#siege community

[rightshoeonleftfoot]

How the flowers bloom

Pairing: Marius "Jäger" Streicher x GN!reader

Summary: This is part 2 of my smitten!Jäger x oblivious!reader series. Jäger explains a bit of his work to you.

Warnings: None, this is all just wholesome fluff!

Words: 1.6k

Part 1 - Part 2

This is still not proofread! Criticism is welcome, and I do take requests for this fic :)

Your front door opens, the creaking of the hinges resonating through your house. The sounds of a person taking their shoes off can be heard from upstairs. You peek over the railing of the first floor, only to spot Marius. He has his bag slung over his shoulder, and a tool case and a big black unmarked case on the floor.

He lets his bag fall to the floor, and with everything else he's brought, you realise he's come here to work. He sighs and looks around the kitchen, before picking his things back up and heading to his office, a spare room you had let him set up shop in since he was over so often.

He closes the door behind him, without even saying hello to you. Your curiosity is piqued as you slowly go down the stairs and through the kitchen to get to his office. You sneak your way to his door, not wanting to alert him to your presence, and carefully lean your ear up against it.

You can hear him unpacking his work, the metal of his tools clanging on the wooden desk and the small, ambient music coming from his bluetooth speaker. He sighs as he starts to work, or you assume so as you can hear the soft sounds of him putting his screwdriver down to pick up something else, something that sounds heavier. You've always loved watching him work. It's one of the things in life you find calming.

You wonder if he'll mind. He didn't say "hi" like he usually does, and that worries you. You push those thoughts away and head to the kitchen to make him some coffee, assuming he's tired. The coffee machine starts with a soothing hum, and you take out a mug for him.

The machine fills the cup with coffee, and you add cream and sugar to his liking. You pick up the cup and carefully head back to his office, making sure not to spill anything. You open the door slowly, to find Marius completely engrossed in his work.

He doesn't notice you, keeping his head down and biting the end of his pen. He is focused as he leaves the pen in his mouth and adjusts a few screws on his project. He takes the pen out of his mouth and writes down a few notes, before sighing and stretching. He taps his pen on his desk twice before flipping his project around.

"Marius." You call out softly, approaching him from behind. He tenses up before immediately relaxing and turning to look at you. "Schatzi! I didn't know you were home." He fidgets with his pen, twirling it in his hand absentmindedly. He puts his hands on his thighs, discreetly wiping them before clearing his throat. "The house was so quiet so I wasn't sure..."

You hand him his coffee and he quickly takes it, avoiding touching your hands with his as he does so. "Yeah, I was just reading upstairs." You explained as you leaned forward on his desk. He leans back against his chair, putting some distance between the both of you. "Can I watch you work?" Your question makes him hesitate, and he looks behind him for a second before looking back at you.

"Uhm. Okay, just, don't get too much in my personal space, ja?" He jokes as he drops his pen on the floor. He sighs and slowly bends over to pick it up. As he goes to pick it up, he accidentally pushes it away from him and just looks at it for a solid few seconds. He bends over to pick it up, but you've already beaten him to it.

You swipe it from right under his nose and for a second, your face is so close to his he thinks you might put him out of his misery and kiss him. But you don't. Of course you don't. Instead, you back up after putting his pen back on his desk and smile at him. You turn away to drag a chair next to him so you can watch him work.

The silence is tense, at least to him, and the only thing filling the silence being the soft music playing in the background. He should not be blushing like that around you. He's pushing 40 for fuck's sake. Why is his body reacting to you like he's in high school again? His heart is beating hard when he feels you lean in close to him to see his work better and he hates it.

He decides to act like you're not there, like your presence doesn't bother him. Like every time you smile at him or touch him it doesn't make him a little more scared of dying on the job. It's beyond frustrating for you to always be so god damned close to him, for it to not affect you like it affects him.

He's so focused on ignoring you, he doesn't realize he hasn't been working for five minutes. You don't know why he's just frozen in place like this, his screwdriver just hovering over his personal project, even though he doesn't even need to screw anything in. "Marius." You call out softly, trying to keep yourself from chuckling at just how distracted he is. He nearly jumps out of his skin as his grip tightens on the screwdriver and he seems to notice he hasn't been working.

"Ja?" He doesn't look back at you, and you think he's just trying to focus up, not noticing the fact that his cheeks are bright red. "Explain what you're doing right now. I'm confused." Oh God. You're smiling when you ask that, and you don't realize he can hear it even though he's not looking at you. "Oh, ja, I can do that." He takes a deep breath and finally starts explaining. His words are a bit rushed, not the usual calm, passionate cadence you're used to.

