hydratrashmeme | Trash Party Dumpster #1

Trash Party Dumpster #1

(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.

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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.

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"You’d gotten into it with the Ortsgruppen. Not for the first time, but never this bad. Ridgewood, Bushwick? I don't... Some kind of rally out in the square, I’d have have taken us a different way if I’d known. Freunde des Neuen Deutschland. Friends of the New Germany. Of course you had to wade right in like a reckless idiot." The tension in its wide shoulders relaxes, and the soldier melts against Pierce. "So prouda' you."

"Whole new level of mad," it continued. "Distilled to a higher plane of existence kind of mad. I think it went so far you circled back around to calm again. And you never did raise your voice, not even once. I couldn't get over that.

"The quiet way you got to talking, it was like something straight out of a book, or like you hear in church. Me, I was there to serve witness. I could see you, really see you: this one true thing moving through a sea of ugliness and hate. Not perfect, not pure, just... good. And I don't know how, but the worse the ugliness got, the brighter you burned. Nothing they did could stop you loving them. The rot couldn't touch you, and all you wanted was to help lift the rest of us out. It's always been like that with you, but for the first time I saw how impossible it was, that you could be this way. But it was real. Hit me like a truck. You were the realest thing I'd ever laid eyes on."

One flesh arm and one metal wrap around Pierce. The soldier burrows its forehead into his shoulder while it shudders in a few breaths. "I, I saw you were meant for something great. All the Freunde saw was a skinny little punk with a mouth on him, still limping from a tussle with Robbie Salzberg. They were stupid enough to think you were weak, and low enough to think that's something needs wiping out. Because you terrified them, those grown men. They were afraid, so they were gonna snuff you out. Now comes my job, besides witnessing.

"You hated me dragging you out of there. I had to throw you over my shoulder in the end, which pissed you off worse, but pride was gonna be the least of our wounds in another minute. So I hauled you out of there and made for Vinegar Hill like my ass was catching fire.

"You couldn't stop wheezing by then. We get out from the Ortsgruppen just in time for your own fucking body to start attacking. I had to cool you off, calm you down. Keep you safe. Would do anything for you.

“That’s why I brought you here.”

Pierce frowns. “Here?”

“Was supposed to be a surprise, hahh,” the soldier murmurs, “I was savin’ it, but I guess we can celebrate your birthday a week early if means you not blowing your top. Anything for you.” It presses its lips to the hinge of Pierce’s jaw.

The Winter Soldier never kisses without being prompted, but now it’s peppering the side of his face with them. The Winter Soldier always struggles to maintain composure -- the stoicism of a weapon -- but this thing is rutting itself on Pierce’s lap in earnest, and gusting moans against his skin between sentences.

Pierce finds he doesn't care for the change much. His gasps taken from the soldier are hard-won; these sighs are freely and cheaply given.

Pierce turns his mouth away from it and says, “Tell me more about this place.”

“It’s something, ain’t it? Who knew all this was hidden down under the Bridge anchorage? All the stone arches and vaults, feels like being in a castle almost. Real Count of Monte Cristo stuff. Thought you’d like that.” It ducks to hide a shy smile. “Nice and cool, too. It's always cool like this. I’ll sneak you in when the weather gets too boiling to stand, but we gotta keep it a secret. It’s ours, our blue grotto.” The soldier tips its head back; Pierce's pool house ceiling dances with light like an underwater cave. “See?”

"It's beautiful." He reaches between them to jerk the soldier a few times, and something close to laughter rasps against his ear.

"I've been so afraid to tell you." It offers him a wobbly grin. "I'm not-- I know you're better in a way I'll never be. I know I can't be like you, but I'm not such a fool I can't recognize a good thing when I see it. I'll try harder, I promise," it husks, nosing Pierce's hair. "I want to be good, too, I want. Ah, that. The way you feel in me."

When Pierce shivers, the smile flips to concern, and in a second its streamlined bulk is curling around him. Even now, it's careful to spare him most of its weight. "Are you cold? Let me keep you warm. Please." A titanium thumb ghosts over his cheek, and its expression crumples. "Just, let me keep you,” it begs.

He cups the soldier's face, does the smile: "Always."

It lights up for him with the untarnished bliss of ignorance. The soldier is so young in this memory, and Pierce realizes he must have looked the same way once, back when he was still Alex. Michelle had too, when they’d thought world had been something worth loving as well as protecting.

