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CW: oviposition, body horror, egg laying, mind control, kinky shit

This city was alive, no matter how dead it looked.

You feel it in the pounding of your heart as you make your way along winding paths and twisted buildings. Shattered husk-vessels litter the ground around you. So many glowing orange windows. Lit from unknown burning sources. They flicker, blink almost.

Your rifle is ready to hand as you cautiously explore. A city can devour a soul far more easily than some mere monster can. Bullets can shred beasts, but not buildings. The hungry mouths of structures forgotten make things vulnerable, tiny, and alone. You are here to rescue. A distress call was sent, and you heard it. You had to answer.

Motion captures your eye- something slithering away from you on a ledge above as you round the corner. You punch a short burn on your wingsuit, soaring to catch up with the thing, gun raised. Nothing. The glowing halo around your armor spins down as you land, cautiously.

As it does, a faint glimmer catches the light and your curiosity. A thin strand of some threadlike material hangs from a rusting doorframe, and as you approach it, the spectroanalysis HUD informs you the fiber is made of organic proteins bonded to a surprising quantity of element 79, AU, or Gold.

You poke at it with the tip of your rifle. It sticks to the metal a bit, before breaking off. The goldsilk hangs there, catching the light beautifully. You appreciate your moment with the substance, then move on from the distraction. You notice a falling strand of the stuff lands on your wingsuit’s boot. It sticks, and resists a single shake. The material having been determined to not be hazardous, you simply ignore it and continue with the strand connected to you, flowing as you fly back down to the ground level.

Another 30 minutes or so of exploring the ruin passes without incident. Jagged metal shapes and eyes cause more than a few jumpscares. All the enlightenment in the quadrant can’t overcome millions of years of self preservation. Pattern recognition to seek the signs of predators is strong, and the humanoid eye will imagine them where they are not. More of the golden threads, and occasionally a strange sense of some dark shape retreating. You're being led somewhere. You collect the golden threads you pass, without knowing why. They feel important.


Deeper, the den twisted and turned. It was a maze, but the glowing threads knew where to guide you. When did you take your helmet off? You couldn't remember doing so, but it must have been for a reason. The air was thick, smelled sweet and a little musky. Intoxicating.

You knew you were so close. The golden threads did not hang down in your way, you had to step to the side to grab them, yet you made sure to touch every last one. The webs stuck to your fingertips,

It was so warm. The Wingsuit was left standing with a homing beacon active. You knew when you returned to leave it would be easy to find. For some reason the idea of turning around, leaving, felt odd. You were sure you could at any time, but you didnt want to.

You knew you had arrived at your destination when you reach a tunnel dead ended by a densely woven spiderweb. A final barrier. Once you passed through it, you would be where you were supposed to be- The threads in your arms help you reach up, breaking the connection points of the golden tapestry, and wrap it around yourself. It feels correct to do so.

You feel giddy with victory as you emerge into a large open space. The woven silk is over your eyes, but you feel the flow of air, you are in a cavernous space. You don't need to see. You know this is where you were going. You followed every thread to find this place. The feeling of little fingertips all over your body- not sure if you're imagining it, or if there are little pinpricks sewing golden spidersilk directly into your skin.

The tug on your heart is irresistible. You follow blindly, strings helping you move like a puppet. You're finally here's finally in the place you had been seeking. You don't remember why, but you know where, this is where you're supposed to be. The threads tug on your body, leading you to kneel before your queen. You don't know how you know that's what is before you, you simply do.

You want to reach up, remove the silken blindfold wrapped around your face, gaze upon the one whose scent fills your lungs and makes you ache for her touch, but you cannot. The threads woven into your arms are firm.

You feel her breath on your neck before you hear the sound of her moving. Little drifts of touch are all over you now. By the time you've adjusted to the scent of her breath it's already over. Her fangs sink into the back of your neck, fluids dripping down your back and chest, venom coursing deep.

Cool hands delicately untie the web that had blinded you, and you can gaze upon the one who brought you here.

A humanoid upper body is before you. Not standing, for it has no legs, simply continuing back into the dark reaches of the space you are in. She smells like clementines, and honey, and love.

Arms whose sources you cannot see hold your head, petting your hair, calming you, as you whimper at light pressure felt through numbness, her needle and thread stitching a golden collar of a weaver queen's pet directly into your neck.

At once, the threads restraining you all go loose. They are not needed anymore. You are here, and you know she is what you have been looking for this whole time.


Her eggs felt warm in your chest. She had extracted your own genetic material with a long, probing tube, fertilizing herself, then depositing them into you. Your body was unrecognizable. Skin pale as bone, torso softly glowing from her venom-nectar and eggs inside of you.

Repeated injections of the addictive substance had kept you blissful and addled. You felt that your body was not the same. Your sternum had a groove running down the center, and your own reproductive organs were encased in a sort of amber resin.

Six darkened dots had appeared around your eyes, and they felt stimulated when pointed at light. Sometimes they felt this tingle when pointed at what your humanoid eyes saw as pitch black. Perhaps they were sensitive to a different light spectrum.

Your breasts felt larger, more sensitive, and if brushed, would leak a fluid that glowed a soft orange, smelled like your queens venom. She had, after filling you with eggs, continued to use your body in what felt much less… Purposeful. You felt sure she was simply enjoying her plaything.

You had heard her softly giggle once, whisper a word or two. Her mouth spent more time locked on your lips than speaking, and you were far beyond needing any mental stimulation beyond her touch.


Her fangs sank into your neck deeper and harder than ever before. This was not the typical numbness, but something deeper. You feel your mind slipping into a daze, her threads pulling you like a puppet into her waiting limbs.

Another puff of pheromonal gas, and your body convulses. The eggs in your chest are ready, hatching inside you. a knife like tendril slices surgically down the thin part of your sternum- you expect to see an explosion of crimson, but instead your Weavers golden honey pours painlessly from your chest. Tendrils follow, a dozen tiny spiderlike creatures born into the sweet smell of your Queen's body.

You lie back, allowing the humanoid extension's hands to sew you back together, good as new. The shadow daughters congregate around your breasts, hungry nightmare mouths thirsty for what the Queen has corrupted your mammal body into producing for her young. It feels wonderful to be fed upon this way.

You look up, your eight eyes taking the full shape of your lover. The small humanoid extension of the enormous spider body that merged with the foundations of the buildings above.

The Queen was the living city itself. Hundreds of eyes in dark windows and teeth in every jagged but of shattered masonry. She gazed upon you not with apathy, but protective love.

Above it all, you could faintly see the tiniest trace of her angelic halo. Little graspers with glowing orange eyes pulled slivers from the ring of gold, spinning them like looms. You feel so lucky she saved you from that life. Made you her Broodmother.

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1 Comment

this is really really good

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