#mickey.

[sweetperversiongirl]

I'm so damn sorry I was busy and didn't wish Mickey a happy birthday yesterday. But better late than never, right? 😅😉😇 Happy Birthday, baby 💗💝

[natcliachen]

LOCATION: Mickey's Room DATE: Monday, September 5, 2005 (some time after dinner) Closed starter for @themickey

Apologies weren't in Natalia's nature. She was generally of the mind that people needed to get over things. Truly, she didn't actually want to give one now. She still very much stood by what she said. If she was sorry for anything, it was for embarrassing Mickey so needlessly in the name of tough love. While she firmly believed it was what Mickey needed, even Natalia could admit there was a better way to go about it than airing the other ward's dirty laundry out at the dinner table. In hindsight, it was tactless, and for that, she was ashamed.

Knock, knock.

Two steady raps on Mickey's door and she waited. It's been several hours since dinner. She figured Mickey has had enough time to cool off from the high of emotions she experienced at dinner.

"Mickey?"

[sparrowsfall]

npc profiles : animal companions.        ↳  MICKEY.   ──────────────────────────

FULL NAME : Michael. ( named after the archangel ). NICKNAMES : “ Meownsignor Michael ”, “ Mickey ” most commonly. PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION : ginger and white classic tabby maine coon cat. light blue eyes. nicked left ear. in older age, small scar above his right eye and another across his muzzle. male. 29 lbs. VERSES : Pre-MM Canon ( book ii ), Far Cry 5 ( book vi ), potential for others. BIO:  John had been a resident of the island for only a month when he made a trip to Crockett’s isolated Uppards for the first time. Halfway through his trip back to the main shore, he heard tiny squeaks and mewls coming from underneath the tarp in his rowboat where, upon unfolding it, he discovered that a runty ginger kitten had snuck into his boat as a stowaway. A mere week old and already orphaned, the little guy was flea-ridden and scrawny and surely wouldn’t survive another night on his own. So, still uncomfortable in the utterly solitary nature of his new post, John decided to welcome the scrappy baby cat into his home as his pet and roommate. He was bathed and brushed and spoiled, until the kitten that could once fit in the priest’s palm soon grew into MICKEY, a near thirty-pound behemoth of a maine coon cat.     If Mickey was a miniature lion, then Crockett was this little king’s empire from 1970 and well into the early 2000s. He was an incredibly affectionate cat with the humans he called family ( John, Millie, little Sarah, and really all of the island’s children ), but was otherwise a well-known hellion amongst the other local pet-owners. This maine coon ruled Crockett with an iron paw, regularly bullying even the neighborhood dogs into submission until they turned tail and ran, all for the purpose of keeping the focus and attention of any nearby humans on him and only him. Fierce though he may be, Mickey had an incredibly low prey drive for a cat. So low that it was near non-existent. He got more thrills out of “hunting” ( read: intimidating ) animals far bigger than himself, and elected to get fresh meat via his tried and true alternative methods : stealing catch from the docks, or meowing at dad until he eventually gave in and put dinner’s leftovers into his bowl. After all, why bother chasing down birds and mice when he could just boss around his holy owner?     A cat of refined taste, Mickey’s favorite hobbies and past-times include ---- taking long walks around the island and making house calls with John ; sitting at the altar and trying to sneak a sip of the communion wine during mass services ( always unsuccessful, not that it ever deterred him ) ; distracting the altar boys and kids at mass ; stealing boxes of eucharist wafers and forcing John to chase him around the island for them ; wearing silly little outfits that mom ( Missus Millie Gunning ) made for him, his favorites being his mini chasubles that match with dad’s, and especially his knitted strawberry hat ; sitting perched on John’s shoulders while he cooks or washes dishes ; desperately trying to climb into the oven because it’s warm ; antagonizing fresh-caught crabs until they ultimately pinch his tail ; taking naps in John’s lap while he reads or tends to desk work ; playing fetch ; bouncing off the rectory’s walls after a sniff of catnip ; and being a general fuzzy menace to the public.     Mickey peacefully passed at the very ripe old age of 35 years ( that’s 156 in cat years! ), spunky and well-fed up until his very last day on God’s Green Earth. As one of Crockett’s paramount residents for an entire generation, he was given the honor of a proper Catholic burial in the old cemetery that lies between St. Patrick’s and the rectory. John tends to the cosmetics of his old furry friend’s grave. It is decorated with a well-maintained catmint bush, and a knee-level statue of Saint Francis holding a cat ( who just so happens to don Mickey’s favorite strawberry knit hat ).

