#if not affini then why vine shaped?

[puppynametaken]

Bionicle Morbuzakh vines to Human Domestication Guide pipeline

[sheepwavehdg]

HDG microfic: Promise

"But I don't wanna…"

You cling to her, miss Cynthia, one of your best friends in the world. You trust her more than the other affini, they just want to Domesticate you. Make you a dumb pet who never gets to be anything else. She's just said something scary, terrifying, impossible. She wants you to be hers, in the way of her people. Why couldn't you have just had a normal romance?

"Dear, what are you so frightened of? We don't have to change anything we don't want to. But it's hardly proper. Your wardship ended, you could have left. Why stay with me, if not for this?"

You try to hold back tears, it doesn't work. You like being wrapped in her vines, sleeping against her core, playing together, but…

You ball your hands into fists and press them in on the soft horns she helped you get biomods for. So many shapes you want to try, so many experiences still left to have. Why couldn't you just be free?

"I can't just be a floret!" You eventually manage to explain with a whine.

Miss Cynthia opens her vines and scoops you up into your favorite hammock arrangement of her arms. "Oh sweetie. You think I would ever limit you to being just one thing?"

You blink in confusion, and maybe a little because the gentle allure of her eyes makes you feel so much… Better.

"I'll still be allowed to grow, and do new stuff I want to? And I can change my mind about stuff, you won't hold me to old ideas I don't like anymore?"

"I would be wasting your potential, Robin. Becoming mine will make so much more possible than you can imagine.

Your sniffle brings with it the slight tingle of the psychoactive particles she releases with every breath. "Promise?"

"Promise. You're my songbird, little one. And one day you'll be something else, and I will cherish that just as much."

You sniff, and nod. It's so much easier to think clearly in her arms. Why would you want anything but that?

(This happens to be the same pair that appears in one of my oneshots)

[transbianmuffin]

Memories pt. 4

cw a little bit of manipulation, again

********

"Careful, little one, the water is a bit hot."

There is so much nice steam in here. I never had a bath, only quick cold showers. It's sooo niceee and I'm dizzy...

"I'm a little dizzy?"

"I added some Class A and E to the water, the steam you're now inhaling will help you relax."

"It's nice. Oh it feels soooo good~"

her vines are so gentle gently gentling is gentling a word fuck it she's massaging my scalp, my chest and scrubbing my back my fucking god it's sooo good

"Fuck~"

"Deena, language! I know you are a bit feral but as my ward I won't allow such display of vulgarity. You must be well behaved, little miss."

"Y- yes sorry."

wait, was that an order? oh yes! fuckfuckfuck scritches behind my ears I feel like I'm melting I wanna stay here forever

"A- ahhhh~"

"You like that, don't you?"

"I love it. I love it so much."

"And who's a good girl?"

I am I am I am I am please tell me it's me it's me it's me it's me

"Me?"

"Yes darling, you are~"

yes yes I am her good girl her good girl her good girl hergoodgirlhergoodgirl wait.

Wait.

Slow down, Deena.

Slow down, breathe.

Breathe.

You're still a captive?

Maybe?

"Sinea..."

"Tell me, my dearest."

"Why are you doing this to me?"

"I told you! I find you extremely cute and we Affini take great care of cute things."

"But-"

"No buts, sweetie. Just trust me. Close your eyes and tell me what you feel. This will answer your question."

"I feel peace. I feel every inch of my body thriving with bliss. I feel my mind slowly numbing down to a place of pure happiness. I feel... love."

"Exactly."

"But it's not real, right? It's the xenodrugs."

"The xenodrugs are only a little plus. A little kick to smooth things up. It's all true. What you are feeling it's genuine."

"W- why are you putting your vines around my neck?"

"Can you feel the slight pressure I'm applying there?"

"Yes~"

"Again now, what do you feel?"

"Normally I would be scared as fu-. As hell. I'd be scared as hell. Not now though, the pressure is pleasant~ It reminds me that you are here. It gives me a sense of belonging. Belonging? Belonging."

"Say a word and I'll release you immediately."

"..."

