#indyref2NOW @tamhaskinney - Tumblr Blog

phantcmpain:

Admittedly, Salinger was watching Tam’s reaction like a hawk would watch its prey. Even the slightest hint of discomfort would have been received as rejection, and he would have moved on from there. But it didn’t seem like he got any. Was that just Tam being polite? Fuck, why was this so hard? They’d been roommates for a while now. How hard was it to just admit to feeling feelings?

He let his legs fall back to the counter and moved to stand, keeping a bit of distance but still leaning enough that he could watch the way Tam formed the cookies. He could have watched Tam bake in silence forever, really. Deliberate, slow, meticulous, but also kinda messy? It was hot.

“Alright, I’ll pack a shiteload of sunscreen, promise. I’ll even remind you to get the backs of your ears and the tops of your feet. If you’re extra good, I’ll put it on your back for you.”

Salinger moved to start tidying up where Tam had been, putting things back exactly where they’d been moved from and wiping up any mess.

“Really?” he asked. “I have two moms, they’re pretty great. A lawyer, an artist. Good parents. I got lucky. It’s just us, though. My moms and my brother. Nothing on your family, gigantic as it is. We also don’t hug, like, ever. Or talk about our feelings? It’s good, though. I guess.”

“You don’t hug?” Tam asked, scandalized by the very notion. Because Salinger’s family seemed to be the direct opposite of Tam’s family. Sal’s was quiet and restrained and small, and Tam’s was... well, enormous and loud and chaotic. Which didn’t mean that Tam’s family was better or anything, but the notion of a small family was hard to wrap his head around.

He bet that Salinger hadn’t had to fight for food when he was young. That was definitely one benefit of a smaller family. Also, easier family holiday planning.

But he still felt the need to rectify Salinger’s lack of hugs, so Tam edged his way along the counter until he encountered Salinger, and wrapped himself around Sal’s back, giving him a good hug from behind as Sal was cleaning. And if he just... stayed there, well, he was allowed!

“You must find my family crazy, then,” he chortled, settling his chin on Salinger’s shoulder. No doubt he was inhibiting Sal’s ability to clean, but he didn’t care. “Are your mums mutants too? Or just you and your brother?” Tam’s family, on the other hand; half of them had wings, but not all the same kind. His biggest, beefiest brother had very delicate butterfly wings, and his gran had the most terrifying dragon wings he’d ever seen, which she used to great effect, despite her being tiny.

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phantcmpain:

Salinger scooped his finger into the bowl, trying to be quiet but also knowing damn Tam could tell that he’d done it. As he was sucking the batter off of his finger he wrapped an experimental leg around Tam’s waist. He was admittedly still stuck on the idea of over-sugaring Tam’s entire class just to watch the chaos that would unfold. It would be funny, it would be a little dangerous, it would be perfect.

“Did I ever tell you that I’m half egyptian?” he asked. “I mean it’s not obvious looking at me, but the donor my parents used actually came from Cairo. So while I am currently pale as fuck, I do tan nice. Good genes, I was practically bred like one of those show dogs.”

Which… wasn’t far from the truth and kind of depressing so he moved away from that thought process.

“But I like the ocean. And the boardwalk food. And just the idea of watching you grump around the beach is too good to pass up.”

“Really? That’s... good,” Tam said, entirely distracted. He was very glad for Salinger and his half Egyptian genetics that allowed him to tan nicely, but he had his leg around Tam’s waist.

If Tam wasn’t angled slightly away, there’d be some very intimate parts touching, and oh, god, Kinney, just think about baking, think about baking, try not to spill the cup of chocolate chips you’re holding.

He did have the presence of mind to swat Sal’s hand away from a second venture toward the bowl, accidentally dead-on with his aim. “Trust me, I’ll be fuckin’ grumpin’,” he finally got the clarity to say, half-laughing. “I burn like a fuckin’ ginge. So we’ll need a shiteload of sunscreen.” There, cookie mix was done. Which meant Tam had to reluctantly untangle himself from Salinger, patting his knee as he did so, and only narrowly avoiding tripping over Noodle on the way to get a baking tray.

