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baddybaddyadardaddy · 8 months ago

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a knife in the dark

[adar/oc]

This is a slightly unhinged WIP AU for my longfic, Awake, Arise or Be For Ever Fall'n. Highly recommend (ask/beg/implore) you to read at last the first like, 8 chapters of that first or you'll be... um... maybe a lil confused? PREMISE: Erenyë is reembodied in Valinor, but Mandos shrouds her memories of Utumno, hoping to spare her pain in her new life. But she is restless in Aman, sensing that something is missing... She boards a ship heading for Middle Earth, hoping to discover just what that is. [DON'T @ ME ON REINCARNATION MECHANICS, THIS IS PURELY A NONSENSE DRABBLE THING THAT WILL HOPEFULLY EVENTUALLY LEAD TO SMUT BUT MORE REALISTICALLY WILL JUST BE A LOT OF RIP-YOUR-HEART-OUT ANGST BECAUSE APPARENTLY THAT'S ALL I DO HERE. 🫠 ]

She makes her voyage on an elven ship that is nearly empty.

Why would you go across the sea, the other elves ask her, mouths agape, in the days before her departure. Bliss lies here in the West—you will find little comfort on the shores of Middle Earth.

Erenyë cannot answer them, cannot explain why the eastern expanse calls her so. She has heard many among the eldar who made passage home from the Hither Lands speak of the sea-longing that precipitated their journey—but this feels like something even stronger, a yearning for a place, yes, but something more… something that she cannot name.

Whatever it is, she surmises it must be the reason she has never felt quite at home in Valinor, even surrounded by her Noldoran kindred, the ones who had remained after the terrible kinslaying of old.

As she watches the waves pound against the sharply angled bow, wind whipping through her hair, she speaks a silent promise to the waiting horizon: I am coming.

...

The tides of fate flow, and the sea is treacherous.

Their vessel is beset by perilous storms that rage by day and night, and no prayer to Ulmo seems capable of assuaging them. Their instruments fail, and the gale proves too powerful to hold their northward course to Lindon.

She asks how far off course the storm has flung them.

Toward the Southlands is the answer.

...

They make port in an abandoned Numenorean harbor that the captain calls Pelargir, and it is here that Erenyë takes her first steps into Middle Earth.

The landscape is lush and green, and different from Valinor—for it strikes her as more rugged and wild than the place from which she’d come. The climate is temperate and the air is moist, the trees here are massive, with thick trunks and sprawling branches, growing as they do only in Oromë’s woods across the sea. The forest calls to her—as all forests do—and she wanders eagerly toward the treeline, ready to lose herself in this new world.

But she is stopped by raised voices as a party of men emerges from the woods with warning. They are downtrodden, starving and traumatized, bearing the scars of war and disaster. In due course she learns that they have fled their homeland, several leagues to the east and over the mountains.

With terror-laced voices, they speak of a fire mountain, lately awakened, belching fire and cloud so high that it swallows the sunlight, rendering the land a waste, overrun by orcs. They answer to a single leader, the men tell her—a villain who calls himself Adar.

....

Adar.

It is a perplexing name for a servant of darkness, an elvish word.

She ponders the mystery late into the night, after the newly established encampment falls still. The elves had wasted no time in offering aid to the refugees, and Erenyë had done her part, though the forest still calls to her, insistent.

She considers going off alone, but the threat of orcs roaming the hills seeking captives to return to this Adar gives her pause. She knows enough of orcs to understand that the safest time to move through their lands is in daylight, and though she has never encountered one, memories of the stories that had reached her ears in Valinor, and the accounts of the Southlanders strike a deep chord of fear within her breast. She passes the night restless, yearning to roam.

At dawn, a small party of elves from the ship sets off toward the mountains, and Erenyë accompanies them eagerly, taking up a sword and dagger from one of the men who had not survived the night. The elven leader, Telemnion, tells them they must discover as much as they can about Adar and his legions so that a report can be sent north with all speed to High King Gil-glad.

They set a northeastern course that takes them up steep hills as they near the borders of the Southlands. As the day wanes, she catches the scent of smoke upon the air—ash and scorched pine, the smell of instantaneous destruction. Without warning, she doubles over, bracing herself with one hand against the nearest tree, retching.

“Are you well, Erenyë?” Telemnion hurries to her side, his eyes wide with concern.

In truth, she cannot say why the smell affects her so—she only has the keen sense of having experienced it before.

Her mind is filled with visions of ruined land—even before they emerge from the trees on a high precipice just before nightfall and see the blackened remains of the Southlands for themselves—and she knows that the visions are not simply abstractions. They feel like memories.

But it does not make sense—there had been no destruction of that kind in Valinor. Yet as they stop to rest, she cannot shake the sensation of touching ruined ground: of trailing her fingers over blackened, hollow trees, over the bleached bones of dead animals, over ash-laden earth.

As day gives way to night, she watches the skies above turn color. It is not the natural, blue-black of a peaceful night, but a wicked orange glow, cast by flames and smoke. It is yet another strangely familiar sight, and it fills her with blackest dread.

...

Several nights later, they are attacked by a band of orcs.

They are far outnumbered, and Telemnion cries out to them, telling them to run. With a pounding heart, Erenyë flies as fast as she can through the trees. When she’s confident there is enough distance between herself and the skirmish, she climbs, seeking for the safety of the upper branches of a great oak tree.

In the distance, she sees torches gleaming, and the sound of orc horns pierces the night air. She hugs the trunk of the tree, pressing her body close as though hoping it might open and absorb her into the safety of its bark as the orc army presses closer.

They are chanting something in unison—something that sounds victorious—and it is not long before they are close enough for her to understand it.

Adar… Adar… Adar…

The orcs continue their advance toward her tree. She considers climbing down and fleeing, but the chant soon falls silent, and the flickering torches stop moving.

A new voice fills the air.

It is low and husky, speaking the guttural language of the enemy. She cannot understand a word, but she tips her ear toward it, for there is something, some phantom quality about it that she cannot place. The trees are close in the glen, and with great care, she makes her way from one to the next, sidling toward the voice.

The orc army comes into view, and she can see their leader standing before them. His back is toward her—she can see only his silhouette against the torchlight. He is tall and slender—strangely elven, compared to the other orcs, the majority of whom are stooped and stocky. His presence is commanding, though he does not raise his voice beyond what is required to adequately fill the clearing.

He finishes his address with what is clearly a command for the uruks to set up camp, for they break out into groups, busying themselves with assembling tents and unfurling bedrolls.

Adar, for his part, watches the flurry of activity, then retreats into the shadows of the treeline. He is outside the torchlight now, but Erenyë follows his shape in the dark as it moves deeper into the forest. Keeping a safe distance, she scrambles down from her tree, closing her hand around the dagger she carries. Her heart begins to thrum again, pounding with a mixture of intrigue and terror.

He weaves gracefully through the trees, making no sound. There is something about his bearing that seems ancient, as though he is a part of the old forest itself and she creeps closer, fearing that at any moment, he might be swallowed by the trees, absorbed into them.

Dawn is breaking when he pauses in a clearing, and she realizes that the trees around them have started to thin, their leaves charred. The scent of smoke is stronger here, and with a soundless gasp, she discovers that they have reached the line of the fire-mountain’s destruction.

He kneels down, and she is struck by how suddenly small he appears. The sight of his silhouette stirs something in her—something that originates from that same place of strange recollection.

Why, her heart cries in anguish, does he seem familiar?

Without a thought, she steps closer.

He is crouched beside a green sapling that the fire had somehow spared, fingering the delicate leaves with a reverent—almost loving—tenderness.

She takes another step, disturbing the ground in her wake. A twig snaps beneath her foot; his head whips around toward the sound, and she flies at him, unsheathing her dagger with a cry.

They collide, tussling in the ashes. Erenyë scrambles and struggles with all her might until she lands on top with a dagger to his throat, gasping to reclaim the wind that was knocked out of her in their skirmish. His face comes together in her field of view: grey, mottled skin, covered in scars, thin lips, and shockingly deep, green eyes. She loses herself in them for a moment, as she steps seemingly out of time itself, spellbound by their depths. Her heart accelerates, threatening to batter itself out of its cage within her chest. She leans closer, bearing down on the dagger that is still pressed against the flesh of his neck.

He draws in a sharp breath as the blade bites into his skin, drawing a few drops of black blood. His eyes close, and his exhale is a soft moan, she presumes of pain, but she recognizes it as excitement, somehow. Pleasure.

She squeezes own her eyes shut, striving to steady herself, for it seems as though the ground itself is now swaying beneath her. She feels it again—the familiarity, the certainty that she has heard that sound before—no, not just heard it, she has been the cause of it.

He is no longer struggling—his body is languid beneath her, boneless. She clenches her teeth, confused, weighing her next move. He is the enemy; he and his army are responsible for the fire-mountain, for the destruction of the forest, for the torment of the Southlanders. She should let the dagger finish its work—drag it across his throat, spill the rest of his black blood here upon the ashen ground.

He murmurs something, something in a language that sounds like elvish, but it is older: an archaic form—one that she has only ever seen preserved on ancient scrolls. A dream, this is a dream, he rasps over and over, in that same low, husky tone that sends a shiver rolling down her spine, but not one borne entirely of fear.

The sound of the ancient language comforts her. Inexplicably, she thinks of stars, and the sound of water falling gently over stone.

She feels him shift and opens her eyes, preparing to defend herself. But he does not attack—instead, his hands seek for her hips, sinking softly into her flesh as he drags in another quaking breath. He wears an iron gauntlet on one hand, and it digs into her side, stopping just on the edge of pain.

Her stomach roils at the sight of this creature, this thing, this orc touching her, but her skin tingles beneath his fingers, even through her tunic.

She lets the dagger drag another quarter of an inch across his throat—she isn’t sure if she intends it to be a warning or an invitation—and he groans again. Tremors roll steadily through her body now; she feels she is dancing on the edge of a dangerous precipice, and she does not know whether to seek for safety or let herself fall into it.

