hydratrashmeme | Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

Holy shitballs, look at us go. Welcome to Captain America fandom's resident wretched hive of scum and villainy: ROUND THREE. AKA Bad Guys Do Dirtybadwrong Things To Your Faves, 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] [Round 2] [Fill post] [Chatter post] [hydratrashmeme Pinboard archive (maintained by

greenkirtle)] [Round 3 in flat view (comments in non-threaded chronological order, most recent last)]

Round 3 is closed; comments and fills in existing threads are still welcome, but all new prompts go to Round 4.

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Oh man, this is AMAZING, please accept this moldy water-damaged copy of Wolf in White Van as tribute.

I absolutely love the contrast between all the parts of Bucky's life that's working out, and the insidious mind state that's not. Intelligent Bucky who gets it but still doesn't is MY JAM. <333

"I'm fine," you say to the rescue team, ushering them out of the room before they can register the number of corpses that still had their dicks out. "Is this just an extraction or are we going for the command center of this base?"

As you run down the corridor, deeper into the base, you're glad that you were able to salvage your uniform before they showed up. They shouldn't know. Because you're fine.

You still taste them in your mouth.

----

"I'm fine," you say as you wave off Sam's offer of first aid. "If you want to pester someone, go look at Clint's ankle." He gives you a long look but finally leaves you alone.

You spend the rest of the plane ride writing up the mission report. Clint sprained his ankle and Sam got a nasty gash on his back when he charged in without his usual finesse. You ponder reporting the other thing, but no, it's fine. Not even a sprain.

You feel the slow ooze of blood and semen out of your ass, so you get up to avoid leaving a wet spot on the seat.

----

It's fine, you tell yourself in the shower, scrubbing at every place that they'd touched. The grime'll wash right off.

Except that no matter how you position yourself, the water doesn't quite reach deep enough.

It doesn't matter -- all that's up there is shit anyways.

----

It's fine, you tell yourself when you wake in the middle of the night to the feeling of phantom hands. The vomit feeling goes away when you sit yourself in the closet, where they can't reach you.

The pile of dirty clothes make a perfectly functional bed.

You really should have started sleeping here earlier -- bed's always too soft.

----

"I'm fine doing this part solo," you say, pointing to the diagram that Natasha's put up on the screen. "You need the manpower at the other entrance." You're too busy staring down Natasha to check if your hand is shaking. It's probably not. Why would it be?

Clint coughs and that makes Natasha shrug and move on.

They can't know. There's nothing for them to know. Because everything's fine.

You excuse yourself to go deal with the nausea in the bathroom.

----

"Hm... you sound fine." Bucky says as he sits down next to you on the plane.

You smile and ignore the feeling of phantom fluids flowing down your thigh that want to propel you out of your seat. "Why shouldn't I?" Bucky is sitting very close, but it's fine.

"Well, usually I don't do that much angry yelling when HYDRA's dicking me in the dick room. Surprised you didn't rough up your vocal cords." His voice is light, relaxed. "Usually got enough going on trying to conserve my glutes and put on a good show for the security cameras." Bucky smiles at you, genuine and happy. "So I'm glad that your voice is okay."

"Yeah, Buck. My voice is fine." You manage to choke out before you collapse against him.

=======
[lol sorry it took so long]

oh man some prewar trash would be great

Dammit, Westfahl.

http://makeitstranger.com/dammit-westfahl

http://archiveofourown.org/works/7814413

OP

OMG! <333 This is awesome, thank you!

And Steve. STEVE. You are so, so far from being fine.

I THOUGHT it might be you, thank you for this wonderful masterpiece.

YeS I thought it might be you!

Yes, I knew it!

:DD

Yay, glad you enjoyed!

(I actually had half of a Sam POV "wtf none of this is okay" thing going, but then decided that Sam really need a break from being the regular guy trying to deal with these emotionally constipated grandpas)

Thanks for your kind comments! Although I did initially have a third part to this story planned, it carried the plot beyond what was requested in the prompt and was thus a bit ultra vires. (It didn't include further porn, so you're not missing anything.) As it is, the story's natural ending sort of snuck up on me, and for the time being I'm calling it complete. It's up on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6403141. (I had to change the title, since as it stands all the fascists are basically fine.)

We've passed 5000 comments again, so it's onwards and ~~upwards~~ downwards to Dumpster #4. All new prompts go to the new round. Comments and fills for existing Round 3 prompts go as replies to the original, as usual, so keep an eye out for continuing activity on this post.