“You’ve never told me that much about your parents,” he said thoughtfully, scooping out cookie mix onto the tray. Tam could never make shit that looked good these days, so the scoops of dough were lopsided. But who gave a shit? They’d taste good, and that was all that mattered.

#:001

phantcmpain:

Salinger knew asking Tam to go to the beach with him was probably annoying as hell. Tam wasn’t suited for it. The crowds, the staring, the sand in his feathers. But Salinger knew a few things, like how to make large groups of people want to leave the beach all at the same time. So he had plans, ways to make it bearable. But really, all he wanted was a little extra time to spend with Tam. Besides, the dogs would appreciate it too.

“Of course,” he said. “No swimming.” He may have held his fingers behind his back, crossing them in secret.

Well, his week was going to get more interesting.

“What should I bring in for the babies so they like me more than you?” he asked, reaching his foot out to brush against Tam’s hip a little, eyes still on the work he was doing. Salinger learned more with Tam in the kitchen than he did with anyone else, because he was allowed to observe. “Are they allowed sweets? I’ll bring them in some cookies you made and say they’re from me.”

“No, you’re not allowed to give them bloody sugar,” Tam groaned, because a class full of mutants was difficult enough -- a class full of mutants on sugar highs? That would be an absolute nightmare that even Tam wasn’t qualified to contain.

Though, maybe he could allow them one biscuit...

Clearly this required careful planning.

“How about you bring yourself and somethin; a little healthier than pure sugar. Like... oatmeal cookies?” Tam suggested, half-laughing at the sheer futility of it. As if his kids would accept anything less than the purest of peanut butter and chocolate cookies. “No, alright, they probably won’t go for that. But you’re fuckin’ responsible for the sheer chaos that will ensue, mate.”

Half leaning against Sal’s leg, Tam worked on pure muscle memory, barely needing to actually pay attention to what he was mixing. Part of him was internally grimacing over the beach idea still, but the other part was busy soaking up Salinger’s company. “Do you tan easily?” he asked, seemingly random, but curious. “You told me you were pale as fuck. Why do you want to go to the beach?”

#:001

phantcmpain:

It wasn’t hard to get comfortable here. It never had been. From the minute Salinger replied to the advertisement for a roommate, he felt like he was at home. And now, sitting across from Tam in the kitchen and watching him work, he didn’t just feel at home. He felt absolutely right in every single way.

He was so glad Tam couldn’t see the way Salinger bit his lip and grinned, just watching him move around the kitchen was endearing in a way he was totally embarrassed to admit. He was stupidly weak for this man, it was a problem.

“I wanted to go to the beach at least once,” he said as he let his legs swing back and forth just a little bit, letting his toes brush against the back of Tam’s thigh every now and again. “But I think I can be persuaded to come to class with you. I’ve kind of always wanted to meet them, and maybe then they wont think my head is abnormally large.”

In truth it was more just because the idea of spending a whole day with Tam sounded like an actual vacation, but still.

“If you come to the beach with me, I’ll go to class with you. A nice, even trade.”

“The beach,” Tam repeated with a wrinkle of his nose, making it very clear what he thought of that idea. Not that he’d been invited, obviously. Sal could go to the bloody beach if he wanted. But like a true Scotsman that not only burned but freckled like crazy in the sun, not to mention getting sand in his feathers, Tam was not a fan.

But he really wanted Sal to meet the kids...

Ugh.

“Fine,” he grumbled, knocking the joint of a wing against Salinger’s knee. He could just picture it: Sal looking all fuckin’ gorgeous in the sun, maybe getting a nice tan, while Tam flailed about and applied sunscreen every ten minutes. Maybe, if he was lucky, Sal would even let him see, because Tam would never admit it, but he craved those moments that Salinger reached out with his ability and introduced some sort-of sight back into Tam’s world.

It’d be worth it, he thought. Worth all the sand and the stares he wouldn’t see and the probable burning.

“I won’t swim, though,” he warned, bemused, carefully tapping out flour into a measuring cup. “You’re welcome to, obviously, but if I try, I’ll wind up waterlogged and useless.”

#:001

phantcmpain:

There was a moment there was Salinger willed himself to do it, to stretch this sort of strange half-intimacy they seemed to share with each other into something else. Tam’s fingers lingered in his hair (if Salinger was a cat, he’d have purred, he had a thing for the whole hair touching thing) and his face seemed to soften for a second and right there was a window. He could take it. But before he could work up the courage for it, Tam was gone.