He opens his mouth, and breathes a single word:

“Erenyë…”

Fear wins out—the sound of his name upon her tongue sends an earthquake through her body and she moves automatically out of shock and terror. With a strangled yell, she yanks the dagger into the air. He tries to rise, but she is too quick, slamming the butt of it against his temple—hard.

He falls back, unconscious, and she clamps a hand over her mouth to stop the scream that threatens to break free.

tagging @catz4ever @toddthekiwibird @eowyn7023 HERE YA GO MY FELLOW BADDYDADDY BRIGADERS

Read part 2 | part 3

#adar #adar fic #i cannot believe episode 5 unhinged me to the point of AU-ing my own damn AU but HERE WE FUCKING ARE I GUESS #anyway this is more or less the PG backstory #spice to come #hopefully #anyway it's your standard issue memory wipe fic with a side of knifeplay #enjoy it if that's your thing #i absolutely did zero editing on this #YOLO #posting it before i lose my nerve #in honor of KnifeKink week

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byrdonbroadway95 · 6 months ago

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THIS HAPPENED TO ME

Watching my first watch through of SPN ever. I’m on season 9 and as someone who has been on tumblr since ancient times but didn’t actually get in to it, I think everyone DOWNPLAYED how crazy Destiel is. How did veterans survive that….. It’s just. What. What am I watching. Why does Deans voice get SOFT when he talks to Cas particularly??? Why did Dean ditch Sam to watch Cas at the supermarket???? I think because of the meme I was convinced it was cas who was the one obviously in love but. No. It’s Dean. And it’s embarrassing for him. This is crazy but Destiel fans weren’t crazy y’all were on to something all this time…..

#but i was like pretty on board the whole time #but same really thought it was gonna be cas driven and it absolutely IS NOT your Honor #casdean #destiel #destiel is canon #supernatural #supernatural fandom #it's actually funny because i read SOOOOOOO much Destiel fic before even watching more than 1 or 2 episodes #fast forward 15 fucking years and here we are #unhinged all over again at 30

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anghraine · 3 months ago

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So one of the revelations from watching the entirety of TOS is that Kirk and Spock's relationship is not only every bit as homoerotic as rumored and then some—though it is—but that they are also incredibly fucking unhinged about it. So for this week's poll, I wanted to honor this discovery!

(The character limitations don't allow for much detail, and in context these are even more incredible, so I'll add the links/clips/summations beneath the cut!)

1— "The Empath" (Season 3)

Context: the girl of the week, Gem, is a member of a species of mute empaths able to absorb others' injuries through sympathy and generally drawn to positive emotion. Meanwhile, Kirk is tortured by other parties in the episode to test her willingness to take on others' suffering, and he falls into an exhausted unconscious heap on a bench.

Gem starts to head away towards McCoy, but is suddenly arrested by something she senses and turns to look at Spock, who is moving over to sit next to Kirk and watch him sleep. When Spock realizes he's being observed, he turns away and pretends to study data in his tricorder. Gem isn't fooled, however, and walks back over to him, touching Spock's shoulder and staring at him with wonder in her face over this simple feeling whatever his emotion is while delicate music plays in the background. See for yourself:

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2— "Shore Leave" (Season 1)

Context: Kirk is fatigued and strained and in physical pain after ... uh, everything (this episode was aired immediately after "The Conscience of the King" and "Balance of Terror," so it's not hard to buy). He tries to stretch out his back and Spock, standing behind Kirk with his hands on the back of the captain's chair, pulls his hands back and asks him if something is wrong. Kirk explains it's just the kink in his back. A pretty female yeoman starts massaging his back (uh) and Kirk welcomes it under the mistaken belief that it's Spock doing it:

"That's it. A little higher, please. Push. Push hard. Dig it in there, Mr.—"

Spock lifts a brow and pointedly steps forward so Kirk can see it's not him, and Kirk immediately orders the yeoman to stop with a meaningful look at Spock.

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(Bonus episode points: Spock's smug satisfaction at tricking Kirk into taking shore leave where McCoy failed, and them grasping at each other when they're in danger.)

3— "A Taste of Armageddon" (Season 1)

Context: After Kirk successfully uses a risky gambit to trick two neighboring peoples into making peace rather than continuing to murder millions of people via computers, he explains his thinking:

It was a calculated risk. Still, the Eminians keep a very orderly society, and actual war is a very messy business. A very, very messy business. I had a feeling that they would do anything to avoid it, even talk peace.

When Spock is dubious about acting based on "a feeling," Kirk adds:

Sometimes, Mr. Spock, a feeling is all we humans have to go on.

Spock replies:

Captain, you almost make me believe in luck.

And then Kirk dials it up to:

Why, Mr. Spock, you almost make me believe in miracles.

Then the camera just focuses on Spock visibly trying to process this and the episode ends.

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4— "Requiem for Methuselah" (Season 3)

Context: this is one of relatively few episodes in which Kirk actually gets to pursue a woman because he likes her rather than desperate circumstances; as usual with people he cares about, she dies. He's so emotionally drained at this point in the show that, upon returning to the ship, he describes his immortal rival for her love and himself as "A very old and lonely man, and a young and lonely man," mutters that he wishes he could just forget it all, and falls asleep at a table.

Meanwhile, Spock (who has been visibly intense and uncomfortable throughout the whole episode) stays nearby as McCoy enters. Spock gestures at him to stay quiet and McCoy briefly exposits a plot point to Spock, then segues into an unexpectedly vicious, half-smiling monologue about what Kirk's gone through in the episode and how Spock could never understand it:

Considering his opponent's longevity, truly an eternal triangle. You wouldn't understand that, would you, Spock? You see, I feel sorrier for you than I do for him, because you'll never know the things that love can drive a man to. The ecstasies, the miseries, the broken rules, the desperate chances, the glorious failures, the glorious victories. All of these things you'll never know simply because the word love isn't written into your book. Goodnight, Spock.

Spock just endures and politely replies "Goodnight, doctor," but after McCoy leaves, he allows himself to respond. Without so much as a scene break, Spock slowly walks over to the unconscious Kirk, touches his face, and mind-melds with him while he sleeps. And then he wipes Kirk's memory (!!!) of the tragic romance with his rival this girl, murmuring:

Forget.

5— "And the Children Shall Lead" (Season 3)

Context: a simple instance from a weak episode, but also ... damn, it's a lot. A bunch of children under the malign influence of an evil imperialist alien have managed to take over the Enterprise. This isn't the first time something roughly similar has happened, but at this point, Kirk has a full on panic attack as he and Spock leave the bridge and take the turbolift. Kirk clings to Spock as he melts down and Spock unsuccessfully tries to calm him with "Captain," but it only works when he murmurs, "Jim."

Kirk freezes and then immediately calms back down to his usual rational self. Spock is still concerned and Kirk assures him he'll be fine now (and is).

6— "Miri" (Season 1)

McCoy, Janice Rand, Kirk, and Spock are all gathered around trying to figure out the disease of the week, which has infected all of them (though Spock is asymptomatic). Kirk and Spock lock eyes and Spock points out that they can't go back to the ship, including him since he'd be a carrier, and then he adds:

Whatever happens, I can't go back to the ship ... and I do want to go back to the ship, captain.

Kirk smiles slowly and they just stare at each other as if Janice and McCoy had dropped off the face of the planet.

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7— "The Tholian Web" (Season 3)

Context: Kirk is trapped in a different phase of space while a local anomaly is gradually driving the crew of the Enterprise to insane rage. At the same time, the hostile Tholians are threatening the Enterprise with the obvious intent of killing them all within short order, and Kirk's disappearance places Spock in command throughout this triple crisis. Spock refuses to order an escape, instead insisting on the Enterprise remaining in place to keep trying to rescue Kirk, homicidal insanity of the crew be damned, even as the Tholians began attacking.

McCoy urges Spock to prioritize the welfare of the Enterprise and its crew above Kirk, telling him they can't afford to stick around and keep trying. Spock refuses and things predictably get worse.

McCoy confronts him about his priorities:

You should've known what could've happened and done everything in your power to safeguard your crew. That is the mark of a starship captain, like Jim.

Plot events lead everyone, including Spock, to believe that Kirk is dead, and as acting commander, Spock also has to lead the memorial service:

as a result of the battle, we must accept the fact that Captain Kirk is no longer alive. [...] I shall not attempt to voice the quality of respect and admiration which Captain Kirk commanded. Each of you must evaluate the loss in the privacy of your own thoughts.

McCoy continues to lash out at him directly afterwards:

He was a hero in every sense of the word, yet his life was sacrificed for nothing. The one thing that would have given his death meaning is the safety of the Enterprise. Now you've made that impossible, Mr. Spock. [...] I really came here to find out why you stayed and fought. [...] You could have assured yourself of a captaincy by leaving the area. But you chose to stay. Why?

Spock coldly replies:

I need not explain my rationale to you or any other member of this crew.

They snap at each other until they find the recording left for both of them by Kirk in the case of his death. It (hilariously) begins:

Bones, Spock, since you are playing this tape, we will assume that I am dead, that the tactical situation is critical, and both of you are locked in mortal combat.

The message is honestly both wise and heartwarming about how they should respect each other and both have important qualities to offer in a crisis. McCoy immediately feels ashamed of how he's been behaving at such a moment, and tells Spock:

Spock, I, er, I'm sorry. It does hurt, doesn't it?

Spock bleakly replies:

What would you have me say, doctor?

8— "Turnabout Intruder" (Season 3)

Context: in the very peculiar series finale, Kirk's autocratic and vengeful ex-girlfriend uses some kind of machine to take control of his body, leaving him trapped in her body. Spock notices almost immediately that "Kirk" is acting out of character and that "Janice" clearly knows something, so he goes to talk to "her" and Kirk tells him everything. Spock thinks it's possible but there's no certain proof, and Kirk urges him to mind-meld with him:

You are closer to the captain than anyone in the universe. You know his thoughts. What does your telepathic mind tell you now?

Spock melds with him and is promptly convinced.

