But This Is Great - Tumblr Posts

a great change and a great way to execute the idea

The video camera is plugged into the VCR, allowing it to record itself being poked and prodded.

GIF’d version of Vide-Uhhh! (2005)

excerpt from the one where Steve lies about soulmates and the Winter Soldier does not:

“Somehow it never occurred to me to ask you how Rogers and the old man got along,” Tony Stark says, tilting his head. “You actually remember that? Like, how they talked and everything?” 

“‘Course I do,” the asset says. “They got me to watch the door for them enough times, I damn well know how they talked.” 

“You . . . heard that?” Rogers asks, looking alarmed. 

“I heard every damn thing you said,” the asset snorts, pointing at its ear. “Super-soldier, remember? Couldn’t have missed a word.” 

“Bucky, uh . . .” Rogers swallows, and doesn’t look at Tony Stark. “That’s not . . . you remember why you were watching the door, right?” 

“Yeah,” the asset says, because it does. 

“Okay,” Rogers says, very carefully. “So you remember why . . . you remember why we shouldn’t talk about those conversations, then, right?” 

“. . . we shouldn’t?” The asset frowns, not understanding. 

“No,” Rogers says. “We–definitely shouldn’t. So let’s just . . . not, please.” 

“Holy shit, those must’ve been some fucked-up conversations,” Tony Stark says, his eyebrows raising. “Considering I have literally never heard you shut down your precious little Twin Pop before.” 

“Just–not now, Tony, please,” Rogers says through gritted teeth, not taking his eyes off the asset. “You understand, Bucky, right? Just–please. Don’t.” 

“Is this because I killed him?” the asset assumes, and Rogers’s face goes even tighter. 

“No,” he says. “I–we know that wasn’t you.” 

“It was, technically,” Tony Stark mutters. 

“Tony," Rogers hisses. 

“It was, technically,” the asset agrees. It knows that Rogers tries not to think about that fact, but . . . “He recognized me. I didn’t recognize him.” 

“You wouldn’t have,” Rogers says, his voice going tight too. 

“I recognized you,” the asset reminds him. 

“That was–different,” Rogers says. “I mean . . . of course that was different.” 

“Yeah, yeah, soulmate crap, whatever,” Tony Stark says, looking exasperated. “Very romantic, we’re all real impressed, congratulations on your century-spanning romance.” 

Rogers tenses. The asset . . . frowns.  

“What?” it says. 

“Jesus,” Tony Stark says. “Have you two still not had that conversation?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the asset says, still frowning. 

“Cap, oh my God, tell the guy already,” Tony Stark says, shooting Rogers an annoyed look. “Everybody else on the planet knows, for fuck’s sake, someone’s gonna hit him with the clue by four sooner or later.” 

“Stop talking, Tony,” Rogers says, his jaw clenched. 

“What’s he talking about?” the asset asks, just a little suspicious. 

“I thought–you were dead,” Rogers says, half-raising his hands in a position of surrender. “I thought you were dead. And I knew you wouldn’t . . . I knew you wouldn’t have minded, if you’d known.” 

“What did you do?” the asset asks, narrowing its eyes. 

“I told the twenty-first century we were soulmates,” Rogers mutters with a grimace. 

Hyrule Warriors Traitor Angst

This has been sitting around in my docs for ages, and I’m really tired of looking at it XD Hyrule Warriors traitor stuff is one of my weaknesses, I truly never get enough of it, and this was born from a stray thought I had awhile ago.

I’m pretty okay with how this turned out, even if it was originally going to be longer and have wayyyy more angst XD

————————————————————

Link woke up with a hand pressed over his mouth and the cold steel of a dagger against his throat.

His eyes snapped open and it was only because of his training that he didn’t immediately sit up and inadvertently slit his throat, instead only jerking slightly as adrenaline flooded his system.

“Not a sound hero,” a low voice sneered.

Link glared towards the figure holding the knife, the light in the tent too dim to make out details, and felt the dagger tighten against his neck when he moved slightly.

“You try anything and the kid dies,” the voice continued, and Link’s heart shot into his throat.

He frantically cast his gaze across the room, feeling his worry only triple when he finally caught sight of Mask. Two men were holding tightly to him, a hand over his mouth as well, and though there wasn’t a dagger to his throat like Link’s, there was a third man standing close by also holding a knife.

The kid looked furious, but even in the low light Link could make out the worried tilt to his brows, the barely hidden panic in his eyes. They met gazes and as Mask struggled more frantically, Link felt the dagger tighten against his throat again.

