Because sometimes even the Affini need some help
The tip of mxtresses new injector vine drips onto her florets waiting, yearning skin, begging in silent phrases to be flooded with that poison.
They were prepared for this, of course, but a rising anxiety in the youngblooms gut makes the needle tremble ever so slightly.
This was a big moment for them and their florets relationship. An expectation to do this perfectly. An expectation that they cannot help but feel is monumental.
They look down at the tender, waiting flesh, the need so primal to flood their floret with their poison countered so terribly with the worries that well up when said florets face twitches with preparation.
It wasn’t helped by the treatment she was forced into, substances forced into her body by the Accord that lied through gilded teeth a world of safety beyond the Compact’s love.
She wants this, they know she wants this, but the thought of allowing those pains to well up again take over that fragile reasoning.
What if she gets hurt by it? It’d be far too easy to accidentally do such a thing.
Even still, what if she hates it, the injection? The thoughts return back to them, even if they try to push it out.
As much as the will to fight through it tried to move the needle closer, the anxieties are winning.
What if she hates you for doing it?
It’s all too much for the poor core to bear, blues deeper than the oceans she showed them pouring out of their fascinators. They can’t do this.
Their florets eyes shoot out of the lids that moments ago squeezed them so infinitely tight, turning up to gaze upon the fragile, breaking flower before her.
“Mxtress? Hey, it’s okay, what happened?”
She lifts up into a sitting position, then using her knees to push closer to their height. Golden sap burns like teardrops around their fascinators.
“I’m so sorry petal, I-I… I can’t do this, not to you, not now-“
Their sobs are overtaken by their florets gentle whispers, the cursed needle pushed back into their melting mass of vine by her hand.
“No, no mxtress, you’re okay. You haven’t done anything wrong. I promise.”
“I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to scare you. I don’t want to make you hate me.” Their voice whispers.
Hers is one in turn, the fever pitch of thoughts in their core abating just slightly - enough for a crack to form in that fear. “I would never hate you. I could never hate you. I have, and always will love you.”
After a moment of silent sobs, they nod.
“Do you need anything? Space, nutrient water?”
Her smile, that infinite and beautiful thing that shines brighter than any star known and unknown, rises from the once worried expression on her face.
She moves in, yet does not stop at hugging the outer form. Her hands gently push into the half-made replica of the terran form, deeper and deeper until the precious center of their being is found.
Reverently, she pulls it slowly into her waiting arms.
“You are not your injectors, mxtress. You are not your vines, your flowers, none of that. You are right here.”
She squeezes just a bit tighter on their center, warm tears rolling down the small hairs that cover their true being.
“I love the real you, and I will always love the real you. You’re the one who I signed the contract with, and the one I would so gladly sign it with again. I love you.”
Haiii friends! This is a message from the lovely little beeple, reminding you all that doms are people too, no matter their composition. They have feelings of their own, anxieties of their own, and they need and deserve care just as much as everyone else. Make sure to show them the kindness and care they deserve!