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Bonus: Spock tries to help Kirk escape shortly thereafter and holds his wrist/hand for a good twenty seconds.

9— "The Paradise Syndrome" (Season 3)

Context: Kirk becomes a carefree amnesiac stranded on a planet of transplanted Indigenous people (it's as bad as it sounds), but there's a much more well-done subplot around Spock commanding the Enterprise in the meanwhile. He stubbornly risks the ship (again) to try and rescue Kirk, but the attempt disastrously fails, leaving the ship with only impulse power. McCoy says in some frustration:

Well, Spock, you took your calculated risk in your calculated Vulcan way, and you lost. You lost for us, you lost for that planet, and you lost for Jim.

Despite his exasperation, McCoy still tries to get Spock to rest. Spock simply ignores him and orders the ship to head towards the planet Kirk is stranded on, still stubbornly set on rescuing him, even though they have no warp capabilities and have to travel entirely by impulse power. When McCoy protests that it'll take months, Spock replies:

Exactly 59.223 days, doctor.

And there's no clever solution around it, either. They do take nearly two months getting to the planet and Spock spends 58 days of the journey fixated on figuring out the puzzle that will allow them to save Kirk. McCoy tries to get him to eat or sleep, since he's done little of either for over 50 days, but Spock refuses to do anything except prepare for rescuing Kirk:

I'm also aware when we arrive at the planet, we'll have barely four hours to effect rescue. I believe those symbols are the key. [...] I am not hungry, doctor. [...] My physical condition is not important, doctor. That obelisk is.

McCoy eventually threatens to call security to force him away from studying the puzzle and make him lie down, so Spock finally goes to bed. As soon as McCoy is gone and out of earshot, Spock just gets back up and returns to contemplating the puzzle until he has a breakthrough.

Then upon beaming down and finding an injured, still-amnesiac Kirk, Spock mind-melds with him to try and repair his memory.

I am Spock. You are James Kirk. Our minds are moving closer. Closer, closer, closer, James Kirk. Closer. [...] Our minds are one. [...] Spock!

Spock breaks the link and falls back, gasping. When McCoy asks what's wrong, Spock just says:

His mind. He is an extremely dynamic individual.

10— "The Enemy Within" (Season 1)

Context: Kirk has been split into two people, representing each half of his personality: one half is noble, intellectual, and restrained, but cautious and indecisive, while the other is strong and bold, but vicious, selfish, and violent. At this point in the episode, Spock et al don't know about the split, so good!Kirk is oblivious and evil!Kirk's bizarre behavior is being attributed to normal Kirk. McCoy sends Spock to the captain's quarters to find out what's wrong with him.

Spock dutifully goes to Kirk's quarters, where he finds good!Kirk relaxing without a shirt on and promptly realizes he's gay loses the ability to put normal sentences together. It's difficult to overstate or even describe the homoeroticism of this scene, so judge for yourself:

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Bonus: after Spock realizes he's dealing with only half of Kirk and has taken up helping him present a good front, he has to keep correcting good!Kirk's weaknesses and tells him that acting like actual Kirk means "You can't afford the luxury of being anything less than perfect."

11— "Errand of Mercy" (Season 1)

Context: Kirk and Spock are trying to pass themselves off as members of a species of ostensibly docile, peaceful people being (ostensibly) colonized by the Klingon Empire. Kirk in particular struggles to keep his head down, and when a Klingon shoves and threatens Spock, Kirk loses his shit and nearly clobbers the Klingon. Spock manages to calm him down and as they walk away, Kirk mutters:

You didn't really think I was going to beat his head in, did you?

Spock replies:

I thought you might.

Kirk says:

You're right.

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12— "Amok Time" (Season 2)

We all know about this one, let's be real. It's difficult to even choose a moment—Spock confiding in Kirk about Vulcan mating practices (Kirk: O_O) and his loathing of the prospect, with Kirk protecting his confidentiality ("I haven't heard a word you've said"), Kirk defending his own choice to implode his career and defy Starfleet (without breaking Spock's confidence) to rush Spock to Vulcan ("I owe him my life a dozen times over. Isn't that worth a career? He's my friend"), Spock telling Kirk he'll undoubtedly find pon farr "distasteful" and Kirk responding "Will I?", Spock begging T'Pau not to let T'Pring choose Kirk as her champion ("I will do what I must [in combat], T'Pau, but not with him! ... In the name of my fathers, forbid. Forbid! T'Pau. I plead with thee! I beg!"), Spock's bleak response to T'Pau's "live long and prosper" after his victory ("I shall do neither. I have killed my captain and my friend"), Spock explaining that his pon farr vanished the moment he thought he'd killed Kirk ("When I thought I had killed the captain, I found I had lost all interest in T'Pring"), McCoy trying to get Spock to admit that his relief at Kirk's survival is illogical and Spock blatantly lying that he is just concerned with the loss of an effective captain, to which Kirk simply responds "Yes, Mr. Spock. I understand" while McCoy splutters ...

But honestly, my favorite is the brief moment of unrestrained emotion when Spock discovers Kirk is still alive and he cries "Jim!" as his whole face lights up and he grabs him. It's one of the only times in TOS that he's in his right mind and yet too overwhelmed to hide what he feels, and it's famous for a reason.

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#honestly there were some other moments i seriously considered and it pained me to exclude but... these are the ones where i was just #OH their reputation preceded them yet somehow managed to understate how unwell they are about each other #anghraine babbles #long post #poll nonsense #star trek #james t kirk #spock #otp: the premise #kirk x spock #c: i object to intellect without discipline #c: who do i have to be #star peace #star trek: the original series

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cbeargyu · 26 days ago

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rockstar!beomgyu?…

( maybe make him toxic aswell….)😝😝

REVENGE

summary: you never meant to kiss beomgyu. and you definitely never meant to let it happen again. but when the boy you love breaks your heart and your oldest friend looks at you like he’s been waiting his whole life to ruin you… revenge suddenly feels a lot like salvation.

pairing: rockstar!beomgyu x fem!reader

genre: smut, angst, toxic relationship, cheating, friends to lovers.

warnings: infidelity, rough sex, possessiveness, dirty talk, emotional manipulation, light choking, toxic dynamics, mention of heartbreak and crying, jealousy, one (1) very unhinged rockstar, degradation + praise kink, creampie, bruising, guilt turned into arousal, emotionally destructive behavior.

wc: 4,9k

notes: omg anons have such spicy ideas 🔥 i loved it, i just wanna confess that a certain part of this fic is based on real events 💔 yes, i was someone’s rebound… bye 💀😭

you’re moaning into his neck, breath hot and sticky as your body rocks against beomgyu’s, the faint scent of beer mixing with the sweat clinging to your skin. the air in his apartment is thick—too warm, too heavy with everything unsaid, everything unhealed. his fingers dig into your hips like he’s trying to make you stay. like he’s scared you’ll disappear once it’s over.

you can’t even remember how many times you’ve said this would be the last.

“fuck, y/n,” he groans against your ear, voice rough with need, “you feel so fucking good…”

your eyes flutter shut, and for a second you let yourself drown in the feeling—his body pressed to yours, the heat, the pleasure—but then your mind betrays you, dragging you back.

you are riding him like he’s the only thing that ever made you feel alive. drunk on beer and heartbreak and the taste of revenge.

how did it come to this?

it’s blurry now, but you remember high school. back when beomgyu was just a boy with a cheap guitar and fire in his veins. he was wild even then—raw talent, untamed charm, a little too reckless for his own good. he’d get into fights with other bands after shows, bloodied lip and bruised knuckles like some badge of honor, and you… you’d always be there. cleaning him up, scolding him gently, eyes full of worry he didn’t deserve.

you weren’t like the others. you were soft where he was sharp, warm where he was cold. he’d watch you in the crowd like you were the only thing that mattered. he told you once that loving you felt inevitable, like breathing.

but you got scared.

when he confessed, heart in his throat and all, you told him you wanted to stay friends. you were terrified of what loving him could do to you. to both of you. and he just nodded, forced a smile, said “yeah, friends is good.” because even then, he’d rather have a piece of you than none at all.

time passed. you became an interior designer. he became a fucking rockstar. headlines, award shows, rumors, tattoos. but you stayed in touch—occasional texts, quick calls when your schedules allowed it. you never drifted completely.

and then came donghyun.

you met him in college, started dating two years ago. he was kind, at first. safe. steady. you let yourself believe in that fairytale. until the distance crept in. until his kisses felt more like habit than desire. you kept asking yourself, did i do something wrong? did he stop loving me?

the night it broke, he told you the truth.

"when we started dating... i wasn’t sure it was what i wanted. i told you i was over her, but... i wasn’t. i thought i could be, but—i’m sorry, y/n.”

the words split you open.

you cried so much that night, you couldn’t even see the screen when you typed beomgyu’s name.

“are you busy?” “no. where are you?” “can you come over?” “already on my way.”

twenty minutes later, he was at your door.

hair longer now, messy and beautiful, piercings glinting in the hallway light. he was breathing hard like he ran up the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. in his hand: a plastic bag with cheap beer.

you couldn’t stop crying. he dropped the beers on the kitchen counter and pulled you into his arms without a word. just held you while you shook in his chest.

“he said he wasn’t even sure,” you whispered later, curled up on the couch. “he said he was still thinking about her. all that time... i was just a fucking rebound.”

his jaw clenched, eyes darkening. “that bastard never deserved you.”

“i feel so stupid, gyu.”

“don’t,” he said, voice low and serious. “don’t you ever say that. you loved him. you gave everything. that’s not stupid. that’s beautiful.”

“why wasn’t i enough?”

he looked at you for a long time, like he was deciding something.

