#type: closed

[nottmikael-blog]

Now, now, I wonder if Rod is going to accept her offer...

Is she intending to poison him? I am curious. If so, I won't hesitate to speak and eliminate who must be eliminated. 

[zelo-mr-blog]

The Regular // Kim Himchan

Zelo couldn't say that he loved being a showboy but he couldn't deny the fact that it was entertaining. The customers seemed to have perpetual bedroom eyes and the fact that they always seemed to give in to Zelo's every demand, even if they were paying, never ceased to entertain him. All he had to do to avoid something he didn't like was to look up at a customer with those sweet eyes of his and they let him be. Zelo had never had the same customer twice, except for Kim Himchan.

Kim HImchan was a VIP member of the Moulin Rouge and for some reason unbeknownst to Zelo he kept coming back again and again. You could say that he was a regular of Zelo's services. Zelo didn't know much about Himchan, but it didn't matter to him as long as the man payed his superiors. Zelo couldn't help but feel a little more playful in front of the man so as he knelt on his hands and knees, shirt unbuttoned and blonde curly hair mussed up he whispered, "Play with me Hyung."

[futurekingofasgard-blog]

Steadfast

While Iron Man and Captain America are scouting the ruins of Lady Liberty, and the other Avengers are tending to whatever SHIELD has tasked them with, Thor is standing guard atop one of the few tall buildings left standing in the center of New York City. Despite his initial distaste for the lack of action that a guard station provides him, he's grown to enjoy the general silence of being alone. Now instead of restlessly pacing rooftops and swinging Mjolnir in a futile effort to make it seem as though he is doing something of worth, Thor spends much of his guard time as an imposing sentinel. Mjolnir hangs from his belt but is always within his reach, while the relative solitude reminds him constantly of his Asgardian quarters, spacious almost to the point of loneliness.

Thor has mused much on loneliness over recent times, since the suspected reappearance of Loki in the city, though he himself has never been lonely, not really. Surrounded by his family since birth, Loki included, though as Thor grew he became aware of those who flocked to him to use him for his title, and those who flocked to him out of adoration. From a young age, even by Asgardian standards, he had been no stranger to soldiers with endless requests for sparring battles, or beautiful women with their sultry eyes and open hearts ready and willing for him to bed them. So Thor has never quite been lonely, but until Loki's... turning, he had never realised that the luxury did not extend to his brother.

But enough of that, he thinks, blinking away thoughts that matter little to the situation at hand. Thor knows he cannot afford to dwell on the past if he is to protect the city until it can be rebuilt. Standing a little straighter, he flexes his fingers above where Mjolnir's weight is a heavy reminder of his duty to this Midgardian city, and returns his gaze to the ruins, and the pigeons that still flock to areas they once called home.

[fuckingdeadpool-blog]

ain't no rest for the wicked

"Times Square is a ghost town," Wade growls in a low voice from his perch on the roof of the rundown building that was once the Gershwin Theatre. As he scans the empty streets below, he removes his mask and tucks it away, activating his holographic thingamajiggy almost immediately. "Our hero scours the streets, taking comfort in the listlessness of the quietly settling dust and the fact that he now looks like that one guy in that Christmas movie where he was fat and then he wasn't."

In one swift movement, Wade pounces off of the roof, humming to the tune of 'The Wizard and I' as he falls and lands expertly on his feet. "Get it?" he asks no one, chuckling to himself. "Because this is where Wicked used to play? God, I'm so clever."

He saunters down the street past the various makeshift memorials that sit in front of abandoned buildings, war torn and destroyed. No one ever makes it down to Times Square anymore out of respect for the dead as well as the memory of what once was a great city. Wade knows this, but still he sticks around, if only for combat practice or to run into the different theatres and perform his own renditions of their old shows.

As Wade makes his way to the heart of the square, the sound of moving rubble catches his attention and he whips around, crouching low in a defensive stance, fingers poised at the pistols holstered at his sides. "Our hero has company," he says, eyes darting about the area. "Good. I needed someone to play Glinda."