#rouge and blaze dynamic was a delight

[sophfandoms53]

Some of my favorite moments from this gem of a game, I still cannot believe it’s real

[thefakehedgehogaroundhere]

*ahem*

After fucking with the Forces™️ again, Eggman invoked the name of a Lord in Black, in hopes that it could help him defeat Sonic and bring the world into his command. The lord quickly infected Sonic with an assimilating hivemind, through use of spores that led one's body into an irresistible rhythm. Singing, dancing, making beats out of anything... effectively killing them and replacing their minds with spores and blue slime.

Unfortunately for Eggman, the lord broke his promise, infecting him as well, and released the spores and slime on the world as well, crashing a meteor containing slime into a highly populated theater. While nobody was killed by the meteor, its contents were deadly, taking over the minds of mobians and humans alike and making them more hostile. If someone was killed, they were a perfect host for the virus, and if they weren't, they would be.

Which really sucked for Shadow, because now everyone was singing, and he didn't like musicals.

The rest of the AU plays out relatively similar to the original musical, with everyone sort of taking on a character role with a bit of a twist on it.

Paul is Shadow, but he's more annoyed by the fact that the hivemind sings than made uncomfortable by it.

Emma is Rouge, but she and Shadow have more of a sibling dynamic. She also had a close encounter with poisoned coffee when asked to visit Restoration HQ, but watched countless members of the restoration fall prey to the virus.

Ted, Bill, Charlotte, and Sam are Knuckles, Vanilla, Amy, and Sonic respectively. Knux isn't a sleazeball, he's just aggressive, and Vanilla left Cream at home with Blaze and Marine to go get groceries when the invasion hit. Rather than a loveless marriage between the two hedgehogs, Sonic finally started showing signs of reciprocating and wanting to be more than friends, but unfortunately it was all just a show designed to get Amy into the hive as well by tearing out her fucking intestines.

Hidgens is Tails, studying the spores and slime and hoping to find a cure. He's sadly unable to find one, but realizes that if he doesn't cure it, this could mean world peace. He's delighted when an infected Chaotix (who just finished rapping about being detectives) break down the door, but it quickly turns sour when he realizes what has to be done to the people in order for them to find peace in the hive, and when it happens to him.

Also, Blaze, Marine, and Silver are here too, called by the Sol Emeralds or brought to the past. Blaze and Marine are taking care of Cream, and Silver is working alongside the main cast. When Vanilla hears that Cream is safe but Blaze and Marine aren't (she's very much lying, she's also been infected and is just baiting Vanilla), she, Silver, and Shadow go to save her, only for Blaze and Marine to infect Silver and Cream to infect Vanilla.

Knuckles also gets taken out by an infected GUN, so now Shadow and Rouge are on their own to save the world. Shadow goes in alone, thinking his immortality will save him because he has learned fucking NOTHING from the Metal Virus, gets infected, and infects Rouge.

i have not listened to the tgwdlm soundtrack like a normal person in months because i hedgehoged it a while ago

[isis-astarte-diana]

Afternoon Tea

Summary: “Shall we flip a coin?” A quiet afternoon in Missy’s office. Sort of.

Warnings: NSFW. MIHOW. Dark!Missy, except it’s Dark!Missies. Teeny bit of selfcest because, uh, obviously. Dodgy dynamics, bad BDSM etiquette, spitroasting, human furniture, dehumanisation, non-consensual exhibitionism.

Word Count: 2546

NB: You asked, I gave: the return of double Missy. This is stupid and extra and absurd and I loved writing it.

“Well, then. Heads or tails?”

“Oh, I’m in two minds.” Missy crosses her ankles where her feet are propped up on the glass coffee table and smooths down nonexistent creases in her purple moleskin trousers. She turns to you with a raised eyebrow, a perfectly pleasant smile on her face. “Any preference, dearest?”