Pierce says, "You love me, don't you? It's okay."

And just like that, the soldier is weeping with broken joy. Its heartbeat thunders through the bare chest it presses against Pierce. Its grin is flushed, dizzy.

This time he lets it kiss him on the mouth, and Pierce can all but taste the salt blowing off the East River, see the clear sky of a long-dead June. He knows the soldier can. Its eyes are distant but alive, and the light they reflect is blue, blue, blue.

Pierce knows this is the original file: flawless as if the soldier is still living that moment, in mind if not in body. This is its perfect memory.

The Winter Soldier rides him -- tight and young and enthusiastic, with full parted lips and streaming eyes. Were he a younger man, Pierce would have lost control. "More," he gasps. He digs in the pocket of his robe. "Tell me more."

"Relieved. That's what I am, so relieved." It laughs again wetly. "Thank you, thank you." It won't stop clutching at him. Pierce fucks it harder. "All I ever wanted, to keep you safe and loved. I promise. You can be you, and do great things, and I'll stay out of the way. But please just let me have this. I'll do anything, Steve." It sobs around Pierce's fingers when they slip into its mouth, it trusts him completely.

"I know." Pierce places two little white pills on the soldier's tongue.

If it were in an MRI, its brain would be incandescent with the lacework of memory. The shape of this moment is paved in forks of lightning, in Christmas lights, it’s the Brooklyn Bridge on New Year's Eve.

The pills are less direct than the chair, but the language translates. Neural connections collapse in their wake, bridges burn in a storm of fire and ash and disordered proteins.

A line of confusion appears between the soldier's eyes. There’s a catastrophe unfolding in its skull -- the funeral pyre Pierce lit for James Barnes, for Michelle-that-was, for Alex. For Steve Rogers and the dream of a world that has no need for HYDRA. (Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.)

The soldier goes rigid. There’s a convulsion, then it releases Pierce to touch its own damp cheeks in bewilderment.

Pierce comes.

In the brief throes of orgasm, he clamps his fingers into a muzzle over its mouth. The hand gripping its face is marked by age in a way the soldier never will be, and this suddenly strikes Pierce as cruel. For whom, he couldn't say.

"I'll tell you a secret,” Pierce whispers. Its skin is clammy under his grasp, wheezing hot against his palm. Huge eyes lock on him, and confusion gives way to terror as Pierce pulls it in close as a lover. "I wish I was the man you think I am. I wish I could have been."

All falls away. This is how things must be: the soldier's brow smooths, mismatched hands drop to its sides, breath slows to an even rhythm. Its expression glazes over and withdraws. The visiting ghost drowns again in the cold black lake of the Winter Soldier.

When the soldier climbs off him, its erection has gone all but completely soft. It steps back and stands at attention among the islands of body armor scattered across the tile. Just another shadow, a drugged-up jungle cat laid out for his inspection. After a few moments it begins surveilling the room again, attention darting from corners to exits and back again. Restless again, battle-ready. It takes no notice of the spent semen trickling down its thighs.

A swill of bourbon remains in Pierce's glass. He's not sure he wants it. "Go clean off in the pool," he orders, finally.

The surface barely ripples as it wades up to its chest in turquoise. Outside, the snow turns to ice pellets. Pierce listens to them chiming against the glass wall facing his garden while the soldier scrubs itself mechanically. Streaks of old blood fan out from its skin, then dissolve into nothing. It disappears into water as warm and salty as tears.

I AM WRECKED!! OH GOD< HOW BEAUTIFUL> HOW AWFUL

I love everyone in this goddamn forsaken dumpster, especially you right now, author!anon.

I have no trash gift for you, just admiration.

Aw god Bucky no!

(So glad you're back!)

WriterAnon says: BLARG, the format got all janked up without showing itself in the Preview. Here's a less busted version.

"You’d gotten into it with the Ortsgruppen. Not for the first time, but never this bad. Ridgewood, Bushwick? I don't... Some kind of rally out in the square, I’d have have taken us a different way if I’d known. Freunde des Neuen Deutschland. Friends of the New Germany. Of course you had to wade right in like a reckless idiot." The tension in its wide shoulders relaxes, and the soldier melts against Pierce. "So prouda' you."

"Whole new level of mad," it continued. "Distilled to a higher plane of existence kind of mad. I think it went so far you circled back around to calm again. And you never did raise your voice, not even once. I couldn't get over that.