Sal sat there and watched him go, taking a steady breath (hopefully quiet enough that Tam couldn’t hear him) before standing up and following after him.

Salinger took his favorite spot in the kitchen, sitting on the one open part of the counter and crossing his legs. Noodle abandoned her basket to come claw Salinger’s legs.

“Chocolate chip. What kind of monster eats lemon cookies?” he asked with a small grin. “Your gran already approves, though, and you know it.”

Gran did approve. Not just of the biscuits, but she’d taken Tam aside more than once to tell him that Salinger was a nice young man and Tam really ought to think about settling down. And every time, Tam went red when she insisted on telling him exactly how he should go about courting Salinger -- yes, courting, that was the word she used.

He kept telling her that Salinger wouldn’t want a blind, scarred-up old idiot. She kept smacking him on the back of the head, as if that was reply enough.

“Lemon shortbread, you dingus,” Tam corrected, sliding a hand over the edge of the counter to orient himself. Along the way, his hand bumped over Salinger’s knees, and he snorted. “Oh, I see how it is. You’re gonna watch and not help, yeah? Fuckin’ slacker.”

But even as he spoke, he just gathered the various ingredients, kept in jars and tins and packets each with their own little braille label, making no attempt to make Sal move. No, Tam was more than happy to just have him there. “So, what are you thinking for the rest of your week off?” he asked, sliding the recipe book to Sal so he could find the recipe. “Any chance I could convince you to come to class one day? The kids haven’t had much experience with mental abilities, and they’d fuckin’ adore you.”

#:001

phantcmpain:

Salinger knew that groan very well, and it meant that even though Tam had a rough day at work, he was totally about to bake a batch of cookies for him to impress his grandmother with. He took another swig of beer and tried to not seem too giddy, but it probably still showed anyway.

“I do love gifts,” he said as he leaned in and took the paper.

And, okay, here’s the thing: Salinger really didn’t like kids all that much. Or, at least, he sort of thought he didn’t. He’d never really come in contact with any, especially for any length of time, but he’d always just accepted it that kids weren’t his forte. But for some reason when he looked at the drawing of this little kid and Tam (and himself, too, but he’d get to that later) he felt…warm? Which was a pretty weird sensation and felt ten shades too domestic for him.

“Oh my god,” he said with a quiet laugh, fingers tracing over the marks made with the crayon. “I mean, for the record, you’ve never really seen my head, it could actually be that big.”

He was well aware how his power could be, and often was, perceived. He didn’t really blame anyone, in the wrong hands, it could cause a lot of damage. But it got a little tiring every now and again to be viewed with distrust everywhere he went. He was lucky enough to be able to hide it, though. Tam, and the tiny thing that drew this, weren’t.

“I guess this means I’m gonna have to come in and meet them sometime. I mean, call me vain, but I cant let anyone thing my head is THAT gigantic.”

He had every intention of displaying this proudly, probably forever.

“Alright, get up, lazy bones.”

When Amal had finished drawing, she’d taken Tam’s hand and guided it over the paper so he could feel the crayon lines, dutifully informing him what was what and in which colors she’d drawn it in. Tam’s visual imagination wasn’t so good these days, but he figured he could picture a rough approximation of it, and it was hilarious.

“Yeah, mate, but I’ve felt your head, and it feels fairly fuckin’ average head-sized to me,” Tam laughed, reaching over in an attempt to ruffle his hand over said head. He missed the first time, fingers bumping into Salinger’s shoulder, but from there he could readjust, tangling his fingers into soft curls and tugging gently, and jesus fuck, Sal had really nice hair.

Fuck.

Abort, abort, before he got all fuckin’ sappy.

Tam hauled himself up off the couch, making a show of grumbling about it and grumbling about it all the way to the kitchen, too, but he changed his tune as soon as he discovered Noodle in her usual spot: the fruit basket. All of the protesting squeaks in the world didn’t stop him from kissing the top of her grumpy head.