Man oh man, Bucky baby I feel you, the anticipation of a blow can be worse than getting hit.

thank you!! secretly, bucky's taking a third class at the community college, called Intro to Observational Rape Humor. he's getting an A and we're all really proud of him.

thank you!!! i continue to be thrilled to hear that you're still enjoying it (especially that u enjoyed the toast to being raped, my personal narcissistically most beloved part). more to come on how not-right-with-god james buchanan "bucky" "jacob 'jake' burrows" barnes considers himself to transparently be!

thank you!!! this is such an unbelievably nice comment that i'm overwhelmed? this is in addition to the amount overwhelmed i was when i saw that dira had mentioned it on tumblr in the first place (my fifteen seconds of totally relative and completely anonymous fame), so, like. my emotions are large right now. there is very much more still coming, and there will hopefully in the nearishish future be a day when it's finished and cleaned up and posted to my ao3 and able to be podficced, which would DELIGHT ME very much, assuming that at such time you are still interested and you aren't like, "jeez i can't believe i spoke too soon and called this 'brilliant' when only two installments later it turned into a disconcerting crossover with the brave little toaster," or whatever.

thank you!!!

thank you!! absolutely bucky has zero desire to assign meaning to things or, you know, he knows that you can't ever avoid interpreting a thing, but he'd hate to have to be conscious of interpreting anything or to knowingly choose to let it affect him now. that's the worst thing imaginable.

i love that you loved that because every time i reread this to edit i was like, "wow, pushing your own steve/radio agenda much?" but it's an agenda i feel strongly about and so ultimately did not remove.

OMG, my trashy, podfic-loving heart can't wait for more of this lovely pitch-black humor fic, and the subsequent podfic :D

Yessss beautiful. Excited for more!!

Always in need of more pre-war Bucky trash. I may be writing something, but I cannot promise anything...

Would love to read a fill for this, though!

“I did warn you,” Pierce said, after Rumlow had given in. This wasn't, after all, a fight he had any chance of winning.

“Yes, sir, you did,” he replied, voice straining against the ache and the humiliation. His skin was crawling, muscles tensing as if to try and hold back the shifting of his bones, the very core of him that wanted to both turn inside out and collapse in on itself.

“What's the fun in watching a broken toy be played with?” said the woman who was responsible for this. Rumlow seethed at being called a toy, his vision darkening at the edges, eaten away by rage. While he agreed with the sentiment on the surface, he didn't believe that there weren't aspects of the asset left to break. He shook away the shadows that crept in on him in order to memorize the bitch’s face as she watched him get fucked, and added her to a mental hit list that maybe, one day if he was lucky, he'd start crossing off.

Barnes wasn't cruel; if anything he was thorough. He'd slicked Rumlow up adequately--the drag of those metal fingers over his hole something Rumlow wasn't going to forget anytime soon, and he slowed here and there to spit and keep the friction down. It made it worse somehow, the pain coming primarily from Rumlow’s own inability to ease up and let go. Pure hurt he could handle, taking the hits was part of his fucking job, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t been held down and fucked raw before. He’d gone through initiation. He’d survived that shit. This was different--

Having to hold still while a bunch of rich old assholes watched him get bred stirred up an ugly mess of shame that he hadn't had to endure since he was fourteen and had finally started to get some height on him and learned to throw a proper punch.

“The truth is, you're too valuable for this treatment.”

“Is that--” Rumlow gasped, a hard snap of Barnes’s hips forcing him forward. He pressed his hands hard into the floor as hurt echoed up his spine. He suffered through the intermittent spikes and throbs of hurt, hating it even more as they edged close to something that almost felt good, like the ache of a loose tooth after a solid hit to the jaw. “Am I supposed to feel better about that?”

“Small comforts,” Pierce said. He wasn't even fucking watching. He was reading. The page of his book rasped beneath his fingers as he turned it.

Was this-- Rumlow shuddered as Barnes’s weight pressed warm along his back, sickeningly intimate as Barnes’s breath huffed against his ear. Was this a lesson after all? Proof of Pierce's disapproval of how liberally the STRIKE team used the asset as their own private come dumpster. He grit his teeth as Barnes's hair shivered against his cheek and for a brief moment he struggled, trying uselessly to escape the grip of warm metal clamped across his chest. The plates in Barnes’s arms shifted as his hold tightened.

“You only need to wait a little longer. Can't you tell he's almost done with you?” the woman said. Her arch smile carved its way into Rumlow's flesh.