"The quiet way you got to talking, it was like something straight out of a book, or like you hear in Church. Me, I was there to serve witness. I could see you, really see you: this one true thing moving through a sea of ugliness and hate. Not perfect, not pure, just... good. And I don't know how, but the worse the ugliness got, the brighter you burned. Nothing they did could stop you loving them. The rot couldn't touch you, and all you wanted was to help lift the rest of us out. It's always been like that with you, but for the first time I saw how impossible it was, that you could be this way, but it was real. Hit me like a truck. You were the realest thing I'd ever laid eyes on."

One flesh arm and one metal wrap around Pierce. The soldier burrows its forehead into his shoulder while it shudders in a few breaths. "I, I saw you were meant for something great. All the Freunde saw was a skinny little punk with a mouth on him, still limping from a tussle with Robbie Salzberg. They were stupid enough to think you were weak, and foul enough to think that's something needs wiping out. Because you terrified them, those grown men. They were afraid, so they were gonna snuff you out. Now comes my job, besides witnessing.

"You hated me dragging you out of there. I had to throw you over my shoulder in the end, which pissed you off worse, but pride was gonna be the least of our wounds in another minute. So I hauled you out of there and made for Vinegar Hill like my ass was catching fire.

"You couldn't stop wheezing by then. We get out from the Ortsgruppen just in time for your own fucking body to start attacking. I had to cool you off, calm you down. Keep you safe. Would do anything for you.

“That’s why I brought you here.”

Pierce frowns. “Here?”

“Was supposed to be a surprise, hah,” the soldier murmurs, “I was savin’ it, but I guess we can celebrate your birthday a week early if means you not blowing your top. Anything for you.” It presses its lips to the hinge of Pierce’s jaw.

The Winter Soldier never kisses without being prompted, but now it’s peppering the side of his face with them. The Winter Soldier always struggles to maintain composure -- the stoicism of a weapon -- but this thing is rutting itself on Pierce’s lap in earnest, and gusting moans against his skin between sentences.

Pierce finds he doesn't care for the change much. His gasps from the soldier are hard-won; these sighs are freely and cheaply given.

Pierce turns his mouth away from it and says, “Tell me more about this place.”

“It’s something, ain’t it? Who knew all this was hidden down under the Bridge? All the stone arches and vaults, feels like being in a castle almost. Real Count of Monte Cristo stuff. Thought you’d like that.” It ducks to hide a shy smile. “Nice and cool, too. It's always cool like this. I’ll sneak you in when the weather gets too boiling to stand, but we gotta keep it a secret. It’s ours, our blue grotto.” The soldier tips its head back; Pierce's pool house ceiling dances with light like an underwater cave. “See?”

"It's beautiful." He reaches between them to jerk the soldier a few times, and something close to laughter rasps against his ear.

"I've been so afraid to tell you." It offers him a wobbly grin. "I'm not-- I know you're better in a way I'll never be. I know I can't be like you, but I'm not such a fool I can't recognize a good thing when I see it. I'll try harder, I promise," it husks, nosing Pierce's hair. "I want to be good, too, I want. Ah, that. The way you feel in me."

When Pierce shivers, the smile flips to concern, and in a second its streamlined bulk is curling around him. Even now, it's careful to spare him most of its weight. "Are you cold? Let me keep you warm. Please." A titanium thumb ghosts over his cheek, and its expression crumples. "Just, let me keep you,” it begs.

He cups the soldier's face, does the smile: "Always."

It lights up for him with the untarnished bliss of ignorance. The soldier is so young in this memory, and Pierce realizes he must have looked the same way once, back when he was still Alex. Michelle had too, when they’d thought world had been something worth loving as well as protecting.

Pierce says, "You love me, don't you? It's okay."

And just like that, the soldier is weeping with broken joy. Its heartbeat thunders through the bare chest it presses against Pierce. Its grin is flushed, dizzy.

This time he lets it kiss him on the mouth, and Pierce can all but taste the salt blowing off the East River, see the clear sky of a long-dead June. He knows the soldier can. Its eyes are distant but alive, and the light they reflect is blue, blue, blue.

Pierce knows this is the original file: flawless as if the soldier is still living that moment, in mind if not in body. This is its perfect memory.