“Okay, biscuits,” he announced, running his fingertips over the spines of the cooking books he had stacked in an open cupboard. “Chocolate chip? Lemon? I don’t wanna let you at the real challenging biscuit recipes yet, mate, not until Gran approves.”

#:001

phantcmpain:

Salinger caught the little twitch of Tam’s lips when he said coq and shook his head, his fond smile getting just a little bit wider now.

“Precise is exactly why it’s hard, Tam,” Salinger said with a quiet whine. He sort of really wanted to lean in a little closer, actually brush shoulders with the guy, maybe convince him to actually wrap an arm around his shoulder instead of just settle his wing there. But he hadn’t had enough liquid courage for that just yet and he was pretty sure Tam was too kind to tell him to fuck off if he wasn’t interested, and Salinger knew for a fact he’d never be able to get over that if it happened.

“You’re gonna get off your ass and make ‘em with me even if I don’t fix the eel,” he said as he reached over and gently pinched Tam’s side. “Or I’ll pout and tell Gran you didn’t help and you know who’s side she’ll take in that argument.”

“Ugh,” Tam replied, with great feeling.

And really, he could have left it there, because Salinger knew his complaining noises well by now. There was Complaining Noise #1: I really don’t want to go to work today. Complaining Noise #4: I’ve just now gotten comfy on the couch and you’re asking me to make popcorn which means I have to move. And, presently, Complaining Noise #9: I hate when you nag me into doing things but also secretly love it because it means I get to spend time with you.

“Fine,” he grumped. “But first: I have a gift for you.”

Rummaging around in his bag, Tam picked out a folder, and withdrew a piece of paper. One of his kids had thoughtfully drawn something in crayon for him -- mostly stick figures, but there was Tam, a short stick figure with two triangles that he figured were supposed to be his wings, the child herself, a shorter stick figure with a red line for a tail, and one more labeled ‘SAL’, a stick figure with an enormous head. Tam had told the class about his flatmate with an ability that fell under the psionics range -- a group that was viewed with serious suspicion and distrust by humans and even other mutants -- and he guessed ‘big head’ was how she represented that.

“This is going on the fridge,” he announced, grinning widely. “I did try to tell her that people with mental abilities don’t actually have enormous heads, but she refused to believe me.”

#:001

phantcmpain:

Salinger examined the head of the eel and decided that he could probably fix it. Tam was right in his assumption that his Gran had brought over a collection of useful things for the apartment, a needle and thread being among them. She’d also taught Sal to use them, sort of. He wasn’t great, by any stretch of the imagination, but he’d figured a little bit out. “I’ll give it a shot,” he said. “You should take out stock in the toy company, though. You go through enough of these things.”

Again, he didn’t mind. When he was young, he gave other people headaches. He couldn’t imagine what a more physical emergence would be like.

At the mention of Tam’s grandmother, though, Salinger sat up straight and grinned a little wider. He loved when she visited. She drove Tam absolutely insane, in the most fond way possible of course. She badgered him and pestered him and got on him about eating right and taking care of himself. It was good to not be the only person in the house doing that. And she doted on Salinger a bit, which made him feel good too. His moms didn’t make it out to visit a whole lot, so it was like having family all over again.

“Oh man, I guess that means I actually have to practice,” he said with a groan that wasn’t as full of dread as it could have been. “I’m a good cook. I cant bake to save my life. I don’t think any number of lessons is gonna change that.” Which wasn’t to say that he’d ever stop standing behind the woman in the kitchen, watching every single thing she did like a hawk. He wanted to learn. “Then you better tell her she needs to bring an A+ coq au vin.”

As if there was anything Tam’s Gran couldn’t do.

“As if there’s anythin’ my fuckin’ Gran does that isn’t A+,” Tam snorted.

Honestly, he’d sometimes suspected that her mutation was actually some sort cooking related power. Tam was a great baker, Sal was an amazing cook, but Gran somehow managed to be incredible at both, and it was just fuckin’ unfair.

What was also unfair was the juvenile snerk Tam had suppress when Salinger said coq. He was a grown man, for fuck’s sake.

