Jun 22, 2021
By the time you see him, it’s already too late.
To go with another Hitmen/Mercenary AU set I did years ago. This time it’s Kai because it suits him greatly.
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seen from China
seen from China
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Malaysia
seen from France
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Japan
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Russia
seen from Argentina
By the time you see him, it’s already too late.
To go with another Hitmen/Mercenary AU set I did years ago. This time it’s Kai because it suits him greatly.
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Day Fourteen: Au
Recluse becomes a killer instead of Spider-Man successor. Very cruel one too. Sort of like the 616 Bullseye but without Electra and Dare Devil obsessions.
Whatever the boss wants you best get. Now.
-Mafia Boss Ralf/Robert-
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Couldn't Utter My Love
Title: Couldn't Utter My Love Fandom: Mass Effect Relationship: Male Shepard/Male Shepard Characters: Jackson Shepard, Alex (Shepard) Atruzea, Aria T'Loak, general ME2 ensemble, assorted OCs Tags: Alternate Universe- Mercenary, Canon Compliant, Canon Typical Violence, Sexual Content, Mildly Dubious Consent, Explicit Consent, Trans Male Shepard, No Beta We Die Like Jenkins
Summary: Jackson Shepard, Commander of the Normandy spends a lot of time with Alex Atruzea, right hand of Aria T'Loak on Omega.
Notes: Hey, I only realized 4 chapters in that I never posted this on the ol Tumblr haha. Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy! The story is most complete and posts every Sunday!
Read it Here!
MULTIPLE ARTEMISES
idk i just wanted to draw them together because they have the same name LOL and figured that it would be cool to use arty’s mercverse incarnation because he has a fire augment thing, and arti’s all ice based so ewe
tbh, i think they’d get on p well 8I left is artemis meridiem, who’s mine right is artimis frost, who belongs to destinedforthestyx
Wasp Days
He was 10 that year when the wasps built their paper gray house on the blistered paint of the window frame. Soon the nest was a fist-sized lump of fiber, insects hurtling out to hunt the alley below like tiny helicopters buzzing the rotting contents of the dumpsters.
His father knocked the nest off with an ice hockey stick and then he went out, a bottle of kerosene in his hand. The boy followed him.
“Look, Sasha.”
The nest had broken open. He came closer and saw what the gray paper had concealed.
The spiral birth factory, stepped terraces of the hatching cells, blind jaws of the unborn moving restlessly, the staged progress from egg to larva, near-wasp, wasp. A picture from his biology text-book.
His father poured the kerosene on it and struck a match.
They stayed there, the boy gripping his father’s hand, watching the bulging, writhing life at their feet. Scorched wasps wrenched and flipped on the asphalt.
Now he was 33 and this place somehow reminded him of the burnt wasps’ nest, hiding hideous creatures under thin paper layers soaked with kerosene. He sighed under the shemagh covering his face in symbolic attempt to protect himself from poisonous gas on the streets and checked his AKMS.
A screeching sound came from above making him shiver. He looked up. A monster, but this time his monster, prowled slowly across the building wall. It tasted the air, snake-like, and screeched again. From the neighboring buildings other monsters replied with the same sound, waiting for the orders.
Time to strike a match.