#the emperor protects | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

marazhaibrainrot · 3 months

Text

Like legit owlcat needs to fix that lock marazhai in the cargo hold route stuff cause it actually resolves the issues I (personallly) have with dom!RT and sub!mara, because it's not about squeamishness, it's about control, and controlling every little aspect of this delusional elf that has for whatever reason decided to crawl into the beasts den and stay there instead of booking it the moment they left commoragh. Like it's not the feasting/hunting that gets me, it's the fact that for how possessive/controlling full dom!RT seems to be at times, letting marazhai hunt free his corner of the decks as he pleases seems to be not that.

So this got kind of long sooo

It feels like it was supposed to be

- marazhai has full reign of ship = sub!RT

- marazhai has feasting area = nuetral, heretic RT who is not romancing him, it's a compromise between sustaining him and also keeping him contained and also chaos and heresy

- keep him locked up and control his diet/feed him/make him beg for it = dom!RT

And like lowkey there's precedent for this with the bed scene where there's just not sub version of it no matter what. And so I choose to believe that there's alternate sub route for how to handle the locked up Marazhai route that we were denied. (Or I could just be projecting my own desires/interpretations onto marzipan lol, toybox archeology and its consequences)

Sub!marazhai is interesting in the sense that he's always creating openings for you to assert your dominance and I'm thinking that a fully realized dom!RT shouldn't be waiting or watching for those openings, fun and salacious as they are, instead creating/opening them as they desire.

There seems to be this sense of dignified 😈 around this elf, which yeah he's trueborn and that's sort of a big deal for the drukhari, even if this one is a loser.

He has this dark grace and I want dom!RT to have noneee of that.

I want their dynamic to be a mix of, RT still has an axe to grind with marazhai, but they also find the flashes of submission from this ruinous creature unexpectedly appetizing and want more, much much more.

And marzipan existing in a state of assuming he'd be introducing RT to his culture and the drukari condition and slowly testing and teaching them and then finding the carpet pulled out from under him when RT ends up being much more experienced than he was prepared for and much more demanding in ways he wasn't prepared for.

Oh, Marzipan needs to feed on suffering to not wither away? Well instead of that being something he gets to take for granted that he will be fed, that it will be conditional, a reward. I want to him to squirm for it. To question whether RT will actually seriously give him up to slaneesh just like that. I wish you could do that btw, you can offer him to the inquisition, you should certainly be able to- oh wait you can yeah, with the daemonettes.

But it's not a proper equivalent though, a proper equivalent would be drawing a straight up ritual circle, parking his betrayed and terrified self in it and kissing him goodbye. Better if after the brand because sure, he thought it meant something but you've tossed out/thrashed much more expensive property than one drukhari.

Anyways.

This is making me realise that what I actually want is the heretic rt ending but like the diet coke version and only marazhai drinks it. Kind iconoclast RT for everyone else. And occasionally for marzipan but like to torture him by denying him torture. And that to be loved is to be changed slideshow and it's just marazhai before and after. Would this RT still adore marazhai after cooking him like this? Who knows.

#marazhai #marazhai aezyrraesh #thank you for coming to my ted talk #the emperor protects #and like I feel like yrilet would back away from you a bit because killing dark eldar is one thing #personally handing over their souls to she-who-thirsts is another #sub!marazhai

18 notes · View notes

deathbyvalentine · 1 year

Text

The Locked Tomb

Why was Eli recommended?

Cadet #466 shows a lot of promise. The ability to manipulate thanergy and thalergy is not insubstantial and far beyond what would be expected at his age and training level. He is adept at maximising the impact of the energy manipulated, showing a surprising talent of storing energy for later discharge as well as a talent for sniffing out opportunities where energy may lie.

There are problems however. He shows a natural disdain for authority and an insolence that simmers under many of his interactions with superiors. More worrying perhaps is his lack of control over his necromantic power, often harming himself in the process but even worse the explosions he produces do not always seem intentional or aimed correctly.

His cavalier is essential to his operational efficiency. His brother provides a steadying force and he is markedly less explosive while his brother is present. Cadet #467 has a clear head and a firm grasp of hierarchal institutions.

This officer recommends him for the described mission on the proviso his cavalier is given extra authority and close quarters. No separation should occur unless operationally required. Emperor Protect.

______________________________________________________________

How to host an Eli

First thing is first. Never invite Eli to a boring party. If invited to a boring party, Eli will take it upon himself to make it exciting, and nobody needs that. The insurance will not cover it.

Second thing is second. Intoxicants, have some. Booze is best of course, the Emperor's soldiers could hardly afford much more. He can drink for his House, was usually one of the last standing in any drinking game. This was not to say he did not get drunk. He did, frequently and severely. What he did possess was an admirable ability to stay conscious despite his body's (and what was left of his brain's) protestations.