“y/n,” he said softly, leaning in. “that wasn’t your fault. he’s the one who didn’t know what he had. you... fuck, you’ve always been more than enough.”

the kiss happened slowly.

his hand on your cheek. your breath hitching. his lips brushing yours like a question—like a warning. and then, you kissed him back.

soft. desperate. too long coming.

when you pulled away, his forehead rested against yours. “you need to make him regret it,” he whispered, thumb stroking your skin. “you need to make him feel what it’s like to lose you. you need to feel good again. you deserve that.”

he didn’t ask for anything else that night. didn’t push.

but that was the start of the end.

after that night, you distanced yourself.

you didn’t mean to cut him off completely—hell, you couldn’t. it was beomgyu. but something about that kiss left a shadow in your chest. it was supposed to be just a moment. just comfort. just a stolen breath between sobs. nothing more.

you still texted, still called now and then. his name stayed pinned in your inbox. but you avoided seeing him in person like your life depended on it. like you knew that if you saw his eyes again, if he looked at you the way he did that night, you wouldn’t be able to lie to yourself anymore.

and besides… guilt was eating you alive.

because no matter how “harmless” the kiss was, you were still with donghyun.

donghyun, who promised he loved you. donghyun, who swore you were his future.

donghyun… who you later found texting his ex behind your back. joking with his friends about how maybe he should “catch up with her” again. laughing at the idea of her "missing his mouth." and not in a wholesome way.

when you saw the messages, your chest cracked all over again.

it didn’t matter that you had kissed someone else first. you still felt like your soul was being peeled apart, like you were always the one bleeding more. and maybe you deserved it. maybe not. but either way, you couldn’t breathe when you read those words.

still, you stayed.

and then came his concert.

beomgyu’s new album dropped like thunder—critics raving, fans losing their minds, his name everywhere. and somehow, despite everything, he’d put you on the guest list for the showcase. vip pass. no questions asked.

you told yourself you wouldn’t go.

but you went.

the venue was packed. lights flashing. fans screaming. and when he stepped onto that stage, guitar slung low on his hips, hair damp and wild, voice sliding over the mic like honey and gravel—your throat went dry.

he looked like sin. pure, unfiltered, heartbreak and lust wrapped in leather and ink.

you swallowed hard, trying to force your thoughts back into a box they didn’t want to stay in. because there he was—beomgyu, singing like the world owed him something, like the stage was the only place he could be real.

and god, you hated how much you still felt him.

after the show, the backstage buzzed with people. artists, stylists, industry big shots, security guards keeping the crowd out. your small flower crown sat awkwardly among the giant bouquets and expensive gifts.

when he saw it, he smiled.

“you actually came,” he said, walking toward you. “i didn’t think you would. thought you were still avoiding me.”

you hesitated. “i wasn’t avoiding you.”

he raised an eyebrow. “really?”

your mouth opened, then closed. then opened again.

“…okay. maybe i was.”

he nodded slowly, gaze sharp but unreadable. “why?”

you bit your lip. eyes drifting to the floor. “after that night… i got scared. i’ve never done anything like that before. never kissed someone else while i was still in a relationship. it felt—”

“like revenge?” he said, smirking a little. “because that’s all it was. he hurt you. so you hurt him back.”

you didn’t respond.

because that wasn’t who you were.

or… maybe it was. just for that moment.

you pressed your lips together, looking anywhere but his face.

he stepped closer, voice softer. “how’s that relationship going, anyway?”

you hesitated again. you wanted to lie. to say everything was fine. to keep pretending.

but you didn’t.

you told him what you found. the texts. the jokes. the way it broke you.

he didn’t hold back. “wow,” he said, dragging a hand through his hair. “i used to at least respect the guy because you picked him. but now? nah. he’s a fucking piece of shit.”

you flinched, but didn’t disagree.

“so why the hell are you still with him?”

“because i love him,” you said quickly. too quickly. too defensively. “i… i love him, gyu. i can’t just let go—”

his face twisted. “he’s making you feel like crap, and you’re still here defending him. what the fuck is wrong with you?”

your brows drew together. “don’t talk to me like that.”

“then stop talking like you're proud of being treated like garbage,” he snapped. “you sound like you’re begging to stay hurt.”

his fingers closed around your wrist—not enough to hurt, but tight enough to ground you. to make your chest seize.

“stop it,” he said through gritted teeth. “i don’t want to hear any more of this shit.”

you blinked, stunned. your mouth fell open, but no words came out.

“if he makes you feel like this,” he said, voice low and furious, “then break the fuck up with him.”

you stared at him, lips parted. heart hammering.

you wanted to scream that he didn’t understand. that it wasn’t so simple. that love was messy, complicated, that you had history—

but then he said it.

“remember that kiss?” his voice dropped, rough like gravel. “how did it feel? did you hate it?”

you opened your mouth, but nothing came out. your face burned. because the truth sat heavy on your tongue.

you didn’t hate it. you hadn’t hated a second of it.

and that scared the hell out of you.

because beomgyu was too much. too intense. too real. and worse—deep down, a part of you still regretted turning him down all those years ago. even now.

but you had a boyfriend.

you weren’t supposed to want another man.

even if that man made your heart ache in ways your boyfriend never could.

beomgyu stepped in closer, his presence swallowing the space between you both until your back met the cold wall. the sharp click of your heels echoed faintly on the floor, and for a split second, his eyes flicked downward, lips twitching.

“you look so fuckin’ good in those,” he muttered, almost to himself, his gaze dragging up the length of your body. the slit in your dress revealed just enough of your leg to make his jaw tense, and the swell of your chest, pressed tight in that low neckline, had his breath stuttering for a moment.

then, slowly, his hand reached up—warm, calloused fingertips trailing up the curve of your neck until they cradled your jaw, thumb brushing along your cheek. your breath hitched the second his body pressed into yours, his heat, his scent, everything suffocating.

“you have no fuckin’ idea how many times i’ve thought about you,” he growled, voice low, raspy, like he was barely holding himself back. “since that night… fuck, y/n.”

his nose skimmed along your neck, lips ghosting just beneath your ear, and then—he inhaled.

deep.

like he needed your scent just to breathe, like your skin was the only thing that could keep him alive.

you shivered.

his breath was hot against your throat, and your skin prickled, hypersensitive, the space between your thighs suddenly aching with heat.

“and you?” he whispered, his lips grazing your ear. “have you thought about me?”

you didn’t think. couldn’t.

“yes…” it fell from your lips like a confession. like a sin.

and that was all it took.

his mouth crashed into yours, all fire and fury and desperation. it was nothing like the soft kiss you’d shared before—this was punishment, this was craving, this was everything he’d been dying to take from you. his lips moved against yours with raw hunger, tongue parting your lips, tasting you like he was claiming you.

your hands pushed up against his chest, not to resist—but to feel. and god, he felt good. solid, toned, his body firm under your fingertips. you slid your palms over the fabric of his shirt, feeling the warmth of him, the tension in his muscles.

his hands gripped your waist tight, sliding up your back, then down again, fingers digging in just enough to make your breath hitch.

he broke the kiss just barely, your foreheads resting together, panting.

“don’t feel guilty,” he said, voice dark, ragged. “he fucked up first. you deserve this. you deserve to feel good, baby.”

your chest rose and fell rapidly, torn between reason and heat, but his mouth was already back on yours—his lips moving, tongue claiming, body pressing harder against yours. you gasped when his knee pushed between your legs, spreading you gently, firmly. his hand slid down to your thigh, gripping it, dragging it up to his hip so your leg wrapped around him.

his mouth moved to your neck, kissing, biting, licking over the spot just below your jaw. “let me give you what he couldn’t. let me make you forget that piece of shit.”

you whimpered. “beomgyu—”

“don’t think,” he murmured against your skin, “just feel.”

he bent slightly, gripping under your thighs, and in one swift motion, lifted you. your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, the hem of your dress riding up, leaving little to the imagination. he carried you effortlessly to the nearby vanity table, pushing aside cosmetics and water bottles with a sweep of his arm before setting you down on the surface, stepping between your legs.

his fingers found the edge of your dress and slowly pushed it up your thighs, eyes locked on yours the entire time. “look at you,” he whispered, hungry. “god, you’re so fucking beautiful. you don’t even know.”

your head tilted back slightly as his fingers slid under the thin lace of your panties, stroking softly between your folds. you were already wet—aching—and he groaned when he felt it.

“fuck, baby,” he hissed. “he never deserved this.”

your hips jerked forward into his hand, needing more, and he didn’t hesitate. two fingers slid inside you, curling just right, thumb rubbing slow circles on your clit. your moan escaped before you could stop it, your hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt.

“that’s it,” he muttered against your collarbone. “let me hear you. let me ruin you.”

your head fell back as he pumped his fingers in and out, his mouth trailing hot kisses over your chest, down the valley of your breasts, tongue dipping just beneath your neckline.

“you want me to stop?” he asked suddenly, voice low, teasing.

“no,” you breathed, desperate. “don’t stop. please—”

he grinned, feral. “then say it.”

“what..?” you gasped.

“say you want your revenge.”

you blinked, body trembling under his touch, your climax building fast in your core.

“say it, baby,” he coaxed, fingers thrusting harder. “say you wanna make him pay.”

your mouth fell open, eyes fluttering shut. “i… i want it. i want my revenge—”

“fuck yes you do,” he growled, crashing his mouth against yours again as your orgasm tore through you, sharp and hot and overwhelming. your body shook under him, thighs clenching around his waist as he swallowed every sound, every moan, every broken little whimper.

when you finally stilled, breathless and dazed, he pulled back just enough to look at you, thumb brushing your lips.

“we’re just getting started,” he said, voice wicked. “and i’m gonna make sure you never forget what it feels like to be worshipped.”

you barely had time to catch your breath before beomgyu was tugging your panties down your thighs, slow but deliberate, eyes never leaving yours. they dropped to the floor in a silent surrender, and he pocketed them with a smirk like they were a fucking trophy.

“i’m not gonna fuck you here,” he murmured, breath hot against your lips, “not like this. you deserve better than a quick fuck on a vanity. not when i’ve waited this long.”

before you could answer, he scooped you up again like it was nothing, his arms strong under your thighs as he carried you out of the dressing room, ignoring the voices and laughter muffled behind the door.

“w-where are we going?” you asked, barely able to think straight.

