#spider-replies.

and he’s tired but not down, limbs weary, the taste of a split lip that has already healed and sealed over on his tongue. it smells of beer. pungent, heady, of too many nights following friends to bars and wondering at the sounds splitting his sensitive ears. he’d still gone, of course, because he’d wanted to be normal. ( to be fun, wanted, important. ) peter pulls off his mask, tongue swiping over his lip. 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚏𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢. ❛❛ honey, i’m home. started the party without me ? ❜❜

there are a few cans already opened, but flash is only softened, the lines of his face washed away. a warmness clings to him, as thought the release of alcohol is what draws away lingering shadows. peter doesn’t like the inclusion of a vice, especially this particular one, but he enjoys the way the world seems to feel the way the color of bourbon looks. amber-bright and deep. 𝚜𝚞𝚗𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚖. ❛❛ hold that thought, dude. and save some for me. ❜❜

peter showers off the grime of the city smog, brushes away the taste of his blood and sweat. he’s quick about it, used to the brutality of cold water on his poor limbs. a shiver has him throwing on three layers — the last being a sweatshirt that hangs a little off his frame. must be one of flash’s, their laundry mixed by accident. in just a few minutes he’s throwing himself back upon the couch he woke up on, exhaling a bright, groaning sigh. his head is tossed back against the cushions, curls damp and splayed on the upholstery. they’re getting long. he should get a cut soon. he tries to imagine getting a crewcut like flash and makes himself laugh.

it’s not often he drinks. he doesn’t like the way it makes him heavy and slow but doesn’t tamper the power. he doesn’t like how easily his control can be lost. but he drinks a can anyway, swiping it from the table, rings from many drinks before stained into the wood. ❛❛ UGH ! just as bad as i remember . . . ❜❜ and they sit, and they talk, and that golden ambience sinks into his eyes and his smile, and peter isn’t sure why there’s a thread of tension between them 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛.

@aegant murmurs ❛❛ i wish you were a girl . . . ❜❜

the summer-dream colors slip away, starkly white and blue. the shower is suddenly warm in comparison to the chill that climbs down every damn knob of his spine. he doesn’t feel the can pressed to his lips, he doesn’t feel it clatter against the table when he drops it down, movements mechanical. there’s a ringing in his head that has nothing at all to do with the presence of danger, it sounds like the resounding toll of a bell after a funeral. it sounds like I WISH YOU WERE A GIRL. ❛❛ what ? ❜❜ he chuckles, forcefully. it feels like a cry. like something didn’t just crack because 𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎’𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚙𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚛. ( not pretty enough, not on time enough, not strong enough, not kind enough, not female enough. )

he looks away. at the floor, the window, the ceiling. ❛❛ you’re a little tipsy, huh ? ❜❜ his voice cracks, angry as a thrown mirror. he tries to tape it up but it just doesn’t quite look the same. ❛❛ you wouldn’t like me if i was a girl. maybe you wouldn’t have dunked my head in a toilet as a kid but you sure wouldn’t have looked twice at me. you couldn’t have me like this if i was a girl, as your roommate, as your best friend, as your — ❜❜

seeing that he’s technically a hybrid, we must consider some combination of both species with certain human limitations, considering the general form of his body and most of his internal organs have remained “human”. that being said, it’s more likely that he lays only a few eggs at a time and that they’d be on the small side. they’d remain in an egg sack, webbed and safe within his home — I would say around spring, too, as the breeding months are typically in the fall but the egg laying is after winter.