“Baking’s simple,” he encouraged, shooting a crooked, affectionate grin over in the direction Salinger’s voice was coming from. “It’s precise, yeah? Not like bloody cookin’ where you just have to kind of guess how many mushrooms you need. No, baking’s got precise fuckin’ measurements. And if you fix that blasted stuffed eel -- which I’d be forever grateful for, ta -- I might even manage to get myself off the couch and make some biscuits with you.”

Ugh, god, he’d also have to clean at some point. Gran never did tolerate messiness. And he’d have to shave, and maybe groom his wings, because the bloody woman always got on his case about not taking care of himself. Salinger, on the other hand, could do no wrong in Gran’s eyes, because he was ridiculously fuckin’ charming when he wanted to be.

#:001

phantcmpain:

There were benefits to Tam being blind. At least, benefits Salinger could take advantage of. Like the stupid, completely infatuated grin spread across his face didn’t need to be hidden or checked at all, he could just stare at the winged idiot and smile all he damn well wanted to. Also, he didn’t have to worry about his hair. Though, admittedly, Tam called it about his clothes.

“Oh, don’t you judge me,” he said, as he settled his fingers around the glass of his beer bottle. “I was invested. I blame the book.” In this apartment, that could mean any number of the hundreds, possibly thousands of titles they had in their collection between them. “House of Leaves? It’s really bad, I’m not even sorry.”

Salinger settled into the sofa beside Tam, making room for himself as best as he could. Tam took up a little extra space, wings and all, but Salinger still made it work.

He looked at the eel in Tam’s hand, tugging it out of his grasp. “Lord. Another one?” he asked, a small smile on his face. “D’you have the head?”

Salinger had no idea how Tam did it. He hardly had the energy to deal with his own ability let alone the idea of adding on a group of small children’s. It was a wonder Tam came home in all once piece.

“Yes, well, that’s what you bloody get for readin’ American literature,” Tam sniffed. He had to fan out one wing to make room for Salinger, which meant Sal was leaning up against feathers -- but Tam hardly minded. One: it was the left, which was the weaker one, these days, after the attack that had taken his sight. Two: he didn’t exactly do a whole of flying, for obvious reasons. Three: it wasn’t like Sal was going to break anything by a bit of leaning.

And four: it was much like looping his arm over Salinger’s shoulders.

Leaning over the side of the couch, he dug into his bag to retrieve the head of the poor beheaded stuffed eel, and tossed it to Salinger with a low laugh. “Poor bastard never stood a chance.” Sean just really really loved anything fish related, since his mutation was vaguely amphibious. “I was thinking I’d sew it back on rather than get a replacement.”

Did they even have a needle and thread anywhere in the apartment? Tam sure as fuck didn’t, and he was pretty sure Salinger didn’t either. Neither of them were exactly the needlepoint type, but Tam’s gran had occasionally smuggled useful things into the place, so maybe they did.

Which reminded him:

“Gran said she’s bringin’ more recipe books over this weekend.” God fuckin’ save him from the entire Kinney clan. “She said to tell you that she’s expectin’ your biscuit makin’ method to have improved by the time she gets here.”

#:001

phantcmpain:

“You can if you fly!” came Salinger’s just lowly teasing, sing-song voice from the other room.

His day, on the other hand, had been a lot less stressful. He’d taken a week of vacation from his laboratory job. He liked it there well enough, but knew he had to keep himself in check on a regular basis otherwise he could head into mad scientist territory real fast. Being able to influence other people’s thoughts tended to lend itself to that sort of thing.

So today, instead of attempting to isolate the specific cause of this or that, he spent the day in bed. Reading. Which was really the dream. The pile of animals around him made it even better. Between himself and Tam that had two dogs and a cat. Neither dog was particularly small, and the cat wasn’t particularly sweet, but they all saw fit to climb on top of Salinger, or Tam really, when they lay down.

Of course, Avocado, the little traitor, ran to the door when she heard Tam and Obi approaching.

He was already on his way to the kitchen to pull two beers from the fridge, nudging it closed again with his hip before peeking through the pass-through at Tam. Poor guy looked exhausted. And also really fucking cute, but that was beside the point.

“The end of your hair is singed,” Salinger said as he sat down and passed Tam the beer, fingers passing over and attempting to lay flat the one part of his hair. “Been one of those days?”