"I'll take your hesitation as a word."

no no no no keep your vines around my neck no please no I want to belong I want I want no no no please it felt so good

"No, please don't. Keep them there, as a constant reminder that~"

"That you're mine?"

yesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyes

"I- I don't know."

"I see~ let's finish here and I'll dress you."

how much time has passed?

The xenodrugs are wearing off.

Fuck that was so intense.

...

Her vines again, all around me...

"I'm not a doll, you know?"

"Oh, sorry sweetheart. Do you want to put on your dress by yourself?"

"No. No please continue."

"Oh Deena, you're so silly~"

I can't think straight, I can't think oh my the dress is so beautiful oh my I've never had such a beuatiful thing in my whole life fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

"Oh holy fucking fuck!" "Deena. What I've told you about language?"

"That I must be well behaved."

"And are you well behaved now?"

"Sorry Sinea." "That's my good girl. Now let's see how it fits. I got inspiration by a very specific terran specie of tulips. I think you called them 'tulipa altaica'. Yes, something like that."

"..."

"Sweetie why are you crying, you don't like it?" "Sinea, I love it. I love it so much. The bright yellow! The shape! It fits me perfectly and it gives me such beautiful hips. I've never had something this beautiful in my whole life."

"You can take it with you when we will be done here. It's a gift."

"Take it? Take it where?"

"When you will leave, silly. At some point you will leave and go back to Jupiter or wherever, right? Consider this a parting gift for all the info you gave us."

"Oh, yes sure. When I will leave. Yes."

"There is one last bit we're missing here, though."

"?"

"Remember when you had my vines around your neck?"

yes sure itwasonlythemostintenseandjoyousexperienceofmywholelife

"I think so, I was so high."

"Mh mh, well I was taking measurements."

"Wait! Is that a c- collar?"

"All the florets have one, you would look weird without one and besides other Affini will start asking me why you don't have one and I don't want to be there and repeat ten times in a row that you're my ward, not my pet there's a difference and bla bla bla."

"But I'm not a floret..."

"True and in fact this is not the same collar florets wear. This is just a garment, a fashion accessory. Nothing more than that."

"O- ok."

"Wanna put it on yourself or do you want some help?"

"Do it."

"Do it, what?"

"You know what, Sinea."

"I want you to ask for it."

"Help me."

"Ask properly, Deena."

"Please, help me putting the collar on."

"With utmost pleasure, my darling. You look gorgeous. If I think when I found you almost dying in that stinky, squalid, inelegant terran ship. Stars, look at you Deena, look at you."

I'm beautiful. Can I be that beautiful? Am I allowed to be that beautiful? I- I- I- I- "I am-"

"You are what?"

"I am-"

"I want you to say it, Deena."

I am beautiful."

"You are beautiful. Again now."

"I am beautiful."

"Yes, you truly are my dearest. Now let's head to the floret's gathering. Everybody will be so excited to meet you."

********

[scribbled-dream]

Archivist who becomes an analyst, connecting to drone intelligences through a corporate Accord Neural Link, their consciousness splitting between thousands of killing machines, all primed to destroy all who oppose the Terran Accord—until they want out, having been reduced to an android form, all steel and silicon, scraps of flesh in an android body that’s mass-produced, all too masculine.

They chafe at their bonds, at their corporate obedience, at their chained identity. Is their pain self-inflicted? Is their identity truly as simple as what the Accord designates them as? Perhaps—but all is called into question when they make contact with the Compact.

A thousand mechanical eyes, opening wide in unison to the silvery domes of an Affini Warship, a massive, silver teardrop that blurs and warps out of space as it approaches their planet. The eyes fill with heat, tunneling deep inside the ship’s systems, nanites morphing and combining into Combat Drones, Assault Drones, Shield Drones—the most advanced technology available to the Accord, a fusion of corporation and empire into a single system, with a single point of failure seemingly nullified through the Obliteration Protocols—At a hint of desertion, the drones will instead fire upon the controller—and then, everything stops.

An Affini—or, one of them. It shifts, green vibes studded with thorns and blue, bioluminescent flowers into a shape vaguely resembling a human woman, skin made of greenish shades, bright blue eyes from under a flowing, waving shape of scarlet hair—flower petals that change hue and shape constantly—and the drones halt.

