Trash Party Dumpster #1

[trashmod]

(Will be continued in a Dumpster #2 post if by some unholy hell-miracle this post hits the 5000-comment limit.)

Filthy anon dumpster for sad hobos to fling moldy pizza crusts, raccoon eye makeup tips, and garbage about their sad trash kinks at each other.

AKA the Hydra Trash Party kinkmeme. One hundred percent Hydra Party Favor Bucky Barnes, Is It Sexy Violence Or Violent Sex?, and Bad Guys Do Bad Things To Your Faves: Winter Soldier Edition. BLANKET NON-CON/DUB-CON WARNING, not safe for work, not safe for life, not safe for anyone, read at your own risk of becoming one of us.

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, etc. are off-topic.

Organization: hydratrashmeme Pinboard archive maintained by greenkirtle. If you fill a prompt, drop a link at the fill post. Discussion threads now have a chatter post.

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GO TO TOWN, TRASHBABIES.

Unholy hell-miracle achieved! Round 1 is closed; comments and fills in existing threads are still welcome, but all new prompts go to Round 2.

Comments

Re: Up Close Ache 4.4.1/5

[(Anonymous)]

same anon as previous comment, just wanted to say i wrote a thing that was mostly in response to this. it is not fic. it is just an angry pile of angst. idk. i'm trying to be a Real Poet so i'm writing a poem every day and this was one of the first ones. i feel a little strange acknowledging that this poem mostly came into being from my (extremely - inordinately?) emotional response to kinkmeme fic, but. that was in fact the primary inspiration. i guess it just feels like the poem is more trivial in that context. :?

okay enough unnecessary backstory, just, here it is:

Hurt me.
No, not that way. Not with your fists.
Nor with a cane. Nor with a knife.
I didn't mean my body.

Make me bleed.
My heart. Make it bleed.
Crack it open and poke
all the tender spots,
get it nice and sore and
unbearable.
Best if you can do it all at once.
Take too long and I'll start to adjust.

Be clever.
I'm not naïve; I know pain when I see it
coming at me.
I want you to shock me.
Be eloquent in torture.
I have an artist's soul, so make me
complicit in my own undoing,
reluctant to unravel
such beautiful misery.

And make it last.
I want to feel the echoes
for a lifetime,
the throb of a sudden wound
as fresh
in a year's time, in a century,
as it was only a moment after the breaking.
I want to be crippled by pain.
Make me beg for release,
for death.

And every now and then,
just so I don't forget,
give me a quick jab in my ache,
remind me what pain
really feels like.