“I said don’t try anything,” the voice repeated, and Link flicked his eyes up to the man who currently had him at his mercy.

His eyes had adjusted to the light a bit more, and now that he was all the way awake Link could make out the army uniform the man wore. He studied him closer, and felt his gut churn as he made out the familiar face of one of the army’s lieutenants, a man Link didn’t know personally but recognized in passing.

Traitor.

The dagger bit into his throat and Link flinched at the sting, feeling something warm start to trickle down his neck.

“Get up,” the lieutenant demanded, and Link complied, slowly getting to his feet as he slid off his cot. The dagger never left his throat, and he lifted his hands up in surrender, keeping his gaze focused on Mask. He tried to reassure him with a look, but it was a bit difficult to be calm when he could feel blood starting to stain his shirt collar.

One of the men holding Mask came over and grabbed Link’s arms, twisting his hands behind his back before securing them with a thick rope he’d somehow procured. Then the hand was finally lifted off of Link’s mouth.

“What do you want,” he said in a voice that he had to struggle to keep calm.

The man holding the dagger to his neck went to speak, but was cut off by one of the men holding Mask, who glared at Link with fire in his eyes.

“An end to this cursed war,” he spat, and Link rolled his eyes with a nonchalance he didn’t feel.

“And you think this is going to do it?” he said in an unimpressed voice, then felt his head snap to the side as the lieutenant hit him.

“We are going to walk out of this tent and you two will make no noise,” the lieutenant, obviously the ringleader instructed as blood trickled down Link’s lip. “You will not call for help, you will not try to signal anyone, you will do nothing but walk. And if you don’t follow our instructions to the letter...”

A dagger was pressed to Mask’s neck and he froze, Link’s heart shooting into his throat again.

“...we don’t need the kid.”

“Leave him out of this,” Link snapped, his calm facade broken as he started to struggle, “you have no quarrel with him, I’m the one you want!”

Then he hissed in pain as the dagger jabbed his throat.

“Shut up.”

And he was shoved towards the exit, only a few steps behind Mask.

They exited the tent out into the dark of the camp, a thin sliver of the moon the only thing lighting their path. The night was chilly, and Link found himself wishing he had his scarf around his neck, for both the warmth and the security it would bring.

He felt awfully exposed with nothing but a dagger pressed against his throat.

He glanced up ahead at Mask, who was half-walking half-being-carried by the other two men. He still squirmed in their grasp, but not quite as intensely since the dagger still hovered near his neck. Link could see the tense way he was holding his shoulders, and wished he could see his face.

They were quickly drawing closer to the edge of the army’s tents, and Link found himself looking desperately around for some way out of this predicament, knowing that if they were brought out of camp the possibility of escape or rescue would be significantly diminished.

He’d try and make an attempt at getting away, but he didn’t know how far these men were willing to go and he did not want to risk it with a knife so close to Mask’s throat.

Something shone in the corner of his vision, and Link flicked his gaze to the side of the path, his eyes widening as blue sparkles disappeared behind a tent. He felt a bloom of hope in his chest, and smiled to himself even though it was hard to do so with a busted lip.

They had nothing to worry about.

A faint hiss went through the air, and the man walking next to Link suddenly dropped to the ground like a puppet who’s strings had been cut. The lieutenant holding the dagger jolted in surprise, then snarled, grabbing Link as if to use him like a human shield.

“We’ve been exposed,” he hissed, and the other remaining men put the dagger back at Mask’s throat.

“Drop your weapons,” a voice demanded from the shadows, and Link mentally sighed in relief as he recognized it as Impa’s.

The lieutenant holding him laughed. “Sure, so your pretty little daggers can just hit us in the necks the minute we do. How stupid do you think we are? We’re not falling for that.”

The other two growled in assent, and Mask took the opportunity to jerk forward and bite the hand that held the dagger to his neck.

The man shouted in pain as he dropped the weapon, and Mask immediately swooped down and grabbed it, leveling it at the two. But he didn’t end up needing it, as two more daggers whipped out of the shadows, their solid handles knocking the two unconscious one right after the other.

Leaving only the lieutenant.

Link couldn’t do anything from his position, not with his hands literally tied and the dagger pressed to his neck, and despite her incredible aim, he knew if Impa were to throw one at his captor, the chance of Link’s neck being unintentionally slit was a rather high possibility.

They seemed to be in a bit of a stalemate.

“Release him,” Impa’s voice said from the shadows, the general still not revealing herself. Mask stood only a few feet away from Link, his face twisted in anger as Proxi flew to his side.