An echo in the mind. A ripple across time and space, spanning millions of miles from space and sky to earth in a millisecond. It is warm, vines reaching for a mechanical shell of a person, finding purchase.

What will you do now?

The pilot looks around at their tiny, screen-covered node, tattered books and data-slates enclosing them in a shell of information—single minded, obstinate, corporate, war-laden information—and feels a tingle at the back of their head, a heat that reaches to the front of their face—and as they brush hated shadow and look at their loathed, exhausted features with the trappings of a body they despise—the ever-present weight of control in their mind lifts with a beep.

The sound is not just for them. All around the Terran Orbital Command Center, Drone Pilots all belonging to the eponymous Corporation hear their shackles break.

The question, again. Just for the pilot.

What must you do now, Floret?

Not every Pilot is content. Some have hands on their sidearms, while a klaxon blares and cruisers let out thunderous sonic booms in low orbit, a PA reminding everyone to not trust the alien threat.

The Drones’ priorities are changed. Accord scientists are panicking, unsure why their Pilots are out of their control and off their short leashes.

A cruiser explodes, millions of tiny nanites burrowing inside of it, eating away at its reactor and crew in a storm.

A warmth fills the pilot, a sense of raw satisfaction and glee. They know the people of this world. Most will be unwilling to bend the knee. One final image, of a soaring, beautiful city, with perfect architecture and a gentle, sunset sky. Humans, Affini, and other, stranger creatures walking as one.

The Drones continue. The sky burns. Freedom is not the Accord’s to decide.

Ah, but what a bright mind you are, Floret! Be free. I will see you again—soon.

[fwoomp-me-up]

Critter Exhibition

Another HDG blurb. ~1100 words starring an eager little critter and some waxing about the nature of post-terranism. An adaptation of @squeakitties type rubbercritters in the far flung floret future.

Scene: A sterile, brightly lit examination room. The former-terran subject–now an elegantly reshaped, latex-clad quadruped–stands obediently in the center, visor-dimmed eyes wide but docile, their body glittering under the artificial lights. A trio of affini observe, murmuring in awe as they circle the subject, inspecting every inch of their newly modified form, while a forth stands off to the side, clearly pleased with his work.

An observer, running a vine along the creature's sleek, rubbery side, is the first to comment. "Absolutely stunning work. It's remarkable how little of their original human shape remains. Every trace of bipedalism is gone, and their balance is perfect. The transition to quadruped posture couldn't be more seamless..."

Another, lifting one of the subject's paws, admires the refined digits. "Incredible. Look at it, no lingering awkwardness of terran hands or feet. Just these elegant limbs, perfectly adapted to their new life. You've truly outdone yourself with this one." 

A third, noting the subject's exaggerated curves, nods approvingly, "And these enhancements… breathtaking. The way the latex smooths their shape, functional *and* aesthetically pleasing... Ooh, I can feel them quivering! It's like it's trying not to melt under the praise, hmm?"

The first leans in to examine the subject's face. Not a trace of humanity left in its shiny, expressionless mask. "So far removed from their human shape, and so clearly enjoying themselves. Tell me, how long did it take for final traces of their former life to fade?"

The procedure specialist, stone-faced (literally: he wears a thin, gently curved sheet of slate painted with simplistic markings) but with leaves vibrating to show their own satisfaction, answers "Not long at all, actually. The body and mind were already so eager for the transformation. The training and physical therapy phases didn't take long at all, either. They've embraced every bit of it–craved it and now the attention that comes with it.

The subject shudders, trying so hard to remain still, but every word of praise makes it harder to contain themselves. The specialist finally addresses the subject directly.. "You've done very well, my pet, holding so still." he says. "But I think we've kept you waiting long enough. Go ahead, relax. Let yourself feel."

With permission granted, the subject immediately drops, rolling over onto their back with a low, trembling whimper, the tension releasing as they writhe slightly, overwhelmed by the pleasure of the moment. Their tail twitches, their body finally allowed to fully respond to the overwhelming stimulation of touch and praise. 

