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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Title is, of course, from "Even Better Than the Real Thing."

-

The Soldier was aware that he had two purposes. One--his tactical purpose--he had already served today, going out on a mission with the STRIKE team. He had performed the assigned assassination smoothly, without complications or flaws, to the apparent satisfaction of his handlers. He had been brought back to base for routine maintenance and required no repairs, only cleaning and the application of normal nutrient solution and medical supplements through the standard intravenous lines.

He was still in the maintenance lab, seated naked on a table after being inspected for damages and cleaned. He was still connected to the IV drip. He was waiting.

His second purpose was recreational. When he was serving his recreational purpose he had to be very still and cooperate with whatever was required of him. He fulfilled this purpose with the same precision as his tactical purpose, but he was aware, as he sat naked on the cold table, waiting, that he preferred his tactical purpose. It was not his place to desire, or to hope, only to wait, but as he waited, he allowed himself to think that he might be waiting for another mission, or a return to cryo storage.

Rollins entered after a time, carrying a large black duffel of the sort that usually transported tactical gear. One of the medical technicians was with him. The Soldier did not move or react, only waited, but he waited very attentively.

The technician approached him first. "Open."

The Soldier opened his mouth as directed, and the technician placed a number of pills on his tongue. "Swallow."

The Soldier swallowed.

"Mark time," the technician said. "Thirty minutes."

Rollins nodded and touched the watch on his wrist, which made a beeping noise. The Soldier also automatically began to track the passage of time. Thirty minutes to something important. The technician retrieved a rarely-used hygiene kit and said, "Hold still now."

The Soldier held still while he was given a quick but close shave. The technician finished by applying a cream to his skin that had a faint smell. The smell triggered some odd association, but the Soldier pushed down the random working of his mind in favor of focusing on Rollins, who had moved around behind him and was slicking down the Soldier's hair to make it fit under some sort of stretchy cap which covered it completely. Before the Soldier could wonder at the purpose of this, Rollins removed a wig from the duffel bag and fit it over the cap, attaching it with glue around the edges. The wig was of short blond hair, and something about this heightened the strange associations from the smell of the shaving lotion, but the Soldier pushed away the strange mental images. He would not be distracted. He awaited orders. He was being prepped.

The technician said, "Arm," and the Soldier held out his left arm at the standard angle for inspection and minor servicing. The technician reached into the black duffel and pulled out something flesh-colored: a shoulder-high glove. The Soldier did not see the inner surface of the glove before it was pulled on, but he felt the tiny contacts of metal on metal as it was settled into place over his arm. There was some sort of circuitry lining the glove, perhaps intended to enhance his arm's function even while disguising it. The technician reached over and plucked the IV from his right hand, and said to Rollins, "All yours," before he walked out.

Rollins came around in front of the Soldier and looked him over, then nodded and waved to the duffel. "Extra mission tonight. You're almost ready. Gear up."

The Soldier got to his feet and reached into the duffel. He found not his normal black leather and kevlar tactical gear, but a barely-armored jumpsuit of bright blue, with a white star on the chest and red and white stripes on the abdomen. It seemed to have been designed to draw eyes and bullets to vital locations. The Soldier pulled it on with nothing beneath, since no other clothing had been provided. Strategy was not his concern; if this mission called for him to be dressed this way, he would succeed in his assigned mission.

He pulled on the brown leather boots and gauntlets provided, noting as he did that his arms were completely covered. This would seem to obviate the need for the camouflage of the flesh-colored sleeve on his left arm, but this was also not his concern.

There were, however, no weapons in the bag, only a flat wooden disc with some leather straps attached. The Soldier looked at Rollins, who was smiling slightly. "Pick it up, Soldier. That's all the gear you'll need on this one."

Moving slowly, though the uniform he wore did not at all impede him, the Soldier picked up the disk and slung it on his left arm by the straps. The outside surface was painted in concentric circles of red and white, with a white star in blue at the center. It was more a target than a shield, especially since the material was so flimsy.

"Sir," the Soldier said, knowing better than to request a briefing before it was offered.

"This is going to be a tough mission, Soldier," Rollins said. He did not look as though he anticipated difficulty, despite his words, but only his words were the Soldier's business. "It's Crossbones. Rumlow's a traitor, and you're going to apprehend him."

The Soldier did not actually look down at his gaudy clothing, target-shield, and lack of weaponry, but he made the tactical evaluation and came up with a significant problem.

"You're not going to need any more than this, Soldier," Rollins assured him, gripping his shoulder--the metal one, and through the layers he wore the Soldier could barely feel the touch. "But I want to be clear: Rumlow must be taken into custody alive, and failure is not acceptable. No matter how the mission goes, no matter what Rumlow does, you must not stop fighting to take him down. You absolutely do not kill him, but if he gets you down and there's nothing else you can do, you spit in his face. Am I clear? No surrender. That's your mission. You take him alive, and you fight all the way on this."

The Soldier nodded. He didn't know why Rollins was preoccupied with the possibility of failure--clearly this mission, odd and unexpected as it was, had been planned meticulously--but he would succeed, and under no circumstances would he surrender.

"Okay," Rollins said. "You're almost ready."

He reached into the duffel and pulled out the last item: a blue helmet with a built in mask that covered the top half of his face, an odd reverse of his normal black mask. It did make some sense of the shaving, though it covered the blond wig as thoroughly as the suit and gloves covered his arm. The Soldier simply buckled the strap and waited.

"Come here," Rollins said, leading him over to a mirror. "Take a look."

The Soldier looked--tried to look--could not quite see himself in the blue suit with red and white decorations. There was a haze of other images in his mind, and he had no time for such things. He had a mission to complete. Memories were not relevant to the mission. He must apprehend Rumlow, who was a traitor. He averted his gaze from the mirror until the strange memory-images ceased.

"Looking good," Rollins said, smiling again. "Just one last thing, Soldier. For the duration of this mission, your call sign is Cap."

Oh Lord, I cannot WAIT to see where this is going. (I mean, I think I know, but.)

Please tell me this is Rumlow's birthday present. PLEASE.

Rollins is the MOST thoughtful HYDRA husband and well on the way to earning himself a big sloppy kiss, yes.

I am torn between delight at the ingenuity of the gift, sadfeels for poor Bucky who just cannot get a break, and the creeping realization that I need to get my husband something for his birthday.

Well, you know what they say about the gift of raping a brainwashed supersoldier: a moment on the lips, a lifetime implacably hunting you down for revenge.

You know, I was leaning towards Dragon Age: Inquisition, but when you put it that way...

Oh Christ, this is amazing already. I love how Bucky is perplexed by the ridiculousness of the suit.

I hope he has flashbacks to this episode the first time he gets the new Cap suit from Tony. Maybe he's just like, tradition be damned I'm not running around with a target on my chest.

Thank you! :D

Ohhh, I think he's gonna have a flashback to this episode before that...

oh dear god, not the helicarrier...

*whistles innocently*

OP here: I am absolutely loving this so far. Poor poor Bucky, but in a horrible, horrible trash way this is really sweet of Rollins.

Oh, yay, I'm so excited to be writing a fill for you! <3

And, ahahaha, right? Rollins is the SWEETEST HYDRA husband. SO THOUGHTFUL. TO PEOPLE HE RECOGNIZES AS PEOPLE. The asset, eh.

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Trash Party Dumpster #1

FILL: Honey, Child, to a Swarm of Bees, 1/?

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