hydratrashmeme | Dumpster #2: ...'Cause a Hydra Trash Party don't stop

Dumpster #2: ...'Cause a Hydra Trash Party don't stop

Unholy hell-miracle achieved! Welcome to Bad Guys Do Bad Things To Your Faves 2: Electric Boogaloo. AKA the seamy sexual-violence-and-violent-sex underbelly of Captain America fandom, AKA the Hydra Trash Party kinkmeme. As usual, BLANKET NON-CON AND NSFW WARNINGS apply: just assume going in that everything in this landfill is unfit for human consumption.

Rules in brief: don't be a jerk except to fictional characters, warnings for particularly fucked-up garbage are nice but not required, thou shalt not judge the trashiness of thy neighbor's kinks unless thy neighbor is trying to pass off their rotting banana peels and half-eaten pizza crusts as a healthy romantic dinner for two, off-topic comments may be chucked out of the dumpster at management's discretion, management's discretion decrees that omegaverse, soulbond AUs, D/s-verse, non-superpowered AUs, and dark!good guys AUs are off-topic.

[Round 1] [Fill post] [Chatter post] [hydratrashmeme Pinboard archive (maintained by

greenkirtle)] [Round 2 in flat view (comments in non-threaded chronological order, most recent last)]

Round 2 is closed; comments and fills in existing threads are still welcome, but all new prompts go to Round 3.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

So is he all mauled by the panther while this is happening? Bleeding from all these raking wounds all over his body while he gets fucked and fucked and fucked?

okay but what if during this fight, bucky's orders were actually to fuck the panther? so he's trying to stay hard while being attacked and trying to get at the panther's genitals and he's all worked up and confused and that's why the panther fucks him?

and then it goes down as above, horny panther and audience gangbang included?

The Soldier is sitting on the couch, as still and quiet as he can make himself. Steve had been watching a baseball game before, but it’s over now, and Steve looks like he wants to say something. The possibility gives the Soldier hope— flashes come, more all the time, proving that Steve used to love him, but he has yet to prove it in the present. It’s just a matter of time, the Soldier keeps telling himself.

“Bucky?” Steve begins, and the Soldier can’t help but smile. It’s a name for him, like Yasha but better because it’s the one Steve gave him. He turns toward Steve expectantly.

“Steve?” he says, just to say Steve’s name out loud.

“How— how much do you remember?” Steve asks. He sounds oddly, unfamiliarly nervous.

—Steve leaning up and touching their mouths so softly, so hesitantly, expecting rejection—

The Soldier remains silent, trying to understand the question. What he remembers could refer to the flashes, the Soldier reasons. The flashes seem to be memories— perhaps the ones that had once been extraneous and removed to increase efficiency. But that doesn't make sense, because Steve was never extraneous, he was the most important thing in the world.

“I don’t know,” the Soldier says honestly. Steve frowns in response, which makes the Soldier tense. He doesn’t know what’s wrong.

“Do you remember—“ Steve breaks off and moves closer to the Soldier, not touching but leaning over him in a way that seems so promising. He may be about to prove his love for the first time in seventy years, and the Soldier tenses in a totally different way. He won’t enjoy the touch, but even the idea of the love behind it is enough to make him sigh with contentment. “Do you remember how I feel about you?”

Yes, the Soldier thinks. This is it. “You love me,” he says, and knows he’s about to feel the proof of it.

“Yeah, Buck,” says Steve, and his smile is so happy. He leans in closer, closer still, and touches his lips to the corner of the Soldier’s mouth. The Soldier doesn’t understand the touch, but it feels… nice. It feels like no touch the Soldier can remember, except in a few flashes with Steve.

For several long seconds he lets it happen. Then he opens his mouth to ask what’s going on, and Steve’s tongue slides in before he can. It’s weird and kind of slimy, having a second tongue in his mouth, but once he gets past the excess of saliva it actually feels nice, too. As Steve’s tongue pushes deeper, it makes him think of all the times people showed their love by pushing other things into his mouth.

Is that what this is? A variation on that? He hopes so, because it’s his new favorite. It doesn’t hurt at all.

Encouraged by Steve’s firm touch, the Soldier starts to twist and whine, attempting to say ‘no’ with his mouth full. Steve’s mouth feels so good, and he knows it’ll just be better once he’s said ‘no’ and Steve has ignored it. Maybe afterward Steve will do something more, between his legs maybe.