“my place,” he said simply. “somewhere i can hear you scream without interruptions.”

you whimpered, burying your face in his neck, and god, he smelled so good—sweat, leather, cologne and stage adrenaline. he smelled like temptation and danger and everything you knew you shouldn’t want… but did.

the ride in the black suv was silent, electric. your dress was bunched up around your hips, your bare pussy pressed against the rough fabric of his jeans as you sat on his lap, his arms wrapped tightly around you. he kissed your neck lazily, like he had all the time in the world, but his cock was rock hard beneath you. he didn’t even try to hide it.

once at his apartment, he kicked the door shut with his boot, not bothering with lights. the glow of the city poured in through the massive windows, casting shadows across the sleek, dark interior. guitars lined the wall. platinum records caught the dim light. this was his kingdom—and tonight, you were the only thing he wanted in it.

he dropped you on the bed, eyes heavy, lips parted.

“take it off,” he said, voice husky, pointing at your dress.

your fingers trembled as you reached for the zipper, but he stepped forward and caught your wrists.

“no,” he whispered, “let me.”

slowly, reverently, he pulled the dress down your body, baring inch after inch of your skin, his lips brushing each new piece of flesh like a prayer. your tits spilled out of your bra, tight and full, and he groaned under his breath like he was in pain.

“fuck, y/n…” his hands cupped them gently, thumbs rubbing over your nipples until they peaked. “you’re a fucking dream.”

he kissed down your stomach, his rings cold on your thighs as he spread them apart, taking his time to appreciate the view.

“this pussy,” he muttered, running a finger along your slit, “doesn’t deserve to be wasted on a piece of shit who doesn’t know how to treat you.”

you moaned softly, but he didn’t give you time to reply—he leaned in, mouth hot and wet against your core, tongue sliding between your folds like he’d been starving for it. he licked you slow, deep, sucking gently on your clit, fingers spreading you open.

your hands tangled in his hair, tugging, hips grinding up against his mouth.

“beomgyu—fuck—” you gasped.

he hummed in response, the vibration sending a jolt through you, and your thighs clamped around his head, body trembling. he didn’t stop—he kept going until you were falling apart again, crying out his name, legs shaking uncontrollably.

when he finally pulled away, his lips were glistening, his eyes dark, his jaw set with hunger.

“on your knees,” he commanded, voice rough. “now.”

you obeyed before you even thought about it, dropping to the floor and looking up at him with flushed cheeks, your mascara smudged and lips swollen from kisses.

he unbuckled his belt slowly, eyes locked on yours, pulling his cock free. it was thick, veiny, and already leaking. you swallowed hard, instinctively.

he chuckled darkly. “open your mouth, pretty girl.”

you wrapped your lips around the tip, letting your tongue swirl over the head, tasting him. he hissed, one hand gripping your hair tight as he fed more of his length into your mouth.

“that’s it,” he growled, fucking your mouth slowly, “just like that. fuck, your mouth feels so good—better than i imagined.”

you gagged slightly as he hit the back of your throat, but he didn’t stop, hips rocking steadily, praising you in broken moans.

“gonna fuck you now,” he said, pulling out with a wet pop and dragging you back to your feet. “gonna make you forget every time he made you feel like you weren’t enough.”

he turned you around and bent you over the bed, your chest pressing into the sheets, ass up for him.

he rubbed the head of his cock through your folds, teasing your entrance, and then—he pushed in.

deep.

you both gasped.

“so fucking tight,” he groaned, leaning over your back, one hand gripping your hip, the other sliding up your spine to your throat. “like you were made for me.”

his phone buzzed on the nightstand. he didn’t even look at it—just reached out lazily, tapped the screen and muttered, “i’ll be late. got something to handle.”

you heard him on the line with his manager, voice casual but firm. “start without me. i’ll join after... yeah, don’t wait.”

he hung up and tossed the phone aside, then grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back just enough so your cheek pressed against the mattress.

his pace started slow, dragging out each thrust, making you feel every inch of him. but it didn’t take long for him to snap his hips harder, faster, your body jolting with each stroke.

“does he fuck you like this?” he snarled in your ear, “does he make you scream?”

you shook your head, eyes rolling back. “n-no—only you—”

“that’s right,” he growled. “only me.”

his hand tightened around your throat, not enough to hurt, just enough to make your breath catch.

“this is your revenge, baby,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “so take it.”

his thrusts turned brutal—sharp, punishing, hitting the deepest part of you over and over. your cries filled the room, ragged and desperate, echoing off the walls with no mercy. his grip on your waist tightened like he wanted to mold your body into the shape of his cock, to ruin you for anyone else. to make sure you'd never forget.

“you feel this?” he grunted against your neck, breath hot and heavy. “no one else is gonna fuck you like this. no one else is gonna own you like i do.”

your fingers clutched the sheets, knuckles white, tears stinging the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity. it was too much—his pace, his size, the weight of his body against yours, the filthy things he whispered in your ear.

“i bet you’re still gonna go crawling back to him,” he spat, jealousy burning under every word. “still gonna lie next to that asshole like you’re his.”

you whimpered, shaking your head weakly, but he didn’t buy it.

“nah,” he growled, pulling out suddenly and flipping you over, grabbing your legs and shoving them open. “look at me.”

you blinked up at him, dazed and fucked-out, mascara running down your cheeks.

“you better break up with him,” he snarled, voice low and dangerous, “or i swear to god, y/n, i’ll fuck you in front of him. i’ll bend you over his couch and make you scream my name while he watches.”

your mouth fell open in shock, chest heaving.

“and i won’t stop,” he added, rubbing the tip of his cock against your swollen entrance, “until he knows he lost. until he knows this pussy—” he thrust into you hard, making you sob out loud, “—was never really his.”

“beomgyu—” you moaned, overwhelmed, body burning from the inside out.

“you think he deserves you?” his hands pinned your wrists above your head, cock slamming into you mercilessly. “he made you cry, he lied to you, he fucking humiliated you—and you still love him? you’re fucking pathetic.”

you cried out, the words cutting deeper than his thrusts, but somehow… it made you wetter.

“you wanna be ruined?” he hissed. “you want someone to actually break you? then let me do it right. let me be the one to destroy you, y/n.”

his mouth found your breast, biting down hard on the curve, then licking over it with his tongue. one of his hands slid down between your bodies, fingers circling your clit.

“i’m gonna make you cum again,” he said darkly. “and when you do, i want you to say it. say who you belong to.”

you tried to resist, tried to hold it in, but your body betrayed you. the coil snapped, the orgasm ripped through you like a wave crashing too hard, too fast, and you screamed—legs shaking, eyes rolling back, tears spilling.

“say it,” he barked, still fucking into you through your climax. “say my fucking name.”

“b-beomgyu—!” you sobbed.

he groaned like he was finally satisfied, pulling you close and burying his face in your neck as he came inside you, cock twitching, filling you up with thick heat.

you lay there under him, destroyed—physically spent, emotionally wrecked, your thoughts tangled in guilt and pleasure and fear.

he didn’t move for a moment. just breathed. heavy. hot. his fingers brushing your jaw as if you were fragile now that he had broken you.

“you’re not going back to him,” he whispered.

not a question.

a fucking order.

you lay beneath him, breathing uneven, the scent of sweat and sex thick in the room. your thighs still trembled from the intensity, from the way he’d made you cum like he hated you and worshipped you at the same time. beomgyu hadn’t said a word in the past minute—his face buried against your neck, body still pressed to yours, cock softening inside you.

for a second, just a second, you wished he’d hold you.

but then his voice broke the silence.

“you’re still thinking about him,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. the accusation hung in the air like smoke. “even after everything i just gave you.”

your heart dropped.

your lips parted, but nothing came out. you didn’t know how to explain it—the ache in your chest that refused to go away. the confusion. the guilt. the goddamn love you still felt for someone who didn’t deserve it.

“gyu…” you whispered.

he pulled back, face twisted into something you couldn’t name. anger? heartbreak? pride?

“don’t,” he cut you off. “don’t make excuses.”

your eyes welled up. “i don’t know what to do.”

“yes, you do,” he said bitterly. “you just don’t want to admit it.”

you turned your face away, ashamed. “i’m scared…”

he leaned down, lips brushing your jaw, your cheek, your temple. “i know,” he breathed. “but if you go back to him… if you choose him over me again… i swear, y/n, i won’t be there the next time he breaks you.”

you looked up at him, tears streaming silently, and in his eyes—you saw it.

not just lust.

not just revenge.

something raw. something real. something that had been growing since you were kids and that neither of you dared name.

“why are you doing this to me?” you whispered, voice cracking.

he exhaled shakily, jaw clenched. “because you’re mine. and i’m fucking done pretending i can watch you belong to someone else.”

your heart clenched so painfully it felt like it might stop. you could say no. you could walk out, gather what little pride you had left, go home and cry again.

but you didn’t move.

you reached for him.

he didn’t need another invitation.

his lips found yours again, slower this time, deeper—like he needed to pour every unsaid feeling into your mouth. his hands cradled your face as he kissed you like it might be the last time. but it wouldn’t be. you both knew that now.

he slid between your thighs again, cock hardening quickly against your entrance, and this time, when he entered you, it wasn’t fast or rough—it was claiming.

your nails scratched down his back, your legs wrapped around him, and all that tension, all that heartbreak, turned into moans and gasps and breathless whimpers.

you knew this wouldn’t end well.

you knew you were falling, spiraling.

but if this was the fall—

you wanted to crash with him.

you lay there tangled in beomgyu’s arms, skin sticky with sweat and sin, lips swollen from too many kisses, body marked with the kind of bruises that didn’t hurt—but reminded you exactly who had been there. your breath was still shaky, but your mind had never been clearer. there was no room for regret now.

the guilt that once sat heavy on your chest had melted into something hotter, darker—an intoxicating thrill that buzzed beneath your skin like a drug.

vengeance.

it tasted like his lips, like his cum dripping down your thigh, like your name moaned against your ear by the man you were never supposed to touch. and as you traced lazy circles on beomgyu’s bare chest, your eyes fluttering shut, all you could think about was how sweet it would be to see the look on donghyun’s face when he finds out what you’ve done.

because maybe revenge wasn’t just a dish best served cold— maybe it was better hot, breathless, and soaked in sweat.

and god, you couldn’t wait for seconds.

