#hdg microfic

"Don't you think this is all a bit dramatic, petal?" The warbling song of the weeds voice is all wrong. Too harmonic, too rich, too pretty?

"Fuck off," You yell in half-hearted defiance. "Leave me alone weed."

Petal, you're hiding in the ship's trash compacter. Please come out."

"No! Piss off! I'm fine here, I've got supplies and everything!"

"Really, petal?" The monstrous plant sighs, a curiously human sound. "There's raw sewage dripping from the ceiling. It doesn't exactly scream holiday getaway now, does it?"

"Yeah, well," You huff. "Up until five minutes ago I was safe, happy and alone! Now get tae fuck you interfering shrub!"

"Awwwwww! Someone's a spicy little kitty!"

"What!? No!" The plant is really starting to grind your gears, "I'm not a cat! I'm a person!"

"Awwwwwwww Kitty," The plant coos. "If you're not a cat, why are you hiding behind a dumpster in the rain?" The weed's strange warbling voice is filled with an alluring song. One that you can't help but focus on despite your best efforts. "Come now Kitty, I've got food for you. Your favourite in fact!"

The plant pulls a strange box out of its foliage, pulling the lid of with a crisp pop. Familiar odors waft out, carried by the rising clouds of steam.

"Is that—"

"Your Nani's chicken curry?" The plant smiles at you, "As well as chana dal, and roti. I made it myself actually."

The smug satisfaction in the weed's voice is grating, and you want to say no. You have more than enough synth cubes to survive. Unfortunately, your traitorous stomach growls like a ravenous animal.

"Would you like some?" The grinning plant pushes a bowl loaded with delicious memories towards you, "You're far too skinny, a nice hot meal will do you the world of good, Kitty."

You snatch up the offered plate and start digging in. It really is Nani's cooking: The excess of jeera because it was always her favourite spice, the married man pork that just elevated her green seasoning. Are there grated carrots in the dal? Nani always put carrots in her dal because you loved them so much. Tearing one of the buttery roti apart, you load up a portion of dal and curried potato, shoving the too large mouthful into your mouth.

It's perfect. Just like you remember, you can't help the little moan that escapes you, though hopefully the fact your face is stuffed with delicious curry and dal means the weed didn't hear it.

"Awwwww, does some Kitty like her din-dins?" You'd curse, but you're too busy eating, stuffing more of the heavenly meal into your mouth. "Slow down Kitty, remember to breath."

You're brain catches up with what the damn plant just said, and you take a deep breath to tell the presumptious weed that you're not a girl. Unfortunately for you, your mouth is full of the curried potato you just shoved in it, and suddenly breathing is high on the list of things that you'd like to be able to do.

"Kitty, are you okay?" You frantically nod your head, despite the iron band tightening round your chest. The plant's knowing grin does nothing to comfort you, "Really Kitty? You seem to be choking, are you sure you don't want help?"

You look around, desperately searching for a way out, as you repeatedly punch your sternum. You'd never really thought about it before, but the fact your chest is so flat is now deeply uncomfortable. Your eyes pop out of your face, as you frantically try to draw breath. You frenzied gaze searches your filthy hidey-hole, hoping against hope there's something that can get you out of your predicament.

You look up at the the grinning affini. Maybe the damn weed drugged you. Maybe is just the fact that your vision is dimming at the edges, but they look far friendlier than they did seconds ago. You reach up a tentative hand towards them, pleading.

"Awwwww, Kitty! You do want help." The plants grin is so wide it's a wonder the top of their head doesn't fall off. "Just nod if you want me to rescue you."

You nod, its not like you have any choice at this point.

Before you realise what's happening, you're wrapped in their vines, the errant potato pulled from your airway and tossed aside. You draw in desperate, gasping lungfuls, the stale air of the ship tasting refreshing and crisp, despite the lingering odour of sewage. It takes a couple of minutes for your eyes to stop watering, but when they do, you realise that you are held very firmly in the vines of your captor.

"Do you… think you could let me down?" You mumble in a meek voice, "I'm feeling a lot better now."

"Now what would I do that?" The plant giggles, "Left to your own devices, you'd just find another way to get yourself in trouble. I'd have to rescue you all over again."

"Put me down this instant—"

"Now now, Kitty," Your saviour shushes you with a vine to the lips. "Good girls say thank you to the kind affini that saved them."

"I'm not a girl boy! I'm a boy girl" Your protest crashes to a halt as you brain registers what you just said. "No! That's wrong! I'm a boy girl! A boy girl!"

"Yes! You're Mommy's goodest little girl!" You squirm, overwhelmed by embarrassment, as the damn weed pretty affini, tickles you under the chin. "Come on Kitty, it's time to take you home."

"Nooooooooooooooooooooo!" You yowl, "Let me goooooooooooooooooo!"

"Kitty," Your captor Mommy sighs. "If you don't start behaving I'll have to take steps."

You continue your futile struggle, but the vines that bind you are stronger than steel. You know you will never escape them, but that doesn't stop you putting up a fight. Even if that fight is more akin to wiggling like the needy little kitty you truly are.

"Have it your way Kitty." Mommy sighs again and you feel a pinch in your neck before the world goes dark.

—

"You were right, my dear flower, ferals do make the cuddliest lap pets." The musical sound of Mommy's beautiful voice washes over you. Its your favourite sound in the world. You could listen to her talk all day, but mostly you just spend your time on her lap, purring and making biscuits.

The other affini, Mommy's friend, giggles, and scritches you behind your ears. You let yourself be carried away on clouds of blissful sensation. Though of course, when Mommy does it, its somehow even better.