The Soldier’s always hated the touches between his legs, but if Steve can put things in his mouth without causing pain, maybe he can put things between his legs without hurting too. He becomes impatient with anticipation and he tears his mouth away from Steve’s.

“No!” he cries eagerly. He sprawls back, spreads his legs to show exactly what he wants Steve to do. “No, no, no.”

Instead, Steve jerks back like he was hit with a stun stick. The Soldier checks, just to be sure, and finds no electrical burns. Something the Soldier did must have disappointed him, then, to make Steve not want to prove his love anymore. Unless—

Does Steve still—

The Soldier rejects the thought immediately, unable to handle the idea that he might have to live in the world without Steve’s love. There must be something else that caused him to stop, there must be.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks in a small voice.

“Of course not, Bucky,” Steve says, and that makes the Soldier relax. “I just don’t want to do this if you don’t want it.” That sentence doesn’t make any sense at all. Of course the Soldier wants it. But before he can explain this, Steve has already gotten up and started to walk away. “I— I have to go out for a while, but I’ll be back soon,” he says as he goes out the door, and the Soldier can only stand and watch him go.

—He knows what hatred is—

But Steve doesn’t hate him, even if he is leaving him alone. The Soldier has a hundred flashes that prove Steve loves him, even though his analysis of the current situation says otherwise.

For the first time, the Soldier considers that some of his programming may be incorrect.

He keeps thinking, trying to understand what went wrong. Steve seemed to think the Soldier was lacking something— he wishes he could remember what it was, so that he could fix himself. If he could do that, he might be able to get Steve to love him again, properly.

Steve had wanted him to ‘want it,’ the Soldier remembers. But he did want it. He wanted Steve’s love more than anything.

—No, Buck, leave me alone! I’m not hurt that bad—

—Dumb punk, at least let me wipe the grit out—

Oh. Suddenly the Soldier understands what he has been missing for weeks now, for years. All those people who had loved him, and he had never loved a single one of them back. Except Steve. Maybe it wasn’t just Steve who had to prove his love— maybe Steve wanted the Soldier to prove that he still loved Steve, even though they’d been apart for so long.

Okay, he thinks. He’s never loved anyone before, but for Steve, he can try.

He starts small. The next day, Steve tells him no, he’s not allowed to put his muddy boots up on the table, and the Soldier just gives him a raised eyebrow and leaves them where they are. He sees a small, fond look on Steve’s face as he turns back to what he was doing, and counts it as a victory.

The day after that, the Soldier ignores Steve’s protest that he shouldn’t stay in the shower for four hours just to see if Stark’s hot water can run out.

He refuses to get dressed for the entirety of the third day, which causes Steve to send him some promising looks even as he protests.

On the fourth day, the Soldier thinks he’s ready for the real thing. He wakes up early and waits in the kitchen, a predator waiting to strike. It’s still dark, but Steve forces himself to get up very, very early in order to be awake for his morning run. Steve eventually trudges in, looking half asleep still and groping for coffee.

—Fancy serum couldn’t make you a morning person? Oughtta get your money back, Stevie—

Once Steve’s had a cup of coffee, he looks more ready to accept the Soldier’s love, and the Soldier pounces. Steve’s hands come up at once, as if he expects it to be an attack, but he puts them back down when he realizes it’s the Soldier. This makes the Soldier… happy, he thinks. That’s the word for this feeling.

“Bucky?” Steve asks. Perhaps he isn’t sure what the Soldier intends yet. He is still tired, after all.

The Soldier just makes his best approximation of a smile and darts in to bite at Steve’s neck. He doesn’t know how to do what Steve did before, the way that didn’t hurt, but he remembers this, and he remembers that he hadn’t minded it, much. Then he reaches a hand down between Steve’s legs and begins to touch, quickly, trying to get Steve to respond the way the Soldier was sometimes made to.

“Bucky, no, what are you—“ Steve starts, but he breaks off when the Soldier bites down sharply.

—Blonde hair and a cruel smirk and bright red nails—

“Oh, hush. I know you want it, and he knows you want it,” the Soldier purrs, stroking harder.

“What? Bucky, cut it out!” Good, that’s good. The Soldier keeps touching, more and faster, trying to show Steve that he loves him enough to ignore all those words he doesn’t mean.

“See how much I love you?” he asks, moving faster than ever.

“Stop,” Steve says firmly. The Soldier pauses, confused, because that didn’t sound like a protest. It sounded like an order, and he knows he’s supposed to obey orders. “Bucky, explain what you’re doing.”