438 notes · View notes

thecarisfucked · 4 months ago

Text

in honor of these two french freaks no longer being teammates in 2025, here are the 10 most unhinged things pierresteban have ever done as teammates, ranked

10. "i'll try it for you if you want"

video @ macaiv

what if you hate(?) your teammate but also remember can't forget he doesn't drink alcohol so you offer to try the sake kitkat before he even has to ask because it's just what you've always done and the grooves of your 20+ year friendship are so deep you can't always take a different path

9. "you're slightly taller than what I remember"

is this unhinged or is OP just obsessed with their height difference? the world may never know............... (THE WAY PIERRE LOOKS HIM UP AND DOWN????)

8. the selfie wrist grab

was ANY of this necessary fellas

7. "we'll never be best friends"

6. whatever the fuck this was

5. WHATEVER THE FUCK THIS WAS

4. "you got a good mouth"

tumblr

video @ geluksalig

DOES ANYONE WANT TO ELABORATE HERE bonus: "we used to like the same things" why don't you just STAB ME that'd hurt less

3. childhood photo + welcome message + "pierrot"

PIERROT???? P I E R R O T???????????????

2. the heart beehive

what the fuck. just. what the fuck were they thinking. WHAT THE FUCK

brazil 24. everything. all of it. the whole thing.

driving side by side the entire cooldown lap. double fisting the podium handshake. blink and you'll miss the twenty years of history behind that gaze. the shared interview. THEE HUG!!!!!!!!!!!

they are insane i am insane i will never be the same again

#pierresteban #esteban ocon #pierre gasly #f1 #i'm gonna miss them #but who knows #maybe they'll end up on the same team again in a few years #LMFAO #drive to survive s7 is gonna drop and im gonna have to redo this list but FOR NAO

818 notes · View notes

tpwk-formula1 · 6 months ago

Text

Biggest Fan - CL16

Requested by @nina-or-anna-or-nora "Heyy!! 💕 I saw you were asking some requests so I have one for an Smau!! (If you want to do it ofc) I was thinking about the reader being kinda like Sabrina or Olivia (a performer) and then Charles being like her biggest fan🤭just a super cute fluffy thing and he goes to every show he can or posts her and stuff🥹"

AN - Had so much fun writing this SMAU for you! Don't be afraid to send in requests that aren't apart of the Pizza Menu! I love Sabrina but I'm not a die hard fan so I have no idea how many outfit changes she has or the order she performs so if it's a little messed up I apologize! Also LMK if you wanna see me do this with more drivers and make it a little series of the drivers being head over heels for their girl friend!

Summary: Just Charles being in love with Y/N... and basically everyone in the F1 community!

Charles insta stories over the fall break

Twitter

Charles instagram

Liked by landonorris, youruser, carlossainz, and 2,090,513 others

charlesleclerc We're ready for you Austin ft. Y/N and all the fan gifted hats that will make an appearance this weekend tagged carlossainz and youruser

user5 I love how he makes a post for work and still finds a way to get Y/N in there

user6 your honor... it's them. It's always them!

youruser I'm ready to be back in my home soil!

user7 I constantly forget our girl is from the US charlesleclerc you mean MY girl user8 Charles will never learn to share charlesleclerc not when it comes to MY Y/N youruser alright calm it down you charlesleclerc yes maam

user9 I hate feeling single but I do love you guys!

carlossainz Will I ever get a post with just us?

user10 Carlos... they're a package deal user11 If I don't expect anything less, you shouldn't either youruser damn... catching strays carlossainz Y/N I thought we were friends!

load more comments

Your insta story

user12 how does it feel to be living my dream

carlossainz he's been smiling at his phone for 10 minutes because you posted him

youruser I love knowing he loves me as much as I love him

user13 his eyes

charlesleclerc that's one lucky man

youruser he really is!

user14 I love the way you guys love each other

landonorris you guys disgust me with how cute you are together

youruser you wish this was you huh? landonorris I miss when you were to shy to interact with us... kinda a meanie youruser you'll learn to survive

Twitter

your Instagram

Liked by charlesleclerc, yourbff, oliviarodrigo, and 3,092,172 others

youruser Thanks for the warm welcome home... see you in a few weeks for Vegas!

Look for a surprise tomorrow around noon YeeHaw time!

charlesleclerc Ooooo I wanna know the surprise

user18 I can't believe I have notifications on and Charles is still here before me

charlesleclerc you snooze you lose! gotta be quicker than that! youruser love you need to be a bit nicer! user18 no this is on me... I should know no matter how much I love you Charles just loves you that much more! user19 I'm sobbing at this! Charles is so unhinged when it comes to Y/N

landonorris Can I also know the surprise

charlesleclerc NO!

user20 YeeHaw time is SENDING me! For anyone confused she's talking about CST

user21 THANK YOU! It makes so much sense now that you've explained but as a non F1 Y/N fan I didn't realize she was in Texas haha

user22 I love their height difference. I forget just how SMALL Y/N is.

Your Insta Story

charlesleclerc I can't wait to watch you!!

user23 HOLY SHIT! I can't fucking wait!

user24 omg! I'm so excited for this!!

landonorris: I hope you have a ticket saved with my name on it!

youruser: I do including the rest of the grid... spread the word pleaseeee

user25: Oh to be in the US rn to experience this concert! I just know it's gonna be amazing

Twitter

Charles Insta story during the show

Max's Insta story during the show

Youruser: Max! hahaha you had me cracking up in the first slide... then tearing up through laughter in the second. Thank you so much for finding time in your title fight to support!

maxverstappen1: I wouldn't have missed it! Had to see what all the hype was about. Please invite me again

Grid Members Stories (Lando, Carlos, Oscar, Yuki, Liam, Franco)

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hotvintagepoll · 3 months ago

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Elsa Lanchester (The Bride of Frankenstein, Witness for the Prosecution, Mary Poppins)—Surely somebody's already submitted Elsa Lanchester for this right? Right??? Because her scrungle levels are OFF THE CHARTS in literally everything. The way she's Katy Nanna straight-up refusing to spend another minute with Jane and Michael Banks because she has DIGNITY thank you very much. The way she's Mary Goddamn Shelley stuck listening to Lord Byron mansplaining literature like "ha ha maybe even YOUR little monster story will be published" and she shoots back "It *WILL* be published, *I* think!!!" in the most bright-as-nails fuck-you-Byron voice imaginable. The way she's a nurse herding her lawyer charge through a sordid love-triangle case and we gradually realize the real love story was between her and the lawyer all along. The way she's a clandestine witch casting hexes on telephones, the way she's a princess's PA and helps an old friend steal an invitation card, the way she's a cleaning lady who goes to Germany to personally assassinate Hitler, the way she's a posh village worthy trying to impress Danny Kaye, the way ERRGHH i could go on just look at her scrungle.

Cab Calloway (Stormy Weather, Hi De Ho)—TRULY THE SCRUNGLIEST. Nobody ever did it like him, your honor. The music, the dance moves, the hair, the unbridled charisma that comes across just the slightest bit unhinged. If I had to build the pillars of scrungle, they would be as follows: talent, showmanship, sportingness, and absolute commitment to the bit, all of which Cab Calloway has in SPADES. He was a great actor, a great singer, AND a great bandleader. Truly, nobody was doing it like him, before or since.

This is round 5 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you’re confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Elsa Lanchester:

youtube

Cab Calloway:

youtube

#cab calloway #elsa lanchester #hotvintagepoll #scrungly 5 #Youtube

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valeisaslut · 25 days ago

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i'm making a collide pinterest board based on collide cause i'm obsessed, and i'm doing sections for every album. do you have a name/aesthetic for readers debut album, or is that all up to us :3

AHHH THIS IS SO CUTE OMG first of all, i’m genuinely honored you’re making a collide board, i could sob. second — YES, i can totally give you the vibe i imagined for reader’s debut!!

COLLIDE POPSTAR!READER'S DEBUT ALBUM:

in the collide au, reader’s debut album is canonically called "diary of a disaster."

it’s the album that exploded after she won the voice — the one that took her from "talented winner of a singing competition" to "america’s sweetheart" and "pop princess."

she’s young, barely 19. she’s reckless. she’s in love, she’s pissed off, she’s messy, she’s magnetic. this debut feels like a diary someone ripped open and read under a disco ball — the confessions are too loud, too raw, but also too good to look away from.

its super 2000s inspired (and yep. people compared you to early britney spears all the time.) synths that sparkle and crackle like electricity, basslines that feel like heart palpitations, vocals (her baby voice aww) dripping with desperation and sugar all at once. it's pop music that knows it's pop music — but it's self-aware, slightly unhinged, a little dangerous.

lyrics like i love you. i hate you. i want you. i don’t need you. come back. don’t you dare come back. full of contradictions — and that’s the point. it’s the soundtrack of someone figuring out who they are while breaking their own heart a little along the way.

the lead singles (click to listen):

୨ৎ “make me like you”

୨ৎ“my attitude”

୨ৎ "deja vu"

୨ৎ "teenage dream"

this is before the reader we know now — before all the scandals, the grammy kisses, the tabloid chaos. this is when she was still trying to be "good," still wrapping barbed wire in pink bows. but even here, there’s something a little too wild in her smile. something that says i want everything, and i’ll burn for it if i have to.

people say now it’s one of the most chaotic and genuine debut albums of its generation. it’s still the blueprint for her career. diary of a disaster wasn't just an album—it was a warning. one nobody listened to.

(ellie has the original vinyl in her LA apartment. signed. stolen. not returned. she says your baby teenager voice is the cutest thing she has ever heard.)

is it TOO obvious i had this all planned and i was just waiting for someone to bring it up orrrr

ALSO PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE SEND THE PINTEREST BOARD WHEN YOU FINISH IT PLS PLS PLS I NEED ITTTTTTTTTTT

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windblume-violet · 1 year ago

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It quietly kills me every time that Grian didn't get Mr. Shade-E's involved with the permit office because like. They're both peak psychological warfare.