"Essentially, I'm trying to lessen the resistance so it takes a minimal amount of power to work. I'm worried I might have wired the circuit wrong though." He explains as he puts his screwdriver down with the rest of his tools and starts looking at the different wires on the circuit board. "So, see, here the power should be of 110 watts but it doesn't seem to output enough to turn on my test bulb."

The more he explains, the more you can see his shoulders relax and hear his cadence slow. You admire him really, the expertise with which he navigates around his circuit, the confidence he has working with such complicated objects. His passion for his work is palpable, and he gets so into his work he's not realising you've slowly been getting closer and closer to him to get a better angle on what he's been doing.

His hands work expertly with the small wires as he explains everything to you. He talks a little fast, making it tough for you to understand everything he says but you enjoy listening to him regardless. He always waits for you to confirm you've heard what he said before he continues. You miss small cues. Like how his grip seems to tighten on the tool he's using every time he feels your breath on the back of his neck. How every time he notices your closeness, he trips over his words.

You watch him attentively, absorbing whatever information you can understand. He starts to trail off, focusing more on the equations he's trying to solve. He taps his pen on his desk as he thinks, and you try to solve it in your head to see if you can help him.

"Liebe." He calls out suddenly as he looks at you. He's still tapping his pen on the desk absentmindedly as you hum in response. "Hm?" You tilt your head slightly to actually look at him. He looks away for a second, before you hear him sigh and he looks back at you. "You wanna go to the museum later this week? There's a, uhm, cool exhibit they've just added on planets, you might like it."

You don't answer as you try to think of when you're free, but your lack of answer seems to make him follow up on his question quickly. "You know, just uhm, you and me.." His voice trails off awkwardly. It's nothing out of the ordinary for the two of you to do things one on one. He's your best friend after all. You pull your phone out to check your calendar. "Friday?" You ask him curiously.

His face lights up immediately. "Ja, ja, I can pick you up too." He seems almost too eager that you have accepted his offer. You're not sure why, but you're happy he's not so tense anymore. You miss how his pen tapping on the desk has gotten quicker, how he now seems to have a smile plastered on his face, the way he completely relaxes now that you've said yes.

Your phone rings, breaking the moment. "I have to take this." You grimaced at the sight of your boss calling you. "Of course of course." Marius replies, and you finally notice how brightly he's smiling. You leave his office, answering your phone, and he closes his office door after you exit. You've just missed how he celebrated quietly in his office, and how he nearly knocked his project off his desk because of his celebration.

His happiness is contagious, you think. You yourself feel giddy and you're not sure why. You briefly look back at his office door as you talk to your boss, before focusing back on the heated conversation over the phone, still completely unaware of how he'd travel to the ends of the universe if it meant he could just be with you.

Sorry for a slightly shorter chapter! I'm really busy with college so I haven't had as much time which is why I took so long (also had writer's block haha) I hope you guys enjoyed it!

[ultimateinferno]

Every so often I remember Lirin was a doctor while Dalinar was Blackthorn, and his entire worldview makes a shit ton of sense. I can go on and acknowledge that he was a subject of Sadeas but really... nah. That man absolutely witnessed first-hand the casualties of that war.

[newsfrom-theworld]

you can't be lgbtq and support the occupation that did this to them

[titanomancy]

A bullet may have your name on it, and a grenade sent to whom it may concern - but area bombardment is always addressed to current occupant.

[agelessphotography]

Barricades de la Commune, avril 71. Coin de la place Hotel de Ville & de la rue de Rivoli (Barricades of the Commune, April 71. Corner of Place Hotel de Ville & Rue de Rivoli), Pierre-Ambrose Richebourg, 1871

[rul-am-i]

Drew  Fenrir today.

[itsohh]

Harishva Pandey - 2023

[incorrectcommunication]

Najimi: So tired of fake friends that refuse to leave me unsupervised in the presence of a catapult.

(Source: Twitter)

[runinandblitz]

(older doodle)

[shycoldchris]

Long time no see Tumblr folks 👀

Small artwork, Ash reminding you that you’re always number ☝️

[clover-cat-commissions]

He never said a word. Never. Throughout it all, the Black Sword didn't say a thing. The monster. The ghost. The mere shell.

What could be worse than this? What death could be as profound as this? What disappointment, what despair, could ever be greater?

Khârn raged at it. He howled in fury, coming at him again and again, shrugging off the wounds. He wanted the old one back. The one with some fire in his veins. He wanted some spirit. Just a flicker of something – anything – other than this flint-edged, iron-deep hardness.