Thirdly, surround him with people. Contrary to popular belief, being the centre of attention is not what Eli sook. He wanted to be in the middle of people, vibrant, emotional people. He wanted to be able to reach out and touch skin, feel it when people laughed, listen to the story he'd heard tell a million times before. His first love might have been fire and his second love was Phinta but his third love was humanity.

Fourth point - put away anything highly flammable. He had a tendency to get... a little sparky when riled, welts appearing on his skin as a spark jumped from his fingers. Those in the Fourth who paid close attention to their necromancers were well used to this, but jaunts into the quarters of another House may not provide the same level of forethought.

While we're at it - houses. There is not a party if the Second is there, point blank. Nobody wants to puke on their shoes in front of a Second. Eight and Fifth were on thin ice. Others though - the more the merrier! There was something deeply satisfying about showing a visitor how the Fourth really partied. Some might accuse him of wishing to bring others down to his level, which he vehemently denied.

Finally, make sure Phinta is there. When he's not, Eli's eyes are constantly searching, his shoulders always tight, consciously or not. They didn't need to be talking, touching or even in the same conversation. Eli just needed him to be findable, close by. Nobody who had worked with cavs and necs were surprised by this, but it unsettled some with quite how Eli changed without Phinta present. Uneasy, anxious, sparking more than usual. When his brother appeared, he relaxed instantly, eyes regaining their clarity, smile appearing with no trace of falseness. Eli had no poker face. And everyone could tell.

______________________________________________________________

Eli's awkward first date

Eli did not do dates. So while other people might have had awkward first goodbye kisses, knocking over water glasses on dinner tables, agonising over the exact right thing to wear, he had this: trying to sneak out of a bunk, grabbing his trousers and underwear from the floor on the way.

Part of the problem of being Fourth, aside from the never growing up bit, was that it was impossible to do anything (or indeed, anyone) without the entire barracks finding out about it. He had hoped to avoid this by cutting out a full hour before the wake up bell sounded, knowing how much his comrades valued their sleep. His hope, as it turned out as always, to be futile. When he turned to face the corridor, door clicking quietly shut behind him, he met no less than three shit-eating grins. Scowling with hidden pride, he balanced on one foot to pull on a boot, hand braced on a wall. His walk of shame lasted all of four doorways, until he hit his own bunk room.

The room was dark and filled with the sounds of other people breathing. Nobody looked up when the door opened - you learnt to ignore that shit otherwise you would never get to sleep. He scrabbled up the ladder to his bed in a few bounds, wincing at the creaking of the metal frame. Thank the Emperor they didn't fuck in this bed. For a moment he simply lay there, feeling the sparks of life from the other occupants, feeling the sweat cooling on his skin. He turned his wrist to his mouth and licked it pensively, wrinkling his nose at the salt. Then he did what he always did before he went to sleep. He dangled his arm off the side of the bed, waiting a few seconds. Always, as reliable as clockwork, Phinta's sleepy hand reached up, pressing his fingertips to Eli's. Eli could exhale then. He couldn't sleep without it, the fizzing, popping brain that was Eli unable to switch off. Phinta calmed him. Without even realising, his breathing clinked into sync. And soon he was fast asleep on top of the covers, alive for one more night at least.

_____________________________________________________________

pacific rim au

It's five AM when the call comes in, the warning light flashing dark red and insistent from the ceiling above them. Why do monsters never attack at a reasonable time? Eli groaned into his pillow but his body was already moving, albeit reluctantly. Legs into trousers, feet into shoes, up and at 'em. Phinta was the echo of him on the other side of the room, pulling on a shirt a few moments after him. The only difference was the barely-there twitch when Eli pulled his on, scar tissue still tugging persistently. And as always, Phinta pretended not to see it.

They stepped out of the room, feet clattering across the metal flooring, adding to the cacophony of noise that characterised these corridors. People knew the routine though, two runners appearing with matching mugs of coffee, others with clipboards swerving out their way and yanking those more oblivious from their path too. When the pilots were moving, no fucker should impede them. It was all Eli could do not to sprint. He allowed himself his grin at least. He wouldn't apologise for how much he enjoyed the fight. He managed not to vibrate out of his skin while they suited up, fist bumped in reality one last time and then put their helmets on.

Slipping into the river, into the drift was as natural as breathing. One long exhale. His mind reached out for Phinta's and found it waiting for him. Phinta had never let him fall, never once gave him empty space to reach out to. He could almost feel their neurons firing, the shivers moving up and down their nervous system as it synced with the Controlled Detonation. Suddenly he was not small, insignificant Eli. He was a force to be reckoned with, deadly, important. He relinquished the control over movement to Phinta, fusing to his usual role as the weapons system. They were only called to jobs at sea, off coastlines. Something about high risk of collateral damage. For the name was also a descriptor. Sure they could hand to hand it if the situation called for it but their real power was the explosive missiles, the crackling fire they could bring down on the monsters' heads.