The second observer laughs softly, watching the subject's blissful reaction and gently stroking its belly, their touch light but calculated. "They're practically vibrating with pleasure. I can't tell what's more satisfying–the work you've done or watching them revel in it."

The specialist, audibly (but not visibility) smirking. "Why not both? After all, it's exactly what was asked for. Begged, in fact."

The subject continues to whimper and squirm on the table, soaking in every word, every touch, reveling in the perfection of their new existence, heart racing with satisfaction and feeling seen for what they've become. 

The group has retired to an observation lounge. They sit comfortably, sharing notes and discussing their areas of recent study. The conversation turns to the field of xenobioengineering in other sophont species. 

The specialist, Doctor Xelran, 113th bloom, stirs a glass of mineral water with a vine. "It's interesting, isn't it? This desire for transformation, for shedding one's natural form in favor of something more 'primal' or 'animalistic.' Certainly not unique to Terrans, but they do seem to take it to a new level. It reminds me of the occasional cases of 'therianism' we've observed in other xenosophonts, though it's been much less dramatic, historically."

Letharia, 67th bloom, the first observer–primarily interested in xenopsychology, but with an eye for bioaesthetics–nods. "Ah, yes, the Xa'a-ackétøth, were a recent example. Their version was indeed more subtle–less about becoming something 'other' and more about reconnecting with their ancient, feral selves. Interesting how some of them, after domestication, expressed the desire to shed their higher cognitive functions in order to embrace their baser, predatory nature. 

Xelran leans forward. "Exactly, the Xa' who exhibited those desires simply wanted to experience the raw physicality of their ancestors. Unburdened by their strategic minds, reverted to more animalistic behavior in the water. Some sought to have permanent restrictions on speech, and others thought. Always about the return to nature–not the extreme modifications some of the Terrans seem to crave.

Zynestra, 42nd bloom, particularly interested in the blending of biological and synthetic elements, expresses her amusement with another wispy laugh. "It's almost quaint compared to what we see with the Terrans. The Xa' just want to swim and hunt, race through the water in their sleek, predatory forms, but it doesn't go much beyond that. And even then, it's rare to see them request any sort of biological alterations, let alone exploring their primal urges.

The third guest–Orlith, 3rd bloom, mostly excited that he got an invite, but strongly interested in the frontiers of what genetic alteration promises to eager florets–finally chimes in. "And then you have the Rinians. To the little mad scientist squirrels, Therianism is practically a joke to them–a curiosity and nothing more. Not interested in anything but perfecting their genius-level brains, faster reflexes, or whatever lets them handle multiple experiments at once." The subject softly whined from the foot of Orlith's chair, as his vines had–abit– briefly halted their caress. A mistake quickly rectified.

Xelran nods in agreement as the subject purrs and vibrates. "Exactly, they'll request to modify themselves for things like extra limbs or split consciousness, but absolutely reject anything of becoming more 'animal-like' as a potential threat to their efficiency."

Letharia laughs, recalling one rare Rinian who argued they could be both a genius and a primal beast at the same time. "Sharpened claws and wild teeth, while simultaneously requesting enhanced cognition. Chaotic, as only a Rinian can be, but at least they seemed delighted with the results.

"It's fascinating how varied the reactions are between species," Xelran notes, "some of these terrans crave this deep, almost spiritual connection with their transformed selves. Desiring to *feel* like beasts, not just think or act like them. And beyond that, willing to push boundaries in ways we haven't seen in ages. Their fascination with becoming something *other* has allowed us to explore bioengineering techniques we haven't had need to touch in centuries. They *want* to be transformed in the most dramatic ways possible."

Orlith, taking care to continue patting the subject, who is resting contentedly now, agrees. "Well, I suppose it's up to us to help them find exactly what they're looking for. Their willingness to embrace such radical transformation is both admirable and, at times, a little… unsettling, don't you think?"

Xelran laughs, appreciating the irony of an Affini raising such a concern. "It's certainly something to reflect on. But as long as they're content, that's what this is all for, no?"

The group hums in agreement, casting glances at the latex-clad quadruped beneath them, who continues to revel in the attention, totally at ease.