GUYS can we make grian and etho duo name or whatever its called peskyslab

CAN WE START CALLING THEM PESKYSLAB DUO 🙏🙏🙏

#grian #etho #gritho #swordmates #gretho #peskyslab #lowkey hoping we get an etho + grian duo again in the next life series #if we get a next one #or maybe etho and grian basing together in the next season of hermitcraft—granted that's years out but #or or maybe grian etho mcc #it's not impossible #etho is doing mcc again #please.#I need them to interact more your honor #they make such cryptic and unhinged duo

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becausebuckley · 2 months ago

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michelle's buddie fic recs: week 13!

lthe year is officially one-fourth over and i gotta be honest, i do not vibe with that at all. the passage of time can suck my ass. enjoy these fics!!

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

across our great divide (a glorious sunrise) | catchingpapermoons/@adamsparirsh | 53.7k | M

Eddie gets Buck to come to couples therapy with him. truly such a stunning fic. i love how this is just filled with emotion at every corner, not just in the dialogue but descriptive passages as well. brilliant, brilliant stuff!!

anther | theghosts | 6.6k | E

Eddie gets hit with pollen from a magical plant and develops some rather interesting symptoms. Buck does what any good best friend would do and helps Eddie through it. it is my humble opinion that the 911 fandom needs more sex pollen fic. if you're reading this and you don't immediately agree with me, i'm gonna need you to click the link above, read it, and then come back and tell me that i was absolutely right, because we do, in fact, need 700 more fics just like it. this one is so, so well-written, i love the bits of worldbuilding and the buddie and the smut. it's so good <3

champagne kisses | spaceprincessem/@spaceprincessem | 1.9k | GA

eddie comes home and buck stays. gorgeous writing AND a love confession?? oh, this fic absolutely delivers. love it!!

cinnamon kisses | tawaifeddiediaz/@aashiqeddiediaz | 3.5k | T

Buck wakes up from a nap, cuddles Eddie, proposes, and devours cinnamon rolls, in that very order. i have an all-day study session planned for tomorrow and i'm gonna pick up a cinnamon roll as a treat just because of this fic. i have been craving one so badly since reading this!! this was a reread of one of my favourite fics ever <3

close enough for comfort | allyasavedtheday/@littlespoonevan | 14.1k | T

A look at how Buck and Eddie's physical relationship develops from season 2 to season 5 AKA the one with all the hugging. i love how this dips into canon at all these places and how intimate the whole fic feels <3 so good!!

finders keepers | drh0rrible/@betanoiz | 7.1k | E

After Eddie leaves for Texas, Buck finds Eddie’s sex toy in his new bedroom. He reacts normally. i'm a huge fan of all the unhinged buddie long distance sex fics lately, and this is a shining example of just how good those can be. absolutely mind-blowing!!

i'm scared of being lonely (i'll let anybody hold me) | justhockey | 9.4k | T

“I’m not in love with my best friend,” Buck says, but the words feel strange in his mouth. this has such a lovely reunion bit and i always love how this author writes ravi <3

it hit me in the kitchen | heartcompass/@bugsongs | 13.1k | GA

Eddie leaves for Texas and everybody copes with food in one way or another. buddie and food is one of my favourite fic combinations <3 this is lovely and heartwarming and all the food sounds so, so good!!

oh what a terrible honor it's been (to learn that my blessings are things you call sins) | wafflesofdoom/@capseycartwright | 18.3k | GA

Christopher leaves for Texas, Eddie goes back to therapy, unearths an emotional lockbox he had been fourteen years old when he buried, and has a lot of thoughts about how Buck is sunshine incarnate. In hindsight, it probably should have been obvious he wasn't straight. this has been on my marked for later list for a while and i'm so glad to have had the opportunity to actually read it! i love how this captures eddie and touches on religion and queerness and just everything, really. also, can we talk about that title? i LOVE that title

pain is cold water (your brain just gets used to it) | lilacbarnes | 22k | M

Eddie leaves, and calls, and calls, and calls. Buck falls apart, and lets it go to voicemail. such a wonderful fic!! i love how the voicemails capture eddie's voice, and following buck's arc through this was just lovely <3

tell me how it feels (say it ain't so) | Iover_of_mine/@lover-of-mine | 8.3k | T

Eddie hears Natalia saying Buck's death was cool and things spiral out of control from there. this has some of the absolute best buddie dialogue i've read in ages. it feels so, so true to character, it's so good!!

this whole thing between us | facewithoutheart/@facewithoutheart | 3.9k | E

Eddie and Buck swap bodies and get together. bodyswap fic!! i love a bodyswap fic!! this is suck a fun take on the trope and i love how both of them reacted to the swap <3

write your name on every blank page | lamardeuse/@lamardeuse | 11k | M

This is an impulse he doesn't have to worry about, because a) it's only going to cost him two dollars, and b) it's frivolous. Eddie doesn't usually do frivolous, but Father Brian told him to allow himself joy and he desperately needs some right now. listen i am not joking when i say that i've been waiting for a postcards fic ever since eddie said he was moving to el paso. this is absolutely everything i could have wished for and so much more <3 i loved looking at the cards they sent!!

#buddie #buddie fic #buddie fic rec #911 abc #911 fic #911 fic rec #michelle's recs #fic rec list

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beckyninja · 22 days ago

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Pursue and Persevere

Pairing: Roboute Guilliman x FemReader

Warnings: Guilliman is a bit unhinged in this one

Description: Guilliman clings to sanity... and discovers new allies. Brother Tarchus comes to terms with his failure. And the Reader makes herself a promise.

I had so much fun fleshing out the TerraNovans in this chapter. Remember to check out my Masterlist for the previous chapters of this story, and feel free to ask to be added to/removed from the Taglist.

Also, my Asks are open if you have questions about my stories or characters, or if you'd just like to say hi.

He is more than the Avenging Son.

The thought passed through Brother Julian Tarchus’s mind an instant before his genesire’s fist closed around his throat.

He is Wrath Incarnate.

The Ultramarine had followed his father’s charge into the bowels of the battleship, ignoring Commander Sicarious’s infuriated orders. His armor had whined in protest as he pushed it to its limits. And yet, he had not been able to approach the Primarch’s speed.

He remembered coming upon Frenzy standing just outside a ruined doorway. Her face, through her machine’s viewport, had the staring eyes of a corpse.

Then he’d heard the howl… and understood.

If he lived to match the years of the Chapter Master of his cousins in the Blood Angels, he would never forget that cry. Both his hearts stuttered. The blood in his veins congealed. Still, he pressed forward on stiffened legs.

The Primarch stood in the small hangar.

Tarchus could not see his genesire’s face. Some primal part of him untouched by the brutal conditioning of an Astartes cowered.

Run. Run. RUN.

He would not. Could not.

“My Lord?”

The massive form turned. Eyes like blue lightning scorched his soul. A blur of movement, and fingers of adamantine dug into his flesh.

“She is gone.”

The words cut deeper than any blade. As Tarchus looked into the eyes of the demigod whose genes he carried, something within withered.

“You failed.”

The Ultramarine’s knees buckled. Only the impossible strength of the Primarch held him upright. Then, the fingers released and he fell.

Through a haze of shame, he heard the Commander’s shouts. The pounding of boots against metal. His brothers burst into the hangar, weapons ready, only to freeze at the sight of their Lord. Tarchus heard a dozen lungs suddenly fight for breath.

“Lord Guilliman,” Commander Sicarious sounded as though he spoke through a locked jaw, “what are your-”

“My Lady is alive, and in the hands of our enemy.” Humanity veiled the Primarch’s true nature once more. “He has fled with her like the craven he is. We will withdraw to the Macragge’s Honor and pursue.”

“My Lord, the remainder of the fleet back in Imperial space will be awaiting news. What-”

“Have the astropaths send what messages you deem appropriate. I care not.”

“Lord Guilliman-”

The veil tore. “I care not.”

Silence. Tarchus let his gaze drop to the floor.

A deep breath. “Have Captain Takahashi meet me upon our return. This ship, and whatever crew is wise enough to surrender, now belong to her.”

“And those who prove unwise?” The Commander growled.

“I have no mercy to spare for fools.”

The clash of ceramite on ceramite. “Understood, my Lord!” Hesitation. “And what of Brother-”

“He remains here. Until I see my Lady’s face again, I will not see his.”

“...understood, my Lord.”

Tarchus kept his eyes on the floor until the pounding of sabatons faded into the distance. His chest felt as if he were once more trapped beneath that pile of scrap.

Useless.

He’d sworn to free you.

Oathbreaker.

He’d been named your protector.

Failure.

“Big Guy?”

He paid no regard to the approach of the TerraNovan lieutenant and her strange machine. Hydraulics creaked. He heard the hiss of escaping air, then a soft grunt as baseline feet hit the floor.

“Hey, you alright?” The ghost of a hand on his forearm.

“You dare.” Lurching to his feet, he sent her stumbling backward. “I am an Ultramarine, a Warrior of the God-Emperor!”

He loomed over her. Her heartbeat pounded wildly within her chest, and yet, she did not retreat. Tiny fists clenched at her side. Dark eyes narrowed.

“Yeah, I fucking know.” She snarled up at him. “And you just got your ass chewed by… I’m not sure what He is. Except fucking terrifying!”

To his utter bemusement, she then proceeded to jab a bloodied finger at his stomach. “And I’m asking if you’re fucking alright!”

Tarchus blinked down at her. Unfamiliar emotions flared through him.

My genesire rejected me. My brothers left me to my shame. And yet this woman… this tiny, feral creature….

“No.”

“No?”

“I am not… alright.” He forced the words out, only half-understanding why he spoke at all. “I am dishonored. A… failure.”

“Yeah? Join the club.” She snorted. “Ain’t many people more intimately acquainted with fucking up than me, Big Guy. You’re not the only one who decided not to go straight after the Princess.”