But they both stayed where they were. They all knew what could happen if they made a wrong move, and nobody was willing to risk Link’s neck.

The lieutenant gave a laugh, the sound tinged with hysteria. “You do realize who this is, right?” he said, giving Link a small shake. His fingers dug into Link’s shoulder as his voice grew in volume, and Link winced at the force of his grip. “He’s the hero. And he’s the key to stopping the war.”

Mask’s face darkened, expression turning to one of pure anger that made him look much older then he actually was.

“Which is why you should let him go,” the kid snapped back, and Link tried working the ropes a bit while he had the man’s focus, “if you want the war to end why would you kidnap one of our greatest assets?!”

The man laughed again, sounding rather unhinged now. Not good.

“He’s the key,” the lieutenant hissed, the dagger still tight against Link’s throat. “the sorceress wants him. One man for the lives of thousands. It’s so simple.”

Link felt a rock sink into his stomach and his fingers went slack.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Mask growled, and the lieutenant abruptly shifted his grip, the dagger cutting sharply against Link’s collarbone.

He couldn’t help but let out a small gasp at the abrupt pain at his neck, and Mask looked livid.

“Don’t be ridiculous?” the man repeated in a shout, “why don’t you all see?! The only way we’ll end this war is if we give her what she wants!” he nearly screamed, desperation in his voice, “she started it! She can end it! All we have to do is let her have the hero!”

A dagger whirled from behind them and hit the man over the head before he could say anything else.

The lieutenant’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell to the ground like a sack of rocks, completely limp. Link jerked back, nearly falling over as he took a couple steps backwards, mind still reeling with pain and what had happened. He gulped in a few deep breaths, but didn’t manage anything else before Mask leapt at him and flung his arms around Link, burying his head in his shoulder.

“I tried to warn you captain, I’m sorry, they grabbed me before I could even—”

“It’s okay Sprite, it’s fine, we’re both okay,” Link murmured as he sank to his knees, heart still thudding too fast. He got to work on finally getting out of his restraints as Proxi bobbed frantically around him, and Impa jogged up only seconds later, her eyes narrowed with concern.

“Captain, are you alright?” she asked, eyeing the blood staining his shirt.

Link merely nodded, a bit distracted by the fact that Mask still hadn’t let go. The kid wasn’t usually so keen on touch, and as of this moment this was the longest he’d ever clung to him.

“Captain,” Impa repeated, her eyes still on his neck, “you need medical attention.”

Link finally looked up at her, eyes firm but worried. “It’s not too bad,” he said quietly, putting a hand to his neck then pulling it away.

It came back much redder than he’d been expecting.

“...oh.”

Impa grabbed his arm as Mask leaned back, and they both pulled him to the ground, forcing him to sit.

“Do not move captain, I’ll be right back,” Impa commanded him, and Link gave a weak nod, the night’s events finally catching up to him. He let Mask press a cloth he’d somehow procured up against his throat, and let out a hiss of pain.

“Sorry,” Mask murmured, and Link grunted something that he hoped sounded reassuring.

They sat there in a tense silence for several minutes, Proxi worriedly studying his wrists. Link was trying not to focus on the blood rapidly coloring the cloth still held to his neck, but also the fact that several of his man had turned on and nearly succeeded in kidnapping him and Mask.

And had honestly good reasons for doing so.

“They weren’t right.”

Link flicked his exhausted gaze over at Mask, who was glaring at the ground and not meeting his gaze.

“Who weren’t right?” he asked softly, and Mask clenched his jaw.

“Those guys. Giving you to Cia wouldn’t fix anything, it wouldn’t stop the war. It’d make it worse,” he muttered venomously. “I saw you when he said all of that, and I can see you thinking. You think he’s right.”

Link closed his eyes.

“Giving me to Cia would fix a lot of problems,” he whispered, and felt Mask’s grip tighten. “She’s after me. Taking me out of the equation, giving... giving me up... It would save so many lives...”

“Oh Link,” Proxi said softly, and flew over to sit on his shoulder.

She brushed comfortingly against his cheek, and Mask moved so he was right in Link’s face, face rent with equal anger and disbelief.

“Do you really think she’d stop once she had you?” Mask snapped incredulously. “You’re an idiot. She’s on the warpath captain, this isn’t just about you, she wants the whole kingdom. I know her type, giving you up would only egg her on, show her we’re willing to roll over and give her what she wants, and I refuse to let you believe that’s the best course of action.”

