Things you need to know:

{.} Mickey
{.} British
{.} 20-something
{.} Slasher at the core, but will occasionally be enticed by the Het
{.} Been involved in fandom for 7 years
{.} Collects fandoms like nobody's business
{.} Current writing fandoms: The Covenant
{.} Reading fandoms: Varies, but mostly The Covenant, Power Rangers, Sky High, Doctor Who, and most currently Prince of Persia: Sands of Time.
{.} Really likes reviews. Really.

Ink - The tattoo Connor gets is HERE

The second, one canary-yellow cotton jacket
on a cloakroom floor, uncoupled from its hook,
becoming scuffed and blackened underfoot. Back home
the very model of a model of a mother, yours, puts
two and two together, makes a proper fist of it
and points the finger. Temper, temper. Questions
in the house. You seeing red. Blue murder. Bed.

Then midnight when you slip the latch and sneak
no further than the call-box at the corner of the street;
I’m waiting by the phone, although it doesn’t ring
because it’s sixteen years or so before we’ll meet.
retrace that walk towards the garden gate; in silhouette
a father figure waits there, wants to set things straight.

These ribs are pleats or seams. These arms are sleeves.
These fingertips are buttons, or these hands can fold
into a clasp, or else these fingers make a zip
or buckle, you say which. Step backwards into it
and try the same canary-yellow cotton jacket, there,
like this, for size again. It still fits.

- Homecoming, Simon Armitage.