Another order. The Soldier doesn’t understand, he thought it was clear, but he says it anyway. “I’m proving that I love you,” he says.

“Why didn’t you stop when I told you to?” Steve asks, and even though it’s just a question it still feels like an order. Answer me, Steve’s tone says, and Bucky tries harder to understand the question. Why would he stop? He loves Steve. If he stopped, it would mean he didn’t care.

“I know you need this, and I’m the one who cares enough to give it to you. Don’t you see? I’m doing this because I love you.”

Steve gasps sharply, and his eyes look wet, but the Soldier is still afraid to move. He stays in place as Steve comes closer, closer, and finally folds the Soldier in his arms. Steve is so warm, the Soldier wants to relish his touch, but he can’t until he knows what’s going on.

“Did other people do this to you?” Steve says wetly into his neck.

“They loved me too much to stop because of petty cries,” he says pointedly, and then he’s shocked at himself. He doesn’t want to insult Steve, or accuse him of not caring when he has so many flashes that say that he does. It just— slipped out, and he couldn’t stop it. But as he thinks, he wonders if it’s true, if they really did love him more than Steve does.

He sobs at the thought of losing even a little of Steve’s love, because Steve is so, so good, and so important, and everything the Soldier never knew he wanted until he got it back, and he doesn’t want to lose it again.

“I swear to you,” Steve says, pulling himself together, “I will never do anything you don’t want me to.”

And then the Soldier begins to cry in earnest, because his worst fear just came true.

A!a: ugh I meant part 5, I always mess up the subject line somehow

You are continuing to break my trash-loving heart! It kills me to see this from Sam's perspective; colored with his observations ("It's the saddest thing he's ever seen") it really drives home how awful the situation is. Your descriptions of the way Steve is so gentle and attentive and patient with Bucky make it hurt so good, and I want to cry every time Bucky makes his little Steve hum.

Now you've got me worried something bad is gonna happen while they're in South America. Looking forward to more sads tomorrow! :D

Oops, forgot to put "OP" there. But yes, hello, I am the OP and I am more than okay with that. *rubs hands together in anticipation*

OP.

Aw, jeez. This is so ridiculously great. I wish I could offer you more specifics but it's so hard to be specific when your work is perfect!

OP. I'm dying here. My heart is broken and feels like a bunch of elephants are stomping on it and that's exactly how I want it. Aaaaaaah!

I'M THE OP AND I ATE THE DEAD DOVE ANYWAY OH GOD OH GODDDDD

In all seriousness, wow. That was fucking brutal. I loved it.

Obvi.

Future author anon here, you are a brilliant genius and my fetal story is already much improved thanks to you. Any and all brainstormings are welcomed.

I don't give a flying fuck about the subject line, your fill is majestic to behold. HIS WORST FEAR. MY HEART.

Here, I've combed the beach for partially rotten washed-up corpses for you, and I have collected: six fish, three seagulls, and a seal. I think it's a seal?

I love how detailed and realistic this fic is. You spare no disgusting detail, which just highlights the love and care Steve (and Sam) are showing.

:DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

Thank you! :D

Yyyyyyeah this Steve is pretty done.

(I assume he's gonna go be Nomad for a few years while Sam is Captain America, but life will go on. Sorta.)

::mixes you up a nice strong one::

::includes complimentary garnish of a box of Kleenex::

:D :D :D

Sunday, Steve was woken up at three in the morning. Again.

He fumbled to find his phone before it woke up Bucky. Natasha’s number. “Hello?” He mumbled and let out a yawn.

“Steve, it’s Bucky.” Natasha’s voice was too emotionless, too professional. A chill ran down his entire body; he hadn’t felt that since the Valkyrie crash. He was definitely awake now.

Steve ran towards Bucky’s room with the singular thought of “Bucky” running through his mind, threw open the door, and looked around frantically. The window was open, no one was there, and with the exception of a heavy stack of books and papers on the desk, the room was as bare as it had been the day Steve showed Bucky around. A breeze wandered in throw the window and picked up papers from the top layer of a neat pile, leaving them stranded on the floor. “Where is he?” He said, or maybe he shut his eyes and prayed.

“I’m sorry, Steve, but….” Natasha read off a street address and talked about “bullet to the head” and “no pulse” and then asked, voice softening, “Do you want to be here?”

Steve might have been shattering from the pressure building in his chest and throat. No, he would not like to be here. He would like to be in another world where there was no war, no HYDRA, no people you loved slipping away from you over and over and over. Instead, he said, “I’m on my way.”