To be a weapon in the hands of Hydra, a thing aimed and unleashed, was worlds away from this. The awful churning in his guts screamed hypocrite at him. The ugly flush heating his chest and face howled for revenge.

When Barnes was done with him, pulling out and away and looking to Pierce for direction, Rumlow wasted no time staggering to his feet. He hauled his shorts and pants up, finding his fingers thick and clumsy as he tried to do up his belt. “Fuck,” he spat, as he forced the buckle into place. He couldn't look at the woman now, or any of the others, though he could feel them watching him still. Probably they were reliving his humiliation in their heads, remembering how he'd looked with his pants tangled around his ankles and that fucking beast on top of him rutting away.

He had to redo his belt, tighten it to the proper notches, and he cursed as he stood up straight and tall. He crossed the room in a few steps and was about to grab his gun and vest when training took over and he realized how very keenly the asset was watching him. He'd become a threat, and a sudden flood of adrenaline steadied his hands and dulled the sharp stinging pain that meant taking a shit was gonna hurt for a full week. Slowly and deliberately, he took a step away from his weapon.

“Angry?” said one of the other guests, an older man with eyes an even brighter blue than Pierce's.

“Fucking right.”

“Anger narrows the focus.”

“And order follows pain,” Rumlow said, but he continued his retreat until the asset relaxed. He crossed his arms and stared at a point somewhere beyond the library wall, settling into a waiting stance. “I don't need the rookie speech.”

“But perhaps you needed this,” the woman said. She sized him up as she rose from her seat, moving to a card table that had a fresh deck waiting alongside tidy stacks of chips. The others, Pierce included, freshened their drinks and went to join her. The cards fluttered between her hands, a blur of red and white. “Let your assumptions drive you into so simple a trap again and you'll know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you will never be the kind of man who leads.”

“Never figured myself for a command position,” Rumlow lied.

“Lack of ambition is the mark of a lesser man,” said blue-eyes.

Barnes was nuzzled up against Pierce’s thigh, his gaze heavy-lidded as Pierce stroked the nape of his neck.

The woman--Rumlow still didn't even know her fucking name--shuffled the deck a few more times, then set it tidily in front of an open space beside her. This too, could be a trap. Taking the seat might be like putting a collar around his own neck, pledging himself to their whims.

The reality of it though was that Hydra already owned him. He'd pledged himself to this regime. He was already dealt in.

“I go into the red, you foot the bill,” he told Pierce. “I’m not walking out of here owing anyone.”

Pierce regarded him with the same steady look that had shaken his nerves earlier, but this time Rumlow choked down the uncertainty and his own gaze remained unwavering. Pierce slid a stack of chips towards him.

“It’s only fair when the evening has already cost you,” Pierce said. He stroked Barnes’s cheek with his knuckles, and peeked at the hand he was dealt.

Rumlow lifted the corner of his own cards and immediately got the feeling that Pierce could see straight through his poker face, a feeling only strengthened by Pierce’s quiet laugh as he threw a few chips into the pot.

“Contessa,” Pierce said, “you may regret seating a second rival at the table.”

“Alliances are made to be broken Alex, you know that better most,” she replied airily. “What I’m more interested in is what you’re going to offer your young man if he cleans the lot of us out.”

SO GOOD AND AWFUL. :((( Thanks so much for writing & sharing this!!

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Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

Re: cry for judas, 1/8

Re: cry for judas, 1/8

shortfill Re: Steve doesn't know they know

Re: prewar fake relationship trash: Steve thinks Bucky's rapist is his boyfriend

Re: Fill: It’s Also A Dog Masturbation Aid part 1

Re: Fill: It’s Also A Dog Masturbation Aid part 1

FILL: Sibylla ex Ampulla, 3/3 (on AO3)

Re: shortfill Re: Steve doesn't know they know

Re: FILL: Sibylla ex Ampulla, 3/3 (on AO3)

Re: FILL: Sibylla ex Ampulla, 3/3 (on AO3)

Re: FILL: Sibylla ex Ampulla, 3/3 (on AO3)

Re: shortfill Re: Steve doesn't know they know

Re: FILL: All You Fascists (Bound to Lose) [2b/3]

Dumpster #4 now open!

Re: cry for judas, 1/8

Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (9/?)

Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (9/?)

Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (9/?)

Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (9/?)

Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (9/?)

Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (9/?)

Re: cry for judas, 1/8

Re: prewar fake relationship trash: Steve thinks Bucky's rapist is his boyfriend

[Fill] The Kind of Man Who Leads 4/5

Re: shortfill Re: Steve doesn't know they know