Your eyes flit between them; your two Mistresses, seated opposite each other in their dark leather armchairs. The fearful symmetry is still a dizzying sight. Of course, there are differences - one imperious in violet, face made with powder and eyeshadow and rouge, the other in her grey boiler suit and vest, her long hair falling loose and untidy - but the only things that matter are identical. Their postures are perfectly mirrored, right up to the delicate hands on the arms of their chairs and the two pairs of boots on the coffee table, one elegant and high-heeled, the other practical and sturdy. The four blue eyes fixed on your face all sparkle with perverse pleasure.

“No, Mistress.” Your voice is breathless. “Whatever you like.”

“Oh, you’re no help.” Tutting, one of them - the double in grey - reaches over to sharply pinch the undercurve of your arse. You squeak, shifting in your bonds. Each wrist and ankle is bound securely to a leg of the hardwood desk in front of the vast windows. Afternoon sunlight warms your naked back. “Shall we flip a coin?”

“You read my mind.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to cough up the goods.” She gestures to her boiler suit. “Left my purse in my other trousers.”

“Good one.” Chuckling, the other Missy reaches into her pocket and retrieves a silver half-crown. She holds it up to the light from the window and squints at it. “I don’t think this one was loaded.”

“I don’t suppose it matters.”

She grins at her double. “No, I suppose not.” With an astonishingly fluid motion, she flicks it into the air, catches it in the palm of her right hand and slaps it down against the back of her left. “Take it as it comes?”

“Why not?” She leans forward in her chair, finally planting her work boots back on the parquet floor. “Just for a change.”

Missy moves her right hand with a flourish, inspecting the glinting silver coin. “Ooh.” She shows her teeth and shivers with obvious delight. “Heads, it is.”

“Well then.” Rising to her feet, she proffers a hand to her past self. Her nails are cut to the quick and unpainted. “Shall we?”

With a quirk of one delicate eyebrow, she accepts. “Oh, Missy, you flirt.”

“Oh, you love it, dearest.” She tugs the other sharply into her chest and Missy’s eyes widen, a pleased laugh bubbling from her red lips. “I know I did.”

“I do look rather fetching in that outfit.” She trails sharp black fingernails over the curve of musculature in the other woman’s bare bicep. “Quite rugged. It suits me.”

“I could hardly wear a purple pea coat down at the coalface, now, could I?” Her firm hands land on Missy’s waist, pulling her closer still.

“We’ve worn it in stranger places.”

“And looked damn good doing it.”

When they kiss, it’s all teeth. You might have expected them to fit together, but it’s more like forcing similar poles of a magnet; they lick, bite, suck in time with each other, chasing their counterpart’s lips and never quite falling into place. The show is awkward, and violent, and impossibly arousing. You can’t suppress a soft gasp at the sight.

They break away and turn to look at you, temples pressed together, two identical faces smirking down at you. It makes you twitch.

“Oh, poppet.” A sympathetic pout. “You haven’t been forgotten.”

“Don’t worry,” they part, circling you slowly. “I play far too rough for myself. There’s nothing to be jealous of.”

One of them disappears behind you and the other - your Missy, the original, though the concept has lost all meaning by now - threads her fingers through your hair. She presses your face into the soft moleskin of her trousers, forcing you to nuzzle against her crotch and the unyielding bulge of the toy concealed by her clothes. You whimper when she tugs on your hair.

It turns into a long whine when cool fingers trail up the back of your left leg, starting at the curve of your knee and following a winding path up to your arse. The light touch is ticklish and sets your bound leg quivering. Behind you, Missy chuckles.

“Lovely.” She lands a firm smack on the left side of your arse. You cry out into the fabric of Missy’s clothes, your open mouth pressed over the shape of the strap-on. “I don’t know why it’s taken us this long to have her like this.”

“Well, we’re nothing if not patient, are we?”

With no warning at all, two slender fingers press swiftly into your cunt. The slickness there is abundant and there’s no discomfort, save for the alarm of being so abruptly filled. Your yelp of surprise is muffled by the purple moleskin. Soft laughter sounds around you.

“Someone, it seems, is rather less patient.” Her fingers crook inside you, putting you apart, nudging the soft part at the front of your walls that makes pressure twitch in your abdomen. You shift your hips as best as your restraints will allow. “I don’t think she’ll have a problem taking what she’s given.”

