DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.

This fic is a response to a (quite old) prompt in the GotG Livejournal Kinkmeme. The prompt was:

Ronan survives the end of the movie and ends up blasted half across the planet. The Guardians happen across him before the authorities do and as part of the "Some good/some bad" and judicious application of Kree cultural norms involving war prizes/loot, results in Ronan boarding the ship and being surprisingly docile/obedient which weirds out everyone but Gamora. Points if the cultural norms is kinda sorta untranslatable but could be interpreted as a shotgun wedding, sort of. And Ronan is the bride. Points++ if Ronan is naturally sub in bed, but this is one area he is reluctant to admit to/deal with. He has no problems scrubbing Peter's filthy ship by hand, but admitting he likes spreading his legs for another man or woman and being dominated in bed? Nope, cannot do it.

I am twisting the terms of the prompt a bit to allow for more angst and some flashback, but the result will be along those lines.

Will contain large amounts of angst, introspection, suicidal thoughts, honor/shame dichotomy, conversations about cultural norms and sexuality and, finally, redemption. And did I mention smut? I should, because there will be.
Eventual StarLord/Ronan/Gamora.

Warning: violence.

The blinding purple light fades. Everything goes dark for a time he cannot quantify. Then there is pain.
Ronan the Accuser realizes he is still alive, if barely. Everything hurts, he can barely breathe for the pain. He struggles to remember where he is, how did he get there and what has happened to him, but his mind draws a big, empty blank. He might have a bad concussion, among other things, he thinks feebly. He feels weak and helpless, and he doesn't like the feeling at all.
Like a black, sticky tide, the memories from that afternoon, so many years before, try to invade his mind...
... screams of terror and the bomb dropping through the ceiling, and more screams, of agony, as the temple burns and everyone inside burns with it, and falling,through the window and out of the inferno, and lying in the rubble for hours until the rescue teams find him, close enough to death that it would have been better for him to die...

"No!" he growls, pushing the memories to the back of his mind. He is the Accuser, he cannot afford to be weak, especially not now, when he doesn't even remember where he is, if he is in hostile territory or not. Panic has no place in his life.

Voices approach, footsteps crunch on the rubble. He knows those voices. The tattooed brute, the furry creature, Gamora, and the blue-eyed Terran, the one who called himself Star-Lord. There should be a plant-being with them, but his voice is missing.
His memories are all confused, but one thing emerges with crystal clarity. They have defeated him. They are the reason why he is sprawling on a mass of rubble, in pain and confusion. They are coming to finish the job.
Ronan welcomes it. Something in the back of his mind tells him that he doesn't want for his memories to reassert themselves, he doesn't want to know how did he end up like that.
Better to finish it now, he thinks, but a Kree of his standing does not die sprawling on his back like an upturned turtle. He will die standing, and fighting back, if possible.
Attempting to move floods him with exquisite agony, but somehow he manages to push himself on his knees first and then to his feet, supporting himself with a half-collapsed section of wall.
Just in time, because the self-styled Guardians of the Galaxy have arrived, carrying weapons, and are none too happy to see him.

"You?! - screeches the furry creature, furious and incredulous - Why can't you just die, you crazy blue fucker!" he yells.
He is carrying a gun almost as big as he is, and clearly illegal under several articles of both Kree and Xandarian law.
Ronan remembers being shot by the creature with no ill effect, but now his armour is cracked and missing several pieces. If he takes a direct hit, he will go down.
All the Guardians look ready to pounce on him, more or less, but he bets on the furry creature to be the one to actually do the deed.

He is wrong. The tattooed brute launches himself at him, bare-handed and full of rage to the point of incoherence.
Ronan remembers fighting him before, how easily he could anticipate his movements, how his blows could not harm him.
Good times. Now he can barely see the blows coming, and parrying hurts as much as taking the blows.
The brute hits him on the jaw. He ends up sprawling again.
Somehow he manages to get to his feet once more, but Drax, yes, his name is Drax, is upon him once more and this time when he goes down, he cannot muster the force to move again.
This doesn't discourage Drax, though. The brute is more than happy to kick him when he's down.
Typical, Ronan thinks, trying curl up and protect his face and middle. He should not expect non-Kree to have even a bit of honour.

"You have killed my wife! - Drax shouts - You have killed my daughter!"
Ronan has killed so many people that he hardly remembers how many, let alone their names or their faces, but the man's claims ring a bell somewhere deep, or maybe it's an effect of the blows the man is raining upon him.
It feels like there is not a single intact bone in his body, and he knows that even if he is trying to take the beating in silence, the cries and gasps he is hearing are his own.
He knows he has wronged this man, wronged him grievously. This is a fitting punishment, but he wishes it will be over soon, because it is more than he can endure with dignity.

It is over in the end, but not because of his death.
"Drax, stop! You are going to kill him like that!" a voice shouts. It is the Terran.
He hears a commotion. Gamora must have joined his efforts to contain the brute.
"That was my intention!" Drax shouts back.
"Yeah, Quill, what's the deal? - the furry creature demands - Why don't we just off the genocidal nutcase and get on with it? We did want to kill him when we blasted him with the Infinity Stone."
"That was an emergency! - Star-Lord replies - If we kill him now, like this, he becomes a martyr for all those other Kree nutjobs down in Hala! We'll never see the end of it." Star-Lord replies.
Oh, Ronan thinks with dread, this Terran is too smart for anyone's good. Except that he has no one left back home who would exact revenge for his death, but this is something the Terran cannot know.

"But he'll be dead regardless!" the furry creature retorts, still quite upset.
"Rocket, you asshat!" another voice yells. It is Gamora.
"Dying is quick. - she explains - He'll suffer much more if he's stuck in a Xandarian prison." she adds.
Cruel, cruel Gamora. She knows him well enough to know that this is what he fears most.
There is a startled intake of breath, then a giggle. "I see your point. Fine. Let's haul him back to Xandar, then." Rocket agrees.
"I am in agreement too." Drax's voice booms, a bit dejectedly.

Ronan tries to crawl away, to find a weapon and top himself before they can catch him, but Star-Lord's footsteps crunch on the rubble and then he is kicked on his back by a booted foot.
"No crawling away, naughty boy!" the Terran exclaims. Ronan strives to look up. The bright light almost blinds him, creating a halo behind the Terran's head. Even so, he can tell Star-Lord is smiling. It is not a nice smile. Ronan dreads what is going to come next, but he cannot prevent it.
"You are our prisoner now." Star-Lord declares and inside Ronan's head a voice starts going "No! No! No! No!".
He has just been claimed as haaq by a non-Kree. Could there be a worse fate?
"Don't worry, buddy. We'll take good care of you." Star-Lord adds, then his foot moves in an arc, landing squarely on his temple.
Pain explodes in his head, then darkness.