The Winter Soldier rides him -- tight and young and enthusiastic, with full parted lips and streaming eyes. Were he a younger man, Pierce would have lost control. "More," he gasps. He digs in the pocket of his robe. "Tell me more."

"Relieved. That's what I am, so relieved." It laughs again wetly. "Thank you, thank you." It won't stop clutching at him. Pierce fucks it harder. "All I ever wanted, to keep you safe and loved. I promise. You can be you, and do great things, and I'll stay out of the way. But please just let me have this. I'll do anything, Steve." It sobs around Pierce's fingers when they slip into its mouth, it trusts him completely.

"I know." Pierce places two little white pills on the soldier's tongue.

If it were in an MRI, its brain would be incandescent with the lacework of memory. The shape of this moment is paved in forks of lightning, in Christmas lights, it’s the Brooklyn Bridge on New Year's Eve.

The pills are less direct than the chair, but the language translates. Neural connections collapse in their wake, bridges burn in a storm of fire and ash and disordered proteins.

A line of confusion appears between the soldier's eyes. There’s a catastrophe unfolding in its skull -- the funeral pyre Pierce lit for James Barnes, for Michelle-that-was, for Alex. For Steve Rogers and the dream of a world that has no need for HYDRA. (Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.)

The soldier goes rigid. There’s a convulsion, then it releases Pierce to touch its own damp cheeks in bewilderment.

Pierce comes.

In the brief throes of orgasm, he clamps his fingers into a muzzle over its mouth. The hand gripping its face is marked by age in a way the soldier never will be, and this suddenly strikes Pierce as cruel. For whom, he couldn't say.

"I'll tell you a secret,” Pierce whispers. Its skin is clammy under his grasp, wheezing hot against his palm. Huge eyes lock on him, and confusion gives way to terror as Pierce pulls it in close as a lover. "I wish I was the man you think I am. I wish I could have been."

All falls away. This is how things must be: the soldier's brow smooths, mismatched hands drop to its sides, breath slows to an even rhythm. Its expression glazes over and withdraws. The visiting ghost drowns again in the cold black lake of the Winter Soldier.

When the soldier climbs off him, its erection has gone all but completely soft. It steps back and stands at attention among the islands of body armor scattered across the tile. Just another shadow, a drugged-up jungle cat laid out for his inspection. After a few moments it begins surveilling the room again, attention darting from corners to exits and back again. Restless again, battle-ready. It takes no notice of the spent semen trickling down its thighs.

A swill of bourbon remains in Pierce's glass. He's not sure he wants it. "Go clean off in the pool," he orders, finally.

The surface barely ripples as it wades up to its chest in turquoise. Outside, the snow turns to ice pellets. Pierce listens to them chiming against the glass wall facing his garden while the soldier scrubs itself mechanically. Streaks of old blood fan out from its skin, then dissolve into nothing. It disappears into water as warm and salty as tears.

Oh anon. Halfway through my jaw actually dropped in fascinated horror and awe. High quality sexual exploitation and then emotionally-wrenching mindfuckery to boot? My wildest dreams have been surpassed.

(I'm the OP, BTW).

this is UTTERLY terrifying. you write extraordinarily well. "In the garden, a piece of darkness detaches itself from the night." HoLY SHIT. HOLY SHIT. "It is observable only as an absence: a hole in the latticework of swirling flakes, a missing tooth, a void. The darkness flows to a spot just beyond the reach of Pierce’s landscaping lights, waits. It waits."
god. i’m holding my breath again. the terror behind the soldiers appearance – a ghost – the horror of what pierce does to him, how you write pierce. the end. the pool. this is superbe, and i would love to read more of your work. are you willing to share anything else?

Thank you so much! To be honest, this is the only work I've done in this fandom, which is no small feat, since I've been working in original fiction for the last two years (most of which is currently in submission), but the Winter Soldier dragged me back into fandom. Hard. And with no regrets. I love every minute of it and voraciously search for more content almost every day. I just really really love this film and this fan community, and I'm grateful to be able to give back, and hopefully create something other people enjoy. But if I do anything else, I'll be sure to link!

UGHHHHHH ALL OF THIS IS AMAZING

WTF ARE YOU REAL? This is I have no words for how wonderful and clever your writing is, and the settings, and the characterization, and it's ALL SO CLEVER.