When Steve arrived, he arrived in his uniform and with his shield clenched in his hand. He already had his revenge tour mapped out: First say goodbye to Bucky, and then stop when he dropped dead. Didn’t matter who - against HYDRA, against the KGB, against whoever did this to Bucky – he only hoped that if it came to it, there would be enough of Steve Rogers left in him to not hurt anyone who tried to stop him as well.

Natasha was at the scene, along with flashing blue and red lights and yellow tape and investigators. “Let me see him,” He said to the cops, eyes burning with challenge, and no one stopped him. Natasha started to say something but didn’t. Instead, she gave him a long look of concern. He ignored it in favor of the figure lying in a collapsed heap in the back alley.

He stumbled to the figure on the ground and dropped his shield and fell to his knees. He might have been 95 pounds and hypothermic again with how much he trembled when he moved Bucky’s half-blasted head against his chest and cradled his limp body. “Hey, Buck.” Steve whispered, pressed his face into Bucky’s hair, and inhaled the scent of lavender oil and copper. Blood was still flowing freely out of Bucky’s head and soaking through Steve’s uniform until his whole chest felt warm. “You’re ridiculous, keeping me from freezing to death even now.” He chided. If he suspended disbelief, he could see Bucky’s chest rise and fall in rhythm with his breathing.

He ran a hand through Bucky’s hair, smoothing away the blood-matted strands so he could lay a kiss on his forehead, careful to skirt the gaping wound. It tasted of blood. “Who did this to you?” He asked with his lips pressed to Bucky’s forehead. “Hey, you can tell me. I can kick asses better than you now.” Some irrational part of him listened for Bucky’s answer while Bucky stared at him with unseeing eyes and a bloody hole in his head. “That’s fine, we can just enjoy each other’s company.” Steve shifted to sit against a wall with Bucky’s head in his lap and spent the next part of forever stroking his cheek and gingerly pushing brain matter back into his head. He stayed like that until Bucky was cold to the touch.

Eventually, Natasha approached them with light, measured steps, crouched down, and placed an arm across Steve’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you home,” She said.

Steve pulled Bucky’s eyelids over his dead eyes and mentally said goodbye. Then he wasted no time grabbing his shield and asked, “How did he die?”

Natasha tightened her grip on his shoulder. “Bullet to the lower brain, instantaneous death. He wouldn’t have felt pain.” She tried to pull him up. “We should go.”

“No, who?”

“Steve, there are professional pathologists and investigators here who can find out.” She stroked her hand down his hunched back. “The best thing you can do right now is let them take care of him.”

“I’ll stay with him until they do.” He settled Bucky on the ground and prepared to stand stand sentinel for the rest of the night.

“Steve, at least be here for his funeral.” Steve only grunted in acknowledgement and held on tighter to his shield. “Steve…” Natasha leaned against him heavily, and there was tenseness in the air. Steve looked over and could see her slight frown and pursed lips as she debated her next words. “I know who killed him. There’s no one to fight”

Steve didn’t get it, or rather, he didn’t want to get it, but Natasha was good at destroying liars at their own game, and she reserved no mercy for him. “I thought Barnes was off and followed him, but I couldn’t stop him before he pulled the trigger.” When Steve’s eyes were still a glassy haze of denial, she added, voice soft, “He shot himself.”

“Oh.” He said it like he used to say it when feverish to the point of hallucination and waiting to die. Oh. Steve collapsed into a boneless heap and felt the hastily stitched together revenge plans that barely held him together get ripped out. The shield slipped out of his hands and hit the ground ringing. Unsteadily, he climbed to his feet again, pushed Natasha away, and stumbled towards somewhere - anywhere as long as it was away.

Eventually, he found himself at a liquor store.

(I got busy at work today and didn't have time to respond to all your lovely comments, but I read and appreciate and am inspired by every single one of them - so thank you!)

The negotiations go long every day and Sam finds himself playing errand boy more often than not - running back to the villa because Steve wants to know how Bucky is or needs to tell one of Bucky’s caregivers something. Steve is focused at the table, competent and attentive, but as soon as there’s a break, he drifts away, clearly disliking the long hours.

At night, he goes straight up to his rooms, barely pausing to say good night. They set up a cot for him, near Bucky, but every time Sam comes in, he’s sitting right by the bedside.