They had laughed together, the two of them. They had fought in the roaring pits, and had sliced slabs out of one another, and at the end they had always slumped down in the straw and the blood and laughed. Even the Nails had not taken that away, for in combat the Nails had still always shown the truth of things.

'Be… angry!' he bellowed, thundering in close. 'Be… alive!'

Because you could only kill the things that lived. You couldn't kill a ghost, only swipe your axe straight through it. There was nothing here, just frustration, just the madness of going up against a wall, again and again.

The Nails spiked at him. He fought harder. He fought faster. His muscles ripped apart, and were instantly reknitted. His blood vessels burst, and were restored. He felt heat surge through his body, hotter and whiter than any heat he had ever endured.*

The Black Sword resisted it all, silently, implacably, infuriatingly. It was like fighting the end of the universe. Nothing could shake the faith before him. It was blind to everything but itself, as selfish as a jewel-thief in a hoard.

His chainaxe whirred as wildly as he'd ever thrown it, igniting the promethium vapour in the air, sending the blood lashing out like whipcord. He scored hits with it. He wounded the ghost. He made him stagger, made him gasp. The heat roared within him, turbocharging his hearts. He heard the coarse whisper of the Great God in his bruised ears.

**Do it. Do this thing. Do this thing for me.**

The ghost came back at him, tall and dark, his brow crackling with lightning-flecks, his armour as light-devouring as the blade he wielded.

Khârn became sublime, in the face of that. The violence he unleashed was like a chorus of unending joy. The ground beneath the two of them was destroyed, sending them plummeting in clouds of debris. Even when they crashed to the earth, they fought on. They rocked and swayed around one another, obliterating everything within the arc of a sword or the ambit of an axe-length.

'I… am… not…' he blurted, feeling the tidal wave of exhaustion drag on even his god-infused limbs.

*He realised what had been done, then. In the midst of his madness, even as the Great God poured himself into his brutalised body, he knew what transformation had occurred.

They had always told themselves, after Nuceria, that the Imperium had made the World Eaters. It had been *their fault*. The injustice, the violence, it had forged that lust for conflict, for the endless rehearsal of old gladiatorial games, like some kind of religious observance to long- and justifiably dead deities. That had given the excuse for every atrocity, every act of wanton bloodletting, for *they* had done this to*us*.

'I… am… not…'But now Khârn saw the circle complete. He saw what seven years of total war had done to the Imperium. He saw what its warriors had been turned into. He had a vision, even then, in the midst of the most strenuous and lung-bursting fighting he had ever experienced, of thousands of warriors in this very mould, marching out from fortresses of unremitting bleakness, every one of them as unyielding and soul-dead and fanatical as this one, never giving up, not because of any positive cause in which they believed, but because they had literally forgotten how to cede ground. And he saw then how powerful that could be, and how long it could last, and what fresh miseries it would bring to a galaxy already reeling under the hammer of anguish without limits, and then he, even he, even Khârn the Faithful, shuddered to his core.

'I… am… not…'He fought on, now out of wild desperation, because this could not be allowed to go unopposed, this could not be countenanced. There was still pleasure, there was still heat and honour and the relish of a kill well made, but it would all be drowned by this cold flood if not staunched here, on Terra, where their kind had first been made, where the great spectacle of hubris had been kicked off.

He had to stand. He had to resist, for humanity, for a life lived with passion, for the glorious pulse of pain, of sensation, of something.

'I… am… not…' he panted, his vision going now, his hands losing their grip, 'as… damaged…'The Black Sword came at him, again, again. It was impossible, this way of fighting – too perfect, too uncompromising, without a thread of pity, without a kernel of remorse. He never even saw the killing strike, the sword-edge hurled at him with all the weight of emptiness, the speed of eternity, so magnificent in its nihilism that even the Great God within him could only watch it come.

Thus was Khârn cut down. He was despatched in silence, cast to the earth with a frigid disdain, hacked and stamped down into the ashes of a civilisation, his throat crushed, his skull broken and chest caved in. He was fighting even as his limbs were cut into bloody stumps, even as the reactor in his warp-thrumming armour died out, raging and thrashing to the very end, but by then that was not enough. The last thing he saw, on that world at least, was the great dark profile of his slayer, the black templar, turning his immaculate blade tip down and making ready to end the last bout the two of them would ever fight.

'Not… as… damaged,' gasped Khârn, in an agony greater than anything the Nails could ever have given him, but with more awareness of the ludic cruelty of the universe than he had ever possessed before, 'as… you.'

And then the sword fell, and the god left him, dead amid the ruins of his ancient home.