"Pierce thrusts up twice and is rewarded with a stifled sob. Each time, it rocks down to meet his hips. Pierce wonders if the soldier is aware of how it bares its teeth."
And this is one of the sexiest lines in history, I might have sprained my brain at this. I just, I LOVE YOU SO FUCKING MUCH RIGHT NOW I'M SORRY FOR ASKING NOW BUT ARE YOU GONNA POST MORE? OMG PLEASE. <3<3<3<3<3<3<3

You're so sweet! Which is a weird thing to say in a trash party kink meme, but there you go. But yeah: I know exactly what happens in the next two parts (because this is secretly a 5+1 fic because I'm trash), it's just a matter of banging it out while also doing Nanowrimos and a Stucky Big Bang. And also tiresome (UGHHHHHH) irl nonsense.

Long story short: I am hecka slow, but hecka committed.

Oh gosh, thank you for replying, I'm so glad to hear you are writing more, and even a +1! Your writing is absolutely beautiful and evocative, every line of this has some magic in it and the sex (because let me be honest, I WAAAAY ENJOYED THAT :P) is horrifying as it is arousing and that's some sort of miracle, I don't know how you pull it off. Also this is all so much in character, holy shit, you can see it happening behind the movie.

So yeah, THANK YOU I LOVE YOU. <3

PS: I would give my left arm to know which BB story you are writing tbh.

I came back to this hoping to see more -- if the story's been continued anywhere, please point to the continuation? What amazing writing.

I am in so much pain right now. And I did not realize this was a WIP when I started it, so that kind of pain as well. God. I can deal with people being straightforwardly awful to the soldier, like, the worst kind of physical and sexual violence, humiliation, etc, but this! This! The WORST. Just. That memory. It's so beautiful. I'm grieving its loss and sickened at Pierce's remorseless perversion of it, his awful voyeurism. AND he made him forget it. Which. I mean. It has to be one of the most wonderful moments of Bucky's life, would probably have always been one of his happiest memories (if not THE happiest because jesus how do you beat the time you confessed your feelings to the love of your life, and not only the love of your life, but this person you admire that much, and learned they were reciprocated?) even if he and Steve had lived through the war and been together well into old age. But with everything that's happened to him, he -needs- that memory! Even if he can't reach it most of the time. And now. Now, even if he is able to find it again, he has this filth associated with it.

I hope this doesn't turn into one of those stories I bookmark and check once every few months only to find it languishing away unfinished years later. Like, no lie, I'll probably reread it regardless because it's beautiful, but I'd really appreciate closure.

This bit:

-
“So angry.” The Winter Soldier still has its eyes squeezed shut. Its head lolls back, and the grimace slackens closer to pleasure. "So angry that day. You seemed… it was you, but bigger. Not on outside, but you: the important parts. All of you huge and lit up, on fire. Beautiful,” the soldier gasps. “Mad as I’d ever seen you. Thought you were gonna sock me one right in the mouth, best day of my fuckin’ life.”
-

AND THEN THIS FUCKING THING:

-
Pierce says, "You love me, don't you? It's okay."

And just like that, the soldier is weeping with broken joy. Its heartbeat thunders through the bare chest it presses against Pierce. Its grin is flushed, dizzy.
-

Gah. Stab me right in the throat, why don't you. Just put me out of my misery.

[muffled sobs in the background]

...

I HAVE DEEP EMOTIONAL FEELINGS

D:

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.

That is just mind-blowingly effective. Gorgeous writing, my stars. I was stunned when Pierce said to the Soldier that he wishes he were that man. Wow.

Oh my god this is fucking stunning I can't even

Jeeeeesus fucking christ. This fic just gets better and better, and this installment in particular was just...wow. Fucked up (and hot) in all the best/worst ways, and absolutely worth the wait.

THIS IS A MASTERPIECE

Oh, I have waited for this update. Luscious, luscious detail.

The over-all arc is killing me! With each piece, the asset is de-humanized further, HYDRA ever grinding him away in the task of polishing their weapon.

This is so, so well done. Your writing is horrifying and heart-breaking and just beautiful. Poor, poor Bucky. Just watching the progression throughout this, all that's been taken away from him, it breaks my heart. Thank you so much for sharing this story.

This is a masterpiece. I am wowed. I could write *essays* about all you've put into this stoy.

yusssss this is the best Pierce omg I can't deal with how horrible and self-justified he is

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Trash Party Dumpster #1

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