“Yeah, because a blind fuckin’ fly around in an apartment sounds like a fuckin’ top-notch idea,” Tam hollered back, right before he rammed a knee against the side of the couch -- bloody thing always managed to sneak up on him somehow -- and flopped onto it, a pile of limbs and wings and stuffed eel.

Fly in the apartment? Honestly. He’s got a fucking fifteen foot span when he stretches them out fully.

He could hear the click of Obi’s claws as she settled into her doggy bed, the scamper of Avocado’s paws scuffing over the floorboards as she ran to greet him. Salinger’s steps were far more sedate, his voice mellow and well-rested over the top of the beer bottle being opened. Tam made a noise of deeply grateful appreciation, took the beer when it was offered, and tried not to purr like a smug housecat when Sal’s fingers ran through his hair.

“Is it?” he queried, only vaguely concerned (it wasn’t like he could see if his hair looked shite), and reached up, his own fingers bumping against Salinger’s. “Christ Almighty. Yeah, one of the little buggers is new. Stone scales, tends to heat up when he’s unhappy. And everybody hates the first day of school.”

If he concentrated, he could hear the sound of Noodle’s snoring from the kitchen. But right then, Tam was more focused on the sound of Salinger breathing.

“And how was your day, darling?” he teasing, finally batting Salinger’s hand away from his hair. “Relaxing? Are you even out of your pajamas, or did you decide to lounge around in them all day?”

#:001

@phantcmpain

Here’s the thing: Tam loves his kids. He does. He’s never quite gotten to the starry-eyed blissful ignorance of thinking that they’re all perfect angels (such thoughts are, he thinks, reserved for people who don’t spend a lot of time around kids), but they’re good kids. On occasion, they are little shits.

But he does love his job. The pre-school caters to the more physically-evolved of superpowers, because no matter how much some people can go on about how they accept all powers, most people are still weird about visual mutations. It’s one thing to be able to conjure water with your mind, it’s quite another to have a beak or scales or a tail. Tam doesn’t just work there because he knows what it’s like, he works there because it’s important, because those kids need people to just treat them like normal kids.

So even after a day full of Oliver’s horns goring a hole in his chair, and Jamie’s tail suffering growing pains, and Amal spitting lava at her book, and Diego shedding because his winter coat was growing in, and the twins teasing Alice over her gap-toothed fangs, he’s fine. He loves them. He’s great. He’s totally--

Oh, fuck, who is he kidding. He’s exhausted.

And he’s really fucking glad to be home, even if home is currently shared with a man who Tam has really quite a lot of feelings for, and has not yet worked up the courage to say anything.

“Please fuckin’ tell me there’s beer in the fridge,” he moans as he gets himself through the door, his arms full of his bag, Obi’s leash, and a giant stuffed eel. It’s one of the class toys, and somebody, fuckin’ Sean, had accidentally cut the head off with a razor-sharp fin. “And then tell me you can bring it to the couch, because I’ve only got about five steps in me before I collapse.” He’s already making his way to said couch, absently bumping wingtips against the wall and furniture, using them like cat’s whiskers to navigate. “And I can’t get to the fridge and the couch in just five steps.”

#:001

mcavoysource

Filth Apple Store Talk 2014

#:mirror #tam's face when sal uses his fuckin power to show him the latest hot takes on french language memes

twelvecoffee

Basically, every character I’ve ever played, I’ve based entirely on internal conflict. And I love doing that, because I think it’s very human.

#:mirror

lochiels-deactivated20180429

♕ SPIORAD DE ALBA : A playlist for the ancient Kingdom of Scotland. - “Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar, thunderclaps rend the air, baffled, our foes stand by the shore, follow they will not dare!” Spiorad de Alba (Gaelic) - Spirit of Alba

a history of scotland | paul leonard morgan

people disappear all the time | bear mccreary

antonine’s wall | ilan eshkeri

mary queen of scots | paul len

tell me now | hans zimmer

merlin buries lancelot | rob lane

sky boat song | scots guards - pipes & drums

fate and destiny | patrick doyle

the beach | jeff & mychael danna

highland forests | celtic music

dance of the druids | bear mccreary

fairy pools | ilan eshkeri

alpha | adrian von ziegler

the legend spreads | james horner

#:music

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