[my-woozi-happiness]

Get to know TVXQ(5) Part 2

Shim Chang Min:

Stage Name: Max Birth Name: Shim Chang Min (심창민) Position: Main Vocalist, Maknae Birthplace: Seoul, South Korea Birthday: February 18, 1988 Zodiac sign: Aquarius Height: 186 cm (6’1″) Weight: 61 kg (134 lbs) Blood Type: B

Some more vids:

Our Kings:

Our beautiful ocean:

~Always Keep The Faith~ 

[rccarter]

Closed to: @mickeyvillegas​

Loneliness is a rot his marrow had almost forgot during his time in Crescent, and oh how to returns in full during the recent weeks spent alongside his parents. The entirety of his drive back is spent stewing in hatred; he hates them, or rather he wants to, he wishes he could. Relief uncoils the serpent of ire coiled between ribs as he pulls up to the driveway, a familiarity that now spurs fondness multiplying as he parks. Pieces of his room are littered throughout the length between his arrival to the bedroom itself: the garage houses a dresser and bedside table, a mirror is propped in the living room, ‘rowan’ is scrawled alongside a lopsided heart on a packing box in the laundry room. And so, shock doesn’t bloom when he finally flickers the light on in his room for only emptiness to be illuminated. Emptiness, and a bit of destruction: half the floorboards are torn up, the remaining half house the splay of tools. And though there are seven other rooms that his belongings could have been relocated to, he knew there would was really only one, and thus a broad frame moves the six strides to the room at the end of a hall (he had counted once - that first time months prior when he had wandered to the bed of the man who looked to have swallowed the sun, he had counted and made note, how on the fourth step a floorboard creaks, how if digits trail the wall’s length a notch in the drywall can be felt on the fifth step, he had counted, and Rowan would remember: a memory pocketed just the same as each moment in that house, he’d recall them months, years, decades later- what do you know of love? they’d ask, and Rowan would start with there was a house by the sea that knew nothing but love).

He pushes the door open and there Mick is, spread something godly: Apollo is a boy descended, tangled in the sheets of a four-post, a vision Rowan wishes to sear to the back of lids. “Hey,” it’s an octave above a whisper, saccharine on the satin of a tongue, he lingers in the doorway for a few moments longer before discarding the duffel bag slung to the swell of a shoulder; Rowan stalls at the bed’s edge, digits reaching to tug a shirt from his torso before stepping out of sweatpants, fabric tossed to the floor as a frame shifts to slip beneath sheets. “Missed you,” syllables are tender, the crescent of his mouth dips to press to Mickey’s shoulder, trailing upwards, “what happened to my room?” they’re formed against vermeil flesh, as though Rowan couldn’t bare the distance to tilt features back, pupils are dilated to obsidian and rimmed juniper as he peers up at seraphic features hosting the glow of stray lunar beams, “you and Oz fuck around too long in the shower and flood the place? Did Len forget to turn off the tap after filming?” 

[leo-hastings]

@mickeyvillegas location: leon’s room

It was a quiet day in the house, unbeknownst to the boy in the basement. In between his streaming and practice, Leon was once again victim to losing track of the hours in the day. The light that seeped into his room as the door opened was jarring enough to catch his attention. Like a nocturnal animal to daylight, he squinted. “Oh,” he exclaimed an octave too high, seeing Mickey standing with Kevin by his side. “You taking Kev for her walkies?”

[southdirt]

you're in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won't tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. and you feel like you've done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you're tired. you're in a car with a beautiful boy, and you're trying not to tell him that you love him, and you're trying to choke down the feeling, and you're trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you've discovered something you don't even have a name for.