Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

[trashmod]

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.

Comments

What You Want Fill 1/?

[(Anonymous)]

a/n: my first thing written for this fandom. I hope people enjoy it! more soon.

Sam Wilson stares at the asset gravely. The asset looks down.

He knows he’s not supposed to treat Wilson (or anyone else) as a handler, even though it’s just as obvious that the reason the Captain gently suggested he come to this room is exactly so that Wilson can handle him.

“I wanted to talk to you about something, Bucky. Something important. Is that okay with you?”

An answer seems to be expected, so the asset risks a quick, “Yes, sir.”

“You know you don’t have to call me ‘sir,’ right?” Wilson says. It’s not the first time— in fact, it’s become more or less a refrain. Still, it’s not an order.

“Yes, sir. I know.”

Wilson smiles. “Okay. Well, I have a couple things I want to say to start off with. First of all, if you don’t want to talk about this, you just get up and leave anytime. If anything makes you uncomfortable. Second, you can talk about any of this with me, or Steve, anytime, and if you don’t feel like talking to either of us, we’ll see about getting you a therapist— someone neutral, who you can talk to. Does that make sense?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Alrighty. You’ve said some stuff that worried me and Steve a little, about your past.”

If Wilson is only a little worried about the asset’s past, he has a stronger stomach than any man has a right to.

“It seems to us like maybe you blame yourself for a lot of what happened when you were with Hydra. Is that true?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, that’s good to hear.”

He doesn’t want to explain. He doesn’t. But a memory flashes through his mind: handler’s voice, deep and strong, while the asset kneels, nothing he can see but perfectly polished leather boots, ‘have you been punished, asset?’

‘Yes, sir,’ all he said, and he didn’t tell his handler that the punishment was only a whipping not the broken bones he knew he deserved and when his handler found out he’d left out the truth, that he had lied, the pain—

“I mean,” he says, “I mean I don’t blame myself for a lot of it. I recognize that all of it was my fault. To be accurate. Sir.”

Wilson sighs. The asset tries not to tense up before the blow— which doesn’t come. “That’s what we wanted to talk with you about. Have you ever heard the concept of consent?”

“I may have, sir, but I cannot access the memory.”

“Okay. Alright. That’s somewhere to start. Consent means— well, it just means agreement. Like, if you’re going to sell somebody your house, you both have to consent to the sale. I consent to give you the house, you consent to give me money, we shake hands, done deal. Are you following?”

“Yes, sir.” The asset doesn’t understand why he’s talking about houses, but he’s used to not understanding things.

“But it’s often used to describe agreement to other things. Things like touch, and spending time together, and especially sexual things. Consent is especially important in those cases, because it really matters that everyone involved wants to be. Does that make sense?”

The asset wonders if he’s supposed to start begging for it. Some of them used to like that, if he pretended it was what he wanted more than anything. He settles for “Yes, sir.”

“If you don’t consent to something— if someone forces you to do it— it isn’t your fault. At all. You get me?”

“Yes, sir.”

Wilson sighs. “Okay, I want you to take this.” He hands him a piece of paper.

The asset looks at it, blinking. He expects there to be orders written on the page. A kill name. Something he can make sense of. Instead, there’s a list of links.

“Some things you can read, to learn more about this. I’m not great at explaining this stuff, and I didn’t know if you’d want to talk about it with a stranger. Why don’t you go through some of that, come up with some questions, get back to me?”

An order, even if it’s not phrased like one. It’s almost a relief. “Yes, sir. Am I dismissed, sir?”

“Of course. You can go anytime, you know that.”

The asset doesn’t understand any part of this strange encounter, but he takes his orders and goes.

Re: What You Want Fill 1/?

[(Anonymous)]

Iiiiiii'm pretty excited to see where this goes!