He crossed his arms and continued to glare. “This war isn’t your fault. You aren’t responsible for the actions of others and I’ll say that as many times as I have to to get it through your stupid thick skull.”

Link blinked at him, then gave a tiny nod, ignoring how his throat stung at the movement.

“Good,” Mask sighed, and adjusted his grip. “And you have to promise to remember that if this ever happens again too. Got it? Other people’s choices aren’t your fault.”

“...okay kiddo,” Link said quietly.

Mask studied his face, then nodded, leaning against him. He pressed his head against Link’s as he nestled in, and Link felt his chest warm just a little as Proxi and Mask both sat with him, waiting for Impa to come back.

“I won’t forget.”

i can’t decide who’s more of a “hand over mouth as i pound you in the back seat of my car so no one knows i’m fucking the loud mouth cheerleader” is that more eddie or steve 🤔

gotta be eddie dude, steve's more of a "kiss you to shut you up" type, but allow me to elaborate on the first for a moment (and by a moment I mean nearly over 1.5k words)

(warnings: smut obv, blood mention, drug use mention, hair pulling, overstimulation, crying during sex/dacryphilia, breath play, extremely vague/not serious breeding kink)

[part 2 here]

"Shh, shh," he soothed, though you could hear the wide grin curling his lips, "don't want anyone to hear, now do we?"

Honestly, though, this was your attempt to stay quiet— digging your teeth into your lip so hard you tasted metallic, gripping the faded leather seats until your nails nearly tore through them. It wasn't your fault that it felt so good, that the weed had made your head all spinny and your insides all tingly and that his dick was slamming right into that spot that made your toes curl. No, that was all his fault; he gave you the joint and he promised it would 'awaken your senses', even if maybe neither of you anticipated exactly which senses it would awaken.

"Don't want anyone shining a light in here, right?" he continued, even though you could barely keep track of what he was talking about. "Don't want them seeing you on your hands and knees getting fucked and screaming like it's the best thing you've ever had, hm?"

"F-fuck, Eddie," you winced, gasping loudly when he tugged on your cheerleader-uniform-mandated ponytail. You breathed through your teeth, wishing you had the strength to tell him not to be so rough, not to fuck you like this... like a whore. But god, this is exactly what you wanted from him, if you were being honest, even if you hated yourself just a bit for liking it so much— for needing it. He dug his fingers into the hair at your scalp, surely ruining your half an hour of styling efforts from earlier tonight, and pushed your head back down against the seats; god, he was really rubbing it in, huh? You almost thought he'd be grateful, that he'd be delicate and careful with you because, well, the opportunity to fuck a cheerleader does not come by for a guy like him. But no, he was putting you in your place, and you were biting your lip to keep from begging him for more.

His free hand held your hips and suddenly his pace changed-- from hasty and rushed to slow but hard, slamming into you and knocking you forward with a loud groan. He did it again, and again, and you cried out louder with each thrust right into the deepest parts of you. "Oh, sweetie," he cooed condescendingly, "are you having trouble keeping quiet? I'll help you, babe— m'gonna shut you up, don't worry—"

He spoke so roughly that he sounded furious, leaning down over you to press his lips up to your ear, and suddenly the hand in your hair slipped around and covered your mouth. He gave you another one, so deep your eyes rolled back in your head, and you finally let it all out— it was muffled behind his hand, anyway, and it felt good to moan as loud as you wanted without it being actually as loud as it would be otherwise.

You weren't quite sure what to think: he was fucking you rather disrespectfully, but the intensity of it, the way he groaned deeply into your ear and mumbled little praises under his breath, the way he held your waist tighter and tighter— you could almost call it passionate, if you didn't know any better. Sure, not exactly sweet, but it could be worse.

Well, actually, it couldn't be better. It was perfect. It was Eddie fucking Munson, and you couldn't quite wrap your head around that yet, but you didn't need to because it felt goddamn perfect.

"Good girl, fuck, goooood fuckin' girl," he hissed into your ear. "Oh, you're still so loud, even with my hand on your mouth— need some more help, babe?"

He squeezed your nose shut with his thumb and the side of his finger, and suddenly you had no air at all; you didn't even care, you didn't need air anymore, you just needed this. It made the numbness that much better, made your eyes well with tears and your throat burn but you wanted more more more— you wanted everything.

"Ohh, fuck, are you coming?" he laughed proudly, fucking you faster right as it hit you. You hadn't even noticed until he said it, but, yep, you were clenching inside and your back was arching deeper and you felt the tears keep flowing over his hand. "Oh my god, that's good— you're so fuckin' tight, Jesus..."