Five days in, Sam comes in around Bucky's lunch time. The negotiations haven't even had a break all morning and Sam could've cut the tension coming off Steve with a knife. He slips in, quiet in case Bucky is resting, and immediately knows something is wrong.

The staff is mostly the same staff as at HQ so Sam knows them well enough to know they looks rattled.

"What happened?" he asks, already wondering if he should be calling Steve right now. Tenuous proceedings be damned. Steve would never forgive him.

The story comes out in pieces.

One of the nurses had been feeding Bucky his protein shake. He hasn't had problems swallowing in months. Not since the very beginning when they weren't even sure if he could. For months, Bucky's been opening his mouth when food touches it, taking it in, swallowing it as it slides back in his throat - sometimes it took a little rubbing to encourage him but never much. Sam remembers a doctor saying it was the same basic reflex as an infant had.

Today, Bucky had been more absent, hadn't been swallowing without someone massaging his throat, hadn't been making his noises, or little limb twitches. They'd been halfway through the shake when Bucky had choked, breathed in the wrong way, not swallowed well enough, something. He didn't possess enough coordination for forceful coughing so there had been a tense few seconds where Bucky had struggled soundlessly while they pulled the auction equipment, got him on his side, and cleared his airway.

He never lost consciousness, never stopped breathing. He seems okay now. Okay as he can seem. The worry is how much stuff managed to get into his lungs. Why he choked in the first place. Is he losing his gag reflex? Should they call Steve?

Sam drifts over to the bed. Bucky is propped up still, head carefully positioned between two foam pillows. His forehead is sagging on one, eyes straight ahead as he stares out at the blue sky through the window, face slack and blank. The edges of his mouth look a little raw. He doesn't twitch when Sam lays a hand on his shoulder.

Sam has heard the doctors. Read the reports. He knows that Barnes does not react to his surroundings in any meaningful way. So maybe it's his imagination. But this feels different. There's no rolling of Bucky's head, no slight hiss between his teeth, no eyes roving around the room. None of the little noises and movements Sam thinks of as Bucky now.

His chest tightness. "Is this new?" he asks, trusting they'll get it. How do you ask if a minimally conscious borderline vegetative brain damage patient is quieter than normal?

There's shuffling behind him.

"It started after Captain Rogers started the negotiations."

Early on, in quiet moments when Sam has managed to drag Steve into the daylight for breaks, Steve had often, big shoulders hunched and face in hands, asked if Sam thought Bucky was in there somewhere. Asked if maybe this was all a coping mechanism and if Steve just made him feel safe and loved and warm enough, maybe he would just come back. He asked if Sam thought Bucky knew him. Sam had always mumbled some answer about how the brain was a tricky thing.

The questions had stopped as time went on and Bucky's brain scans never looked like anything but Swiss cheese. But Sam is pretty sure Steve is still asking those questions.

"You miss him, don't you?" Sam says quietly, soothing his fingers down Bucky's shoulder. "You're not used to him being gone. I know it's hard but this is only for awhile and he'll be back all the time. I swear. He hasn't forgotten about you."

Bucky doesn't respond and Sam wonders if this is how Steve always feels.

After some indecision, Sam goes to tell Steve in person at the next break.

Steve goes very pale with his lead in of "First, I want to say that Bucky is fine now..." And the conversation goes down hill from there.

Eventually, Steve has a urgent, hushed conversation with Stark and he and Sam are in the car back to the house only a few minutes later.

Steve conferences with Bucky's neurologist on the way (it looks like Steve's call dragged him out of bed) and he has a notebook open on his lap that he's referencing and writing furiously in.

Sam had known Steve had been reading up on brain trauma and recovery. But, to Sam's inexpert ear, Steve sounds like he's going head to head with the guy Tony Stark considers the leading expert.

When they hang up, Steve sits back and presses his fingers into his hands. "We'll have to get new scans as soon as we get back," he says. "This isn't... If he's losing function, we need to find out why."

"Didn't know you'd become such an expert," Sam says as they get out of the car. "It's impressive, Steve."

Steve shoots him a look. "I learned four languages in the six months after they woke me up. Of course, I'm gonna become an expert in this. What's the good with all this brain if I can't... If Bucky is... If I don't..." He stops. "I know everyone thinks I'm in denial." His voice is almost a whisper. "And that I think he understand more than he does and I'm being unrealistic. But I can't help Bucky if I'm not trying to fix him. I believe in him. If anyone can overcome, it's him. And if he never gets any better than this. If he... If he gets worse. Than I want him to feel as comfortable and safe and healthy as possible. I can't do that if I don't know what's going on."