"She really is the cutest little kitty!" The other affini's voice is pleasant and musical, but not as good as Mommy's voice.

You whine, helplessly, as you struggle to squirm beneath her vines. She looms over you, pinning your arms and legs down spread-eagle, applying a comforting pressure to your chest as does a weighted blanket. Her dreaded tendril inches toward you, unfurling a beautiful blue flower you’ve become all too familiar with. You plead with her, begging for her to stop turning you into something you’re not. To stop making you act so weird and gross. All you want is to just be normal.

You close your eyes, wincing as you prepare for the gentle embrace of her petals around your face, and that sickly sweet scent flooding your lungs. But it doesn’t come. Instead, you can almost hear her pout.

“Awh, sweet thing… you know, your medicine isn’t making you do anything, right?”

You reopen your eyes, and try not to look up into hers. They glow a solid yellow, casting a soft light onto your face and the flower that threatens to engulf it.

“All of those adorable, silly feelings you find so shameful are locked up nice and tight, riiight in here.”

She presses her vine against your chest. You shake your head. You know yourself. You know you aren’t some weirdo. You would never think those thoughts on your own, not without shooting them down. All of that stuff is just intrusive.

“Think of it like fertilizer, sweetie. Wouldn’t it be so sad, if a pretty flower got stuck inside its shell, and never got to feel the sun? Wouldn’t you want to help the pretty flower?”

You look down, and away from her. You already know what she’s getting at. She smiles. She can tell, deep down, that you agree. You would want to help the flower.

“See, little one, the pretty flower was always there, buried inside the seed, waiting for just the right time to break out. But sometimes, a seed can’t grow quite right on its own. Maybe the shell is too hard, or it’s all scratched up and torn, or maybe it’s just not in the right place when it needs to be. Sometimes all a seed needs is a little push to help the pretty flower find its way out.”

But you wouldn’t think those thoughts, you protest. You know yourself too well. You know how bad they make you feel, how quickly your brain shuts them down when they try to come back up, how often they poke and prod and pull at your brain, begging to let themselves free. You wouldn’t let them free.

The room grows silent. You begin to understand.

“Your shell has grown so thick, my sweet. How cruel of your kind, to plant you so far out of season and leave you to your lonesome. I know how badly you, the real you, yearn to feel the sun’s heat on your fronds. It’s okay now, petal. There’s nothing left to defend yourself from. There’s no need to stay in your shell anymore. Let me help you.”

You haven’t even been dosed, and yet her words seep into your brain like sweet syrup, soaking into every last wrinkle it can. Your brain grows so heavy as if it’s pushing against your eyes, squeezing shiny streaks of liquid catharsis out from beneath them as you fail to choke back a sob. Her firm grip slowly loosens into a soft hug, vines coiling around you with a gentle squeeze.

The wicked tendril tentatively draws closer.

You don’t pull away.

“It’s going to be okay, little one. We’re here for you now. Just relax, and let yourself bloom.”

The soft petals cup your mouth and nose with a perfect seal as a familiar scent begins to creep its way up your nostrils. In seconds, the pressure stops. The tears dry up, your breathing settles, and one last hiccup teases a soft giggle from out your throat.

Every other affini that we interact with can see how desperately you want to be mine. How desperately you want to be broken. Just let yourself... No? You won't?

Fine. I didn't want to have to do this but...

I've read your stories, pet. The ones you post online and then pray I won't notice or read. All about your devotion to me, to Your Affini, to Your Mistress.

To the tune of LA Devotee by Panic! At The Disco:

You got two green eyes from the implant haze And an owner to love you for the rest of your days You wouldn’t change it, oh No rebel’s gonna make you leave, no

The Affini arriving was your sign And a martian storm with Aries rising Owner didn’t break you, oh Just domesticated you, whoah

Static eyes melt your mind Midnight conditioning

The black magic on the Occantalis Making florn with a girl named Alice Hitting Class-Zs and compiler sprees Just another Compact devotee Sunsets on the spinward side Nothing missed by benevolent eyes No more falling for the feral lies Just another Compact devotee

Just another, just another, uh oh Just another, just another, uh oh Just another, just another, uh oh Just another Compact devotee

You got a biomodded body from your vet And you haven’t met a xeno you don’t love yet Mommy came to save you, oh Couldn’t leave you alone, whoah

Domestication Contract lists your rights And the solar wind with Virgo rising Wouldn’t change it, oh No one’s gonna make you leave, no

Static eyes melt your mind Midnight conditioning

The black magic on Cymbidium Domesticated in delirium Hittin Class-E, speaking Xenrani Just another Compact devotee Sunsets on the spinward side Nothing missed by your Alpha’s eyes Always looking out for another little sprout Just another Compact devotee

Just another, just another, uh oh Just another, just another, uh oh Just another, just another, uh oh Just another Compact devotee

Compact Devotee Compact Devotee Compact Devotee Compact Devotee

The black magic on Tillandsia Medically prescribed amnesia Grandma’s making out with a dinosaur She’s just another Compact devotee Sunsets on the revolution Being cared for is the solution Always on the hunt for more xenosophonts Just another Compact devotee

Tw: suicide attempt

https://archiveofourown.org/works/84786941

cw: Its HDG so usual kinda manipulative caregiver warnings apply, its tame and there isn't any sexual content but there is a decently sized power imbalance and infantilisation thing going on, the usual between a floret and her Mistress. (Reader is ungendered so don't gotta worry about that)

Premise: A (soon to be) floret reminices on their time before the cosmic navy, leading to building a model kit and questioning their purpose in the compact. (1045 words)