[renderific]

I've opened a shop! I've added A5 prints, and stickers of some of my favourite fanarts! Consider picking something up, you have no idea how much it supports me! Even following the shop helps so much! Current prints include: > Venture: Overwatch 2 > Clove: VALORANT > Melinoë: Hades 2 > Zofia, Ela and Azami: Rainbow Six: Siege

Check it out: https://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/renderificstore

[beastofnurgle]

The cover for The End and the Death Volume III

[fulcrumwrites]

Jedi Vault

Summary: During the Mandalorian and Jedi war, a young Padawan finds herself captured.

CW: claustrophobia, teenage captive, capture, restraints, muzzle

Ciera groaned. Her mouth tasted of metal. Pain pounded behind her eyes. Every muscle in her body felt sore like she had run through her master’s drills a hundred times. Her skin tingled, like the aftermath of a blaster stun.

The pull from sleep was a long one. When she finally cracked her eyelids open, her vision was murky. They slipped shut and she fought to open them again. A few rounds of this and her vision cleared as she returned to wakefulness.

The sight before her was just as confusing. All she could see was a glass window–just wide enough for her eyes–surrounded by a gray wall, mere centimeters from her face. The light illuminating the darkness was blood red, like that of a Sith’s blade.

Ciera made to reach out and touch the wall, only her hand didn’t move. Her muddled brain detected the cold, bulky cuffs that pinned her wrists at her sides, then the same around her ankles. Her heart leaped in her chest and she strained her neck to look down at her restrained limbs. Her head refused to respond. A band of metal sculpted her face, locking her jaw and trapping her head in place.

Ciera’s heart pounded against her rib cage. Her chest felt tight as she tried to breathe. She pulled and twisted against the restraints, only succeeding to bruise her skin. Her eyes–the only thing she could move–darted around wildly, searching for an escape. The walls to her prison greeted her, a coffin no bigger than her own body.

Panic made her dizzy. A scream tore at her throat, trapped by her involuntarily clenched teeth and the muzzle over her lips. Her master’s voice echoed in her memory, but the words about calm and meditation and focus were muted.

Ciera concentrated on her breaths. A deep breath in and out through her nose. She ignored stale taste of her oxygen. Breathe in, and out. Repeat the rhythm.

Gradually, Ciera felt her heart calm and her mind become sharper. She needed a clear mind if she was ever going to find a way out.

A mask swallowed her view, drawing a jolt of surprise from the Padawan. The red and silver helmet with the black T-visor stared at her, expression unreadable. After a long moment, Ciera squirmed, feeling like an animal in an exhibit under his scrutiny. Finally, the Mandalorian pulled away and Ciera could see him and his companion standing below.

They looked at each other. The woman had one hand on her hip and gestured casually with the other. The man folded his arms and his helmet bobbed in response. They were talking, and Ciera couldn’t hear a single word. All she could hear was her own steady breathing and the hiss of oxygen.

Ciera closed her eyes. Unbidden tears pricked the corners.

“Master, are you out there? Are you alive? Please, help me. I don’t know what to do.”

There was no response. Ciera wasn’t sure if it was because he was dead or that her prison cut her off from the Force. She felt hollow.

The cage shuddered. Ciera opened her eyes to find the Mandalorians gone and she was moving. Guided by invisible beings, her coffin moved deeper into the dark halls of the Mandalorian palace.

They placed her in a lift and the Mandalorians from before stepped into view again. The man pushed the lowest button. Ciera watched the numbers count down. Her heart sank with each level as hope for escape or rescue dimmed.

At last, the lift stopped and the doors slid open. They were moving her again, past what were clearly prison cells. Mandalorians sat or paced in clear cells, no privacy to be had. Ciera would trade what they had if she could be free of this coffin.

They passed them all, stopping before a set of heavy metal doors. The woman punched in a code. The doors slowly slid open and Ciera gasped in horror.

Rows of metal cages identical to her own filled the room. Countless pairs of eyes peered through the windows, weary and frightened.

Against her will, Ciera’s cell moved into place; another nameless, faceless captive among the masses.

“Master? Where are you? Help. Help me.”

Her pleas went unanswered. The two Mandalorians turned their backs and walked away. Judging by their body language, they were still chatting as if they had taken out the trash.

The vault doors sealed shut behind them, thrusting Ciera into darkness. The red glow of her prison her only comfort.

At last, the tears fell down her cheeks, dripping onto the cursed muzzle.

Trapped, immobile, helpless, all Ciera could do was be patient and wait and hope her master was coming.

[titanomancy]

Warhammer isn’t about good guys and bad guys, it’s about who’s your favorite war criminal

[mlnlx]

:33