At the rooms, Steve goes straight to Bucky. He kisses his forehead, strokes his hair, leans close and murmurs in his ear with his eyes closed. Bucky doesn't twitch.

Steve makes the staff tell him the whole thing again from the beginning, writing it all in his little notebook. He has a frank conversation about Bucky's bowel movements that Sam, frankly, could've done fine with never hearing.

When the room is clear except for Sam, Steve goes to the bed and moves the foam supports that help position Bucky. He gently lifts him into his arms, tucking the blanket around him as he does. He stands, without moving, for just a moment, Bucky cradled to his chest. They go to the patio, Bucky unmoving and vacant and Steve looking more weary than Sam can remember.

Steve sits on one of the large chairs, using his feet to sway in a rocking motion. "I'm sorry," he tells Bucky in a voice so low that Sam wouldn't have been able to hear had it not been so quiet. "I'm sorry. I know you didn't understand why I was gone. But I'll never really leave you. That's a promise I'll never break. I know the world is scary for you now and you don't always understand. But I," his voice catches. "But I understand you. Okay, Buck? I get it and I'll be here and I'll make sure you don't have to worry. You just gotta keep being strong and trying and I'll be there every step of the way."

Yaaaasssss this prompt is everything to me

Ikr? They care so much about each other. It's a good thing they suck at talking about feelings, or I'd be writing a love story with lots of porn instead of suicide.

Idk if this ever culminates in an ultimate hurt, though that could be subjective. As far as what I have planned goes, it's all a knife here and there that felt nice to twist, but I'm glad Im successfully causing pain. :)

To all the author anons in this thread - you are breaking me. I don't think trash has made me this sad ever.

I dug through the garbage at my local county fair and got you all a stale cotton candy, BUT MY TEARS MELTED IT. Sorry - so please accept this sticky paper cone.

At night, he goes straight up to his rooms, barely pausing to say good night. They set up a cot for him, near Bucky, but every time Sam comes in, he’s sitting right by the bedside.

He's staying awake in order to make up for the time he missed with Bucky during the day, isn't he? My heart is cracking open.

WHY DID I READ THIS BEFORE BED NOW I'M CRYING

I have this nebulous trash idea:

1. Bucky is completely non-verbal. He communicates through sign language and writing.

2. He gets nabbed by some Hydra agents, who don't have the facilities to wipe him anymore, but figure they can break him back into obedience anyway. You know what happens next.

3. It takes Steve & Co a few weeks or months to find him. When Hydra realizes the rescue is inevitable, they shatter Bucky's hands.

4. FALLOUT

preferences for:

+ Bucky's traumatized, but capable, and his personality is intact

+ Communication is important to Bucky, not just for conversation, but also because it helps him sort out his shit (I have an emotional kink for characters talking about their trauma and I can't explain it). Thus it would appease my hungry masochistic heart for Bucky to have been in from the cold with Steve prior to the recapture. But I realize this all might take more work so if any potential filler wants to write the recapture as taking place while Buck is still on the run, that's cool too!

+ Rumlow

+ even if the injuries aren't permanent (the metal hand, at least, could be rebuilt), they last a while

++ so much pain

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 132 of 222

Dumpster #2: ...'Cause a Hydra Trash Party don't stop

Re: accidental prompt

Re: accidental prompt

5+1 fill: 4: Steve

Re: 5+1 fill: 4: Steve

Re: I think of you with warmth (3/?)

Re: Hole abuse

Re: FILL: With These Things There's No Telling, 2/?

Re: I think of you with warmth (3/?)

Re: FILL: Now That the War Is Through with Me (1/1)

Re: accidental prompt

Re: accidental prompt

Re: 5+1 fill: 4: Steve

Re: FILL: With These Things There's No Telling, 2/?

Re: FILL: Now That the War Is Through with Me (1/1)

Re: FILL: Now That the War Is Through with Me (1/1)

Re: FILL: Now That the War Is Through with Me (1/1)

Re: FILL: With These Things There's No Telling, 1/?

Fill: Drinking Games (3/?)

Re: I think of you with warmth (4/?)

Re: Bucky has been broken to rape (but still remembers who he is)

Re: Fill: Drinking Games (2/?)

Re: HYDRA accidentally fries Bucky

Re: I think of you with warmth (4/?)

Re: I think of you with warmth (4/?)

Bucky doesn't talk. at all. then trash happens