“Oh, you never have a problem when you’re tied down, do you, sweetheart?” Pointed fingernails drag against your scalp. “It’s when those pesky hands get in the way that I have to get cross with you.”

“I often wonder whether to do something more permanent about them.” A third finger pushes inside of you, the faint stretch sufficient to make you gasp. “But then, I do so love the things they can do when you behave yourself.” She withdraws slowly, twisting her hand as she does, and fills you again with a merciless thrust that makes you cry out. Your restraints rattle with the jerking motion of your hips. Neglected thus far, your clitoris throbs in time with her movements as she begins to fuck you slowly.

The pad of Missy’s thumb finds your bottom lip, tracing it, pulling it downwards so that the inside of your lip brushes against the fabric pressed tight to your mouth. You inhale deeply, savouring the sweet musk of her arousal even through her clothes. Your eager tongue drags along the rigid shape of the concealed strap-on and she laughs.

“Greedy girl,” she admonishes without venom. “I’ve half a mind to make you beg for it.”

“Now there’s an idea.” She withdraws her fingers unceremoniously, leaving you cool and open where she’s put you apart. You let out a shuddering sigh. “I know you’re gagging for it, sweetheart. Pun fully intended.”

“Oh, I really do crack myself up.” Tittering to herself, Missy works at her fly, freeing the black toy from the confines of her trousers with an obscene flourish. You whine at the sight of it. She strokes the length of it almost reverently and rests the tip against your bottom lip. “Let’s hear it, dearest. Persuade me.”

“Please, Mistress.” You press a soft kiss to the end of the strap-on, looking up at her through your lashes. She raises an eyebrow, seemingly unmoved. “Please use my mouth.” You drag the flat of your tongue over the head of the toy, turning it dark and glossy with your saliva.

Behind you, the other Missy tuts. “Oh, I think we can do better than that.” Slick pressure drags at the lips of your weeping cunt as she lines herself up. Your muscles twitch at the contact, as if trying to draw her inside of you, and a breath catches in your chest. “You can beg so prettily for us when you want to.”

“Please,” you try again, louder this time. “Please, my beautiful, generous Mistresses. Please fill me up. Please use me. I’ll be good, I promise I’ll be a good girl for you.” More worshipful kisses and licks to the end of the toy where it pushes against your lips. She hums contemplatively, tugging lightly at your hair.

“Are we convinced?” Lifting her face to her double, she nudges your mouth open and lets the toy rest heavily inside your parted lips. Unconsciously, you wet the end of it with your tongue. “Shall we fill the poor girl?”

“She did ask very nicely.”

Bracing one hand on your thigh, she guides the strap-on inside of you with firm pressure. The ample slickness prevents any pain, but the size of it is significant and you breathe a heavy groan as it stretches you with sweet and aching discomfort.

The sound is choked off in your throat when Missy fills your mouth with the unyielding length of her own toy.

She lets you feel the size of it for a moment, pressing it deep enough to touch your tonsils and make your throat convulse with a vulgar gagging sound, before easing back a little bit. You mewl pitifully around it when her double slides home and her hips cradle your arse.

The walls of your cunt throb and twitch around her length. It stings just the barest amount. In time with your heartbeat, pulsing pleasure echoes from your overfilled cunt and sparks at your clitoris. Shifting as much as your bonds will allow - which is precious little - you relax your jaw and let your eyes flutter closed.

“That’s a good girl.” Gentle fingers comb through your hair in stark contrast to the merciless invasion of your body. “You look delightful when you take me in your mouth.”

Her praise ignites you with fluttering pleasure and you make a contented noise as she starts to withdraw, using her hand on your head to hold you steady. She rocks back to fill your mouth again just as her double grasps your hips and begins to set up her own slow rhythm.

“You take us beautifully, poppet,” she croons.

Pinned and bound helplessly between them, you have no choice but to accept all that they have to give you. The blazing fullness in your cunt consumes your attention. Your toes curl, your fingers clutch tightly to the legs of the desk, and desperate cries and whines tear from your chest only to be strangled by the thick length that nudges at the back of your tongue with every unhurried thrust.