He huffed a burst of air through his nose. “You followed my directives.”

“Do I seem like the kind of person who follows fucking orders?” Her voice dropped to a mutter as she ran a hand through sweat-stiffened hair. “The one time I decide to play the good little soldier….”

“The blame is mine.”

“Fine. Take it then. But quit moping.”

The audacity…. “I do not ‘mope’.”

“Suuuuure.” She rolled her eyes. “Look, I’m just trying to say, the Princess is fucking alive. And as long as she stays that way, we haven’t failed. Doesn’t matter what that terrifying tower of pure fuck no says.” Once again, the finger jabbed at his midsection. “You and I still have a shot at redemption.”

In spite of everything, Tarchus felt a corner of his mouth tip upward. “And how do you propose we accomplish that?”

The half-mad grin returned. “Didn’t you hear the man, er, Primarch? We’re gonna run Vicky down. And whatever he’s got in store for us, be it mercs or Giant Fucking Space Bugs, we’re gonna grind their asses into bloody paste, not to mention rescue a Princess.”

She jerked a thumb toward the shattered doorway. “Now, I’m heading up to the Bridge to meet our new Captain. I heard she’s a real Ice Bitch, that true?”

“That is an accurate description.”

“Good. We’re gonna need someone like that to get this hulk in fighting shape again. C’mon.”

Tarchus watched her vault back into her machine, surprised to realize her words had driven away the cold despair he’d felt mere moments before.

I will restore my honor and succour the Lady. By the Emperor, I vow it!

“Hey, Big Guy!”

He glanced over to see the Lieutenant grinning at him through her machine’s viewport.

“Bet I stomp more bugs than you!”

He pressed his helm over his face to hide an answering smile.

***

Roboute Guilliman did not smile. One image replayed in his superhuman mind over and over again, as clear as when he’d first witnessed it.

You. Alive.

Part of him could not believe it. This universe did not return the dead. Fate did not give second chances. Light, once extinguished, remained so.

But she is alive!

He envisioned each detail like a painter admiring his masterpiece. Your soft skin, your shining hair, your bright eyes. The way your lips formed his name.

“Roboute!”

A groan tore from his chest. He sensed the concerned glances of his genesons but couldn’t bring himself to care.

The hope in that cry, the plea.

And then the anguish.

More details clawed their way to the forefront of his eidetic memory. The mottled bruises on your skin, the cuts. Each one a violation bordering on blasphemy. Signs that someone had dared inflict pain upon you.

Someone. Him.

His snarl sent an icy current of fear through the Command Center.

The cretin. The imbecile. The invertebrate masquerading as a man. He’d touched you. He’d had the gall to lay hands upon his light, his hope, the one who made life bearable. And more than hands.

The primal creature lurking within his inhuman soul writhed in helpless fury.

She is mine.

Mine.

“Mine.”

“My Lord?”

Guilliman turned toward the Commander, reading the uncertainty in his expression. “Do you think me mad, Sicarious?”

“I…”

He chuckled, an unpleasant sound even to his own ears. “Perhaps I am. It matters not.” Turning back, he leaned over the holographic star chart. “What news from the Captain?”

The Commander snapped to attention. “All opposition onboard The Predator has ceased. It appears many of the crew were functionally slaves, captured in various piratical actions, and were eager to swear loyalty. With the addition of the remaining crew from the Captain’s previous ship, repairs to The Predator’s engines are already well underway.”

The Commander continued, relating projected timelines for completion, status of multiple shipboard systems, armament reports, etc. All the while, Guilliman’s gaze zeroed in on a single world shown on the chart. His instincts howled to be underway, even if it meant leaving the damaged TerraNovan battleship behind.

However, despite what Cato may think, I am not entirely devoid of reason.

If Tyranids did indeed lay in wait for them, they would need every bit of firepower at their disposal.

He shook his head.

If Victor truly believes himself allied with those horrors, then he is the madman, not I.

A madman who held you in his clutches.

Again, the looping image of you being dragged into the ship… the bastard’s mouth savaging your delicate lips… stealing what belonged only to him. For a moment, Guilliman entertained a vicious fantasy of playing the Night Lord and peeling Victor’s face from his skull while he screamed.

I would lay it at your feet, and then take you before his still-living eyes, letting the last thing he hears be your voice screaming my name-

He grit his teeth and let his head fall forward between his shoulders, breath coming in hissing gasps.

By the Throne, what have you done to me, my love?

“Multiple contacts exiting the Warp!”

Everything snapped back into focus. “Hostiles?”

“Unknown, my Lord.” The baseline crewmember fiddled with his console. “Several appear similar to the TerraNovan warships we’ve encountered, many however…,” a pause, accompanied by the clacking of keys, “appear to be civilian?”

A vox operator called out next. “Hail from Captain Takahashi, my Lord!”

“Patch her through.”

The star chart vanished, replaced by the quivering image of the TerraNovan Captain. “Lord Guilliman, do not fire upon the approaching vessels.”

He stared into her bloodshot eyes. “Explain, Captain.”

To his surprise, she smiled. “The Lady Heir put out a call to arms, my Lord. This is the answer.”

The next hours could only be described as organized chaos as Imperial vox operators and TerraNovan communications officers struggled to bring order to what was quickly becoming a ragtag fleet.

Guilliman stood in the midst of it all, listening to the sheer variety of hails.

Some military.

“This is the cruiser, New Sydney, of the loyal TerraNovan Navy. Prepared to enter fleet formation.”

“This is troop transport, Raed, loyal to the Lady Heir. Damaged in the battle over Xin Beijing, but we are warriors and, by the Light, we will fight!”

“Battleship Eko Tuntun. Three of our engines are gone, we are slow. But we are here.”

Some decidedly less so.

“Holy shit! The Imps are here! Uh, yeah, this is the ore hauler Lucky Strike. Not much in the way of weapons, but we’ll do what we can.”

“This is prison transport Tapasya, from the Zeta penal mining colony, Colonel Samarth Gurung, formerly of Her Majesty's 3rd Rifles, commanding. We are the unjustly accused. We will fight for the Matron Uncrowned… and for her allies.”

And still more came. Naval ships. Merchants. Smugglers. Pirates. Voidships of more sizes and shapes than he had seen since his awakening placed themselves under Captain Takahashi’s command.

“My Lord,” Sicarious groused, “surely this… fleet… should report to you!”

“They do not know me, Cato. To them, the entire Imperium is an unknown entity. Perhaps to be feared. We will earn their trust, not force their compliance.”

His sons did not understand. He hoped, someday, to change that. In the meantime, he watched the TerraNovans come to their Lady’s call. His mind calculated troop strengths, total armaments, potential strategies. The endless theoreticals and practicals calmed the snarling beast within… for the moment.

“Another hail from Captain Takahashi, my Lord.”

This time, the Captain did not smile. “I’ve received a transmission from the latest voidship to arrive, Lord Guilliman. He requests to speak with you directly.” She hesitated. “I believe you should hear him.”

“Very well.”

A young man appeared on the display. Gaunt, spectacled, and leaning heavily upon a cane.

“Lord Guilliman,” he whispered hoarsely, “my name is Conrad, Prince of TerraNova. I believe you’ve met my cousins.”

***

You hadn’t seen Victor for hours, and thanked the Light for it.

Tossed in a half-lighted storage closet like unwanted baggage, you curled upon the floor and replayed the day’s events in your mind. Or had it been multiple days? You didn’t know.

So much fear. So much death. Some at your hand.

In the silence, you allowed yourself to grieve. And, when the tears stopped, to rejoice.

When he burst into the hangar like the vengeful god many say he is, I couldn’t breathe!

All else had faded away. You hadn’t felt the ache of your abused body, Victor’s noxious presence, or the terror that had dogged your every step. Only him.

Bloodstained and brutal and beautiful. A hero out of legend, come for you.

Oh, the look in his eyes…!

If you’d entertained any doubts before, you had none now. Roboute had looked at you like he’d shatter worlds to have you, shatter the very stars themselves. And you believed he could.

All too briefly.

You wished you’d bitten Victor when he kissed you. Or, rather, when he made the attempt. You knew what a kiss should be. Your cousin’s clumsy mauling didn’t compare. And yet you’d simply let him do as he pleased with you.

As you had so many times since your grandmother took you.

I could make excuses. Too tired. Too overwhelmed. Too weak. Too frightened.

No. More. In the frigid darkness of the cramped closet, you whispered a Vow.

“Never again will I be a passive participant in my own life. Light guide me and make it so!”

You would wait. You would watch. You would play the role your cousin expected: timid and broken.

But you would find a way out, a way back to the only man who’d ever truly seen you, who you loved and who loved you with an intensity that set you aflame. Side by side, you would purge the evil your cousin had nurtured.

"I will be the leader our people believe I am, Victor. And, before Roboute kills you, I will make sure you know it.”

@remembrancer-of-heresy @solspina @sleepyfan-blog @moodymisty @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@bispecsual @kit-williams @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus @lemon-russ

@justeverythingnothingelse @scriberye @bleedingichorhearts @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @mooniequeen

@passionofthesith @noncon-photobomb @sinistermojo @b-rabbitboss @vyzz-undercover

@missmannequin @rivalriotrenegade @iloveoutlinesiswear @jaghatai-khock @hatsubara-8chan

@justanothermemestrider @meervalv0 @grimdark-raccoon @garlickedbreads @riokunova

@ailujsenutna @emiemiemiii @astrohymn @synfiction @soul-of-leya

@n0cturn4 @mgrm99 @seirensou @zamzmak @elita1

@ilovewolvezz @primordialsneeze @summersong2262 @nereidof40k @ahrianee

@sunsetlobster @nekotaetae @toto-the-cactus @thevoidscreams @vithralith

@contemporaryslug @thisuserislilsilly @runin64 @gobs-archive @sovietstrange45

#warhammer 40k #primarch #primarch x reader #roboute gulliman #roboute guilliman x reader #ultramarines #sound the trumpets! the cavalry is coming!#a new player enters the stage #poor tarchus...

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