Little Peter-man

Spider-Dysphoria-

Sometimes, like with Gender dysphoria, Peter gets spider-dysphoria. He feels like he's in the wrong body. 

Sometimes. Peter just didn't feel right. Like he was in the wrong body. It was stronger at night, around 6 and usually ended at 9 or 10, just before he was going to go out.-to become the thing that every instinct in his body screamed for him to become-For the few hours that it happened it was horrible. He didn't have a name for it yet but he knew that something didn't feel right with him. He had the urge to mate despite the impossibility of it, the urge to bite never mind the fact that he had no fangs to use, the urge to hang upside-down not worrying about the blood rushing to his head, spin a scaffolded web, to capture and suck the blood of living creatures. Sometimes his thoughts traveled to sucking the blood of the criminals that he had caught in his web but another strong sense- Humanity- forced him to reconsider. 

Sometimes these pains were so strong that he couldn't move. He had to curl up in a ball, under the comfort of his tightly knitted web, horrified that he only had two arms and two legs. He counted his arms as his fangs, longer than the usual spiders but stronger, but was always brought to tears when he realised that he only had two legs and not eight, four on each side of him. He could sometimes feel other parts of his body and he could swear that he grew the extra legs just to please the ache. But every time he glanced in the mirror his hope was shattered and he was left covering his sobs with a gag of scientific web. 

There were days where Peter couldn't get out of bed, his spider mind destroying his human body by refusing to eat and move, due to his insane metabalosm. On these days, the really bad ones. He has to cover his body with thick layers of clothing, with earmuffs and gloves even if the weather calls for shorts and a thin shirt. Because the vibrations that the world emit are almost painful. Short bursts of life, steps and jumps. Bumps and crashes. long rhythmic echoes of voices and feet, of cars, planes, trains, trucks, people, always more people. There was always too much sound on those days. He had taken to hiding himself away. He used his human arms to extend his web that came from spinnerets from his wrist, the liquid silk drying and solidifying as soon as it hit the air much like spiders threads. And danced across the buildings using the wind to turn and flip. At least when he was doing this he felt like less of an alien in his body. 

He had discovered an abandoned warehouse just past the city, out of the way and undisturbed by anyone. He had checked. At first all he did here was test out his powers, and take naps. He was drawn into the dark of the haunted storeroom, the constant company of other spiders -despite them shunning him for being different- the dank smell of the multiple broken taps, entrapped with mold and old, broken plumbing and the soft vibrations of the quite city life that only just reached his advanced senses. But now it was his hideaway. When upset he would run to his cubby, when angry and needed an outlet he would busk in the darkness and the soft whispers of the spiders chatting near him. And when in pain like now, he would cruse across the city to hurry his arrival and bury himself in both his own webs and the webs of other spiders. Despite their lack of hospitality towards him they would not leave him of he was hurt or in pain such as now. 

He shivered as another wave of unease filled his bones. He would usually find a hole big enough to hide his teenage body in but the waves kept increasing so he took to a corner of the building, wrapping himself up like how he would his own prey. The spiders around him whispered small comforting words that were covered by hisses and little nips of their fangs on his body. He shivered again and let out a sob. But the sob sounded so small and broken that it scared him, he wished he had the comfort of extra limbs, the comfort of being covered in extra sensitive hairs. He wished for this to stop. It was at times like this that he could feel the spider bite that turned him into this monster, the radioactive venom that it had injected into his system coursing through his body and pounding in his blood and DNA. It was times like this that he wanted Uncle Ben. Not that Aunt May wouldn't also be amazing in this situation but he just wanted the man that he missed. Another wave of unease filled his stomach and this time it rose with hot bile burning his throat. He couldn't warn the spiders before the acid poured over his mouth and splattered down the sides of his tight web. This was nothing like when a spider retched their digestive fluids over their prey to kill them. This was yellow, red and green vomit. From Peter, the human. Maybe he needed help.