It’s bliss; for a minute or two.

Then, over the sound of your own ruination, there comes a loud knock at the door.

Adrenaline runs hot and cold through you. Missy chuckles when you start to squirm, fighting your bonds for the first time, and she presses deep enough to gag you. You’re forced to fight for breath through your nose and control the spasming of your throat.

To your horror, as her fingers card through your hair, she calls, “come in!”

Your shriek is garbled and barely audible around the toy that nudges your tonsils, and it cuts off when you retch again. Even this most feeble of protests is robbed from you.

“Behave,” she warns behind you, landing a harsh slap to your arse. It makes your hips jerk and your walls clench around her. “You don’t want to make a scene, now, do you, dearest?”

The heavy wooden door creaks open, and a soft feminine voice announces, “your afternoon tea, Missy?”

“Thank you,” she chimes, saccharine sweet, tightening her grip on your hair as she gestures to the unseen woman with her free hand. “I’m terribly parched.”

“Where shall I-”

“Oh, be a darling and bring it over here for me?” Her fingers trail along the length of your spine and you squeak.

You flinch, closing your eyes tightly, when her footfalls approach, but she doesn’t even gasp at the sight of you. Instead, she does exactly as instructed, and sets the silver tea tray down squarely on your naked back.

It’s mirror cold, making you shiver, and has some weight to it; not enough to ache, but enough that you don’t fear toppling it with the barest movement. It rests heavily across your prone body from the bottom of your shoulderblades to the base of your spine.

“Will there be anything else, Missy?” The stranger seems quite unbothered by the spectacle you know you must make, bound to the desk, mouth and cunt stuffed full. Every inch of naked skin prickles and heats under this new indignity.

“No, thank you, dear. This will do nicely.” She pats your head encouragingly and finally eases back to let you breathe unhindered. “I shall call you again to remove the tea things when I’m finished with them.”

“Very good, Missy.”

With that, she’s gone, closing the door softly behind her. A chorus of laughter surrounds you.

“Hypnotised, poor love,” Missy explains, pinching the sore flesh where she’d smacked your arse. “I may be able to get away with a lot, but I can’t allow word to get out that I’m leading my own resistance.”

“It’s a pity, really,” she muses, scratching lightly at the back of your neck. “She’s a lovely thing and I’m sure she would have liked to stay for tea.”

“Perhaps next time.” A merciless thrust makes your abdomen clench with pressure and you jerk in your restraints, setting the contents of the tray to rattling above you. She scoffs and slaps you again, igniting your skin with tingling heat. “If you spill my tea, poppet, I will be very cross.”

“And you will be very sorry.” She lets go of your hair, the tray and saucer clinking when she picks up her teacup. “Though you do make rather a fetching table.”

“Rather a loud table.” As if to punctuate her words, she strokes a single fingertip beneath where her strap-on splits you open, swiping over your clitoris. You cry out around the toy in your mouth, trembling violently as your humiliation is immediately forgotten in favour of the excruciating pleasure that flickers back to life under her touch. “Did you have something to say?”

“Oh, please,” she takes an indulgent sip of her tea and sighs theatrically with contentment before setting it down once more on the tray balanced on your back. “Enlighten us.”

The toy slides out of your mouth with an obscene pop, a trail of saliva strung between its tip and your parted lips. You gasp greedy breaths, working your jaw to release the tension there. Another teasing touch to your throbbing clitoris makes you yelp.

“Please, Mistress,” you manage, hoarse from the treatment your throat has received, breathless from the ongoing stimulation to your overstretched cunt. “Please, please, can I come?”

More wry chuckles, above you, behind you, ahead of you. Sharp fingernails trail underneath your jaw and lift your chin until you’re forced to look up at her. She smiles widely, too many teeth on show.

“Of course you can, dearest.” She purses her lips and guides the head of the toy, slick and warm now from your ministrations, back into your mouth. With a single forceful thrust she fills your throat and makes you gag once more. “Just as soon as we’ve finished our tea.”