more capacity for applying humor to situations, and when aliens come to conquer us, they’re not yet desensitized to our brand of absurdism?

“Uh, Commander? We have a problem?”

“What is it?”

“Well, the human weapons completely failed to stand up to ours.”

“Of course.”

“And we brought pesticides to deal with the native insect life.”

“Standard procedure.”

“And we brought hand sanitizer to avoid exposure to their local pathogens.”

“Naturally.”

“But…one of the humans we killed was in a workspace, and was reading something on its screen. Jyaenqins read it, and, uh…well, he’s dead.”

“What?”

“He just kept laughing. One of the humans hit him with a chair while he was immobilized.”

“Why didn’t you kill it?”

“Everyone else was laughing, too.”

See, as it turns out, “Average species has several hundred memes” factoid actually just statistical error. Average species has zero memes. Homo Sapiens, which lives on a blue rock and produces over 10000 memes per day, is an outlier adn should not have been counted.

Spider-Man finds his allies (Captain America, Daredevil, Thing, Human Torch and others) have been taken out-of-action and as hostages by his enemies. 

(Spoiler: This is actually Peter Parker’s bad dream about his wedding anxiety). 

- Amazing Spider-Man Annual v1 #21, 1987