Both of them knew the expected mortality rates for jaegar pilots. But in Eli's view, he damn well knew the mortality rates for cities stomped on by kaiju. If he was going to die, he wanted it to be fighting, not as an ant crushed beneath a boot. They'd go in a flurry of fire and water, and together. The together bit mattered the most. He didn't know who he was without Phinta. Worse, definitely, though he wasn't sure Phinta could honestly say the same. It was irrelevant, in the grand scheme of things. For the moment they were here beside one another, furious and alive.

Time to kill a monster.

______________________________________________________________

4th House Parties

In another world, someone would perhaps compare it to the 'Last Days of Rome', whatever that was. But there was definitely something of the apocalyptic about the gathering. The barracks were narrow and a little dark, lending a murky quality into which shapes could fade in and out of focus, like fish flitting between rooms. Laughter appeared in sharp bursts, fighting through the thrumming bass of the speakers that you could feel in your feet.

Everyone was drinking of course. But what they were drinking was really a matter of luck and timing. Some had cans they had managed to bring back from shore leave, resisting the siren song of drinking them earlier. Others had dubious bottles, scant fruit or worse distilled in whatever tubs one could find to make something that resembled paint stripper more than a drink. Then there were the privileged few that had managed to gain a bottle or two of true distinction through the most worthy pursuit of all: winning a bet against the Second.

Wherever you looked, there were bodies. Leaning against doorframes, gathered in groups, dancing with one another, pressed against walls. The doors that were shut indicated there were people becoming even more intimately acquainted. Few of them would blossom into relationships. Almost certainly they would deepen friendships. Because that was what thrived here. Loving the person next to you in the ranks, comradery, being us or them, all or nothing. Oh sure, there were rivalries and bitter hatreds too, but they weren't always important. This was. Being a person. Being a person to the absolute fullest, holding nothing back, always seeking the most and more.

After all. They were deploying tomorrow. There might not be another party.

______________________________________________________________

Telling Eli About His Parents

His brother wasn't here yet and it was making him twitchy. Every few moments he looked over his shoulder at the door, a tic to join the jiggling of his leg, the pulling stray threads from his jacket sleeve.

The Cohort officer in front of him looked grave. He usually saw that when he was about to get a charge. But that wasn't the case here because he'd been offered a cup of tea. They never did that if it was disciplinary action. Trust him, he'd know.

Though, really, he knew what this was about. He was Fourth. Of course he knew what this was about. It's the call everyone expects but nobody wants. The pit inside his stomach was a yawning darkness, dominating everything. When Eli felt bad, he felt it in his body. Headaches were stress, anger fever, anxiety shakes so bad he'd lose his ability to write. Right now he felt as if he was going to be sick. He didn't have a word for what feeling that was. He'd never felt it before.

But there was still a glimmer of anxious, fluttering hope that wasn't being quashed no matter how hard he tried. Maybe they were okay. Maybe they were just injured. Maybe him and Phinta were getting promoted and getting a fucking medal or something. There was a first for everything.

Then Phinta (finally) entered the room, his face pinched and pale and finally the hope was ground under his heel. Without meaning to, as soon as Phinta was sat beside him, his hand found his shoulder, gripping it so tight it must be uncomfortable. But Phinta didn't shake him off. It was at this point he noticed how the officer had shooed away a secretary and taken up what Eli would call an easily defensible position, as if getting ready to dive under the desk. Clearly his reputation preceded him. Phinta apparently had gauged this danger too and was braced in his chair. He wanted to tell them it was okay, they were safe. Right now he had never felt colder.

The officer opened her mouth. "We know." His voice didn't sound like his own. It sounded rough and deep and held together with safety pins. "They're dead." Phinta raises a hand to clamp it over the one resting on his shoulder. The officer clears her throat, fiddles with some papers. Gives a single, curt nod. His grip on Phinta's shoulder tightened even further, gathering fabric. There might be bruises later.

Just because you expect something doesn't rob it of its power. Even if you expect a punch, it will not lessen it's impact, make the blood flowing from the mouth less red. Eli had always been an orphan-in-waiting. If you know your parents will die young, they're already dying from the moment you know that fact. Now the waiting period was over. There would be no mourning period. There was just him and his brother, as in some ways, it always had been. Death exists in the past tense, as well as the present, as well as the future. Their parents had always been dead. The world had just finally caught up with them.

#prose #the emperor protects #tabletop

0 notes