It just kept getting bigger and bigger, it kept twisting in your core and you weren't sure how much more you could take. He let go of your nose and you took a deep breath in, hearing the most deranged noise break out of your throat and peter out in your mouth with his hand keeping it inside. You were crying out his name, at least you were trying to, but it was all just incomprehensible sobs muffled under that thick, clammy hand with the gaudy silver rings that you could taste on your lips.

God, was it ever gonna stop? This feeling, this light show on the back of your eyes, this whole-body spasm that danced under your skin— was it gonna let you go back down to Earth any time soon? Or was this just your new normal, was this just some other state of existence that Eddie had knocked you face-first into, with no plan to rescue you?

It was too much, it was far too much, but you could already see yourself tomorrow morning, staring at the phone, trying to decide how long to wait until coming back for more.

"That's it, baby," he encouraged you, "scream for me, just like that— nobody's gonna hear you, promise."

He couldn't promise that, but he didn't need to. He could fuck you in front of whoever he wanted if it was always gonna be like this; he could fuck you in front of your grandmother and you wouldn't stop him— you were whipped. Like, whipped whipped. Like, 'pearls and heels making a roast dinner if he asks me to' whipped. Like, 'we are so doing this again' whipped.

You heard him gasp, a sound almost like a wince or a cry, almost like it hurt— and you could relate to that right now, certainly. "Fuck!" he grunted. "M'close, I'm so close, babe..."

You were way too proud of that; it wasn't much of an accomplishment or anything, you heard that guys come pretty easy and in your experience so far it was mostly true. But you felt good, you liked knowing he was going to come because of you, you liked hearing that composure falter for even just a second— and, if nothing else, you were looking forward to taking a fucking breather, because you needed it.

"God, no fuckin' way I'm pulling out," he laughed thinly, "s'too good, babe— I'm gonna come inside, you ready, honey?"

You nodded, as best you could, and heard his own moans get higher in pitch slowly until they stopped all at once and you felt it, warmth filling you and just slightly soothing the ache inside you. He gave you a few shallow thrusts, sudden and seemingly involuntarily like a twitch, and dropped his hand from your mouth with a sigh. You gasped, hearing the hint of a moan on each of your breaths even though it was over now; he pulled out and fell back on the seats dramatically, resting his hand on his forehead like a maiden in an old-timey movie about to faint. You couldn't help but giggle, impressed that he could keep up his theatrics at a time like this.

"Oh, shit," he whimpered, "you really took it all out of me. Literally. Jesus. Y-you're on the pill, though, right? Cause I can buy you something—"

"S'fine," you croaked, clearing your throat when you heard how broken your voice sounded. "Yeah, don't worry about it."

"'Don't worry about it,' she says," he narrated while he raised an eyebrow, "yeah, that's not ominous at all— nine months later you're knockin' on my trailer door with your curly-headed new mini-me and a whole lot of questions—"

"Shut up," you laughed, rolling your eyes. You adjusted your panties to hopefully catch some of the mess before you left a puddle on the seats, then pulled your uniform skirt back down and finally leaned back with a long sigh. The radio was on— you forgot about that— and you heard Black Sabbath mixing in with the sounds of Eddie's belt jingling while he got himself back into his jeans.

"Our babies would be cute, though," he grinned.

"Okay, actually shut up," you frowned, smacking him on the thigh. "I should go— the team's probably wondering where I am—"

"Oh, no no no," he chided, "you're not getting away that easy."

He yanked you down quickly and wrapped his arms around you.

"You owe me at least three minutes of cuddling," he demanded.

"Eddie, I—"

He grabbed your head and pulled it down into his chest, stroking your thoroughly-mussed hair. "Shh, shh," he interrupted you, "get comfy, I'm not letting you leave for a while— feel free to fall asleep, whatever, it'll be cute."

"This is so not how I thought this was gonna go tonight," you grumbled.

"What, you thought we'd smoke up and call it a night?" he wondered. "So did I, but you were givin' me those eyes—"

"No, I mean— what?!" you squawked. "Eyes?! I was not giving you eyes."

"Uh, yes you were, missy!" he insisted. "You were all, Eddie, make love to me, I need you," he imitated a smoky-sensual voice.

"That's what you call 'making love'?" you snorted. "I'd hate to see you fucking. Gonna put a girl in the ICU."

"Oh, babe," he grinned, looking down at you, and you looked up at him from his shoulder expectantly, "I'm just getting started."

(part 2)