#polyfacetious

[kingofdirtandnothing]

@polyfacetious big ass Christmas Drabble Extravagaza: Day Six

Alexander was the best kind of regular. He was the curious kind. He would come to the shop, squint up at the chalkboard with those lovely blue eyes, and then finally choose the next thing on the list. If he was trying to be subtle about slowly working his way down the menu, then he needed some work. It was sweet, it was just not subtle.

But today, he’d come in and sat himself up at one of the tables near the window, an impressive scowl painted across that pretty face. (Alexander had some remarkably expressive eyebrows. You could read his mood with them alone.)

Which meant Magnus was spending his morning rush worrying about what exactly had set his favorite customer on such a sour path this morning. He spares a glance over while he steams milk for a matcha latte, and finds Alec staring daggers out of the shop’s front window. But there was no one out there. And Magnus was reasonably certain that Alexander wasn’t angry with Diego’s taco stand. 

What could make such a sweet natured man so sour? It wasn’t girlfriend trouble, Magnus knew that much, thanks to one memorable morning where a young lady gave Alexander her number and when she walked away, he looked at it like she’d handed him a raw mackerel. Boyfriend troubles, maybe?

Magnus hoped not, for his own selfish reasons. He could practically feel Bilbo’s eyes on him from across the shop. Yes yes, he knew he had to get on his side of the promise. No, he wasn’t going to do it right now, in broad daylight in an open tea shop, Bilbo Baggins. Stop judging. 

With the last customer of this burst gone away with their tea and their scones and their lovely pastries, Magnus slips out from behind the counter before his good sense could get the better of him. “Lovely day, isn’t it?” That felt like a good enough segue into conversation, given the fact that Alexander was currently glaring at a cloud. 

But much like the clouds would break this afternoon and the sun would shine through, that sour expression on Alexander’s face breaks apart and reveals the sunshine of his lovely smile beneath. A sheepish, nervous smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Uh..yeah. It is.”

That’s all the opening that Magnus needed. He slips into the seat across from Alec at the small bistro table, hands clasped in front of him. His nails were a gorgeous sea green, in keeping with the summer season. There was even a sheen of glitter built into the polish itself. Magnus was positively in love with the color. “How have you been?” Magnus has to resist the urge to jump straight to ‘what’s wrong?’ People didn’t like being called out like that.

“Oh, good. I’m good.” Alexander was a squirmer, when he was nervous. Magnus knew because he never saw Alec move around in his seat like a worm on a hook until Magnus was sitting across from him. It was flatteringly adorable. “You?”

“I’m wonderful, thank you.” And if he didn’t get them out of this cesspool of polite conversation, they might never get to the meat of the problem. Magnus only had so long until his next batch of regulars came in. A quick glance at the clocked showed him it was a little before 8:30. He had about twenty minutes for this conversation, tops. 

What a world to live in, when reckless and carefree Magnus Bane cared enough about a man’s opinion to schedule in time to talk him through his feelings between customers. Bilbo was probably cackling into his dough right as they spoke. The bastard. 

“So why don’t you tell me why you’ve been sitting here, looking like the most handsome thundercloud I’ve ever laid eyes on?” So maybe that was laying it on a bit thick. But Alexander was a sight for sore eyes on any day, effortlessly gorgeous. It was enough to take someone like Magnus, who spent half an hour in front of the mirror every morning, feel jealous. 

Then again, getting to lay eyes on that effortlessly handsome face every day was enough to push the jealousy back and replace it with a four letter word. 

Lust. The word was lust. Not the other “L” word, which Magnus was going to avoid the damned plague. 

Alexander stutters for a moment, blue eyes huge and wide before he gives up, laughing at himself as he turns his eyes back to the window. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’m not trying to bring the mood down or anything.” Alec’s accent was all New York, and before him, Magnus would have never thought that was something he would find attractive. 

An English accent was lovely. An Irish accent was enough to make a man weak in the knees. Magnus himself had a personal weakness when it came to French accents. But in the grand scheme of American accents, New York wouldn’t be anywhere near the top of the list. Or at least, it wouldn’t have been before Alexander. 

There was something about the way he spoke, the same kind of effortless charm that went with his finger combed hair and his (truly hideous, it was a marvel) worn out sweaters. Magnus has always loved a sharp dressed man. But there was something so incredibly genuine about Alec Lightwood that it had made its way under his skin, and he couldn’t get free. 

“You don’t bring the mood down.” Far from it. Seeing Alexander was often the highlight of Magnus’ day. “So go ahead and tell me what’s on your mind.” Magnus cups his chin in his palm, watching Alec through the fan of his lashes. He was never going to tire of the way Alec’s eyes darted down to his lips when Magnus spoke. It was the kind of thing that could make a man’s ego get too big. 

Not Magnus, of course. He was the very picture of...there was no reason to even finish that ridiculous sentence. Magnus was fantastic, and he quite appreciated it when other people thought he was fantastic as well. 

“It’s just that my sister is getting married.” There was that scowl again, dipping across dark brows before it disappears. “And I’m happy for her, really. But she’s having this whole big party about it, and there’s dancing.” Alexander says dancing the way someone else might say bamboo spikes under fingernails. Like it was torture. 

“And you have to dance?” Alexander nods, like a man on his way to the gallows. “So what’s the issue here? Do you not have someone you want to dance with?” Is it cruel to hope that Alec doesn’t have a date he wants to dance with? “Or is it that you don’t know how to dance?”

Alec’s little smile tugs up further on one side of his mouth than the other. Gods, he was a sight. “Both, honestly.”

Both. Which means that Magnus had not one, but two chances to whirl his way into Alexander’s life outside of this little table and the shop around it. This was a chance to see Alexander out in the world, to be a part of his life and not just set dressing. 

“I could teach you.” That absolutely came out too quickly. But this was a blue moon of an opportunity. It would only come around once. So Magnus had to take advantage while he still could. “I used to teach dance. I lived in Spain for a year or two.” Magnus had lived all over in his time. It would honestly be faster just to tell him the places that he hadn’t lived, rather than go through his spiel of all the places he’s called home over the years. 

“Salsa. Flamenco. Even a little ballroom dancing and waltz, which I’d imagine is what your sister is going to want for her party.”

Alec was watching him with wonder on his pretty face. Magnus has to resist the urge to preen. That wouldn’t go well with the whole humble teacher act he was going for here. “How much do you charge by the hour?”

Now that would be a lovely innuendo and segue if this was Magnus looking to climb Alexander like the lovely willow tree he was. But Magnus had to admit to himself, and only to himself, that his feelings were involved in this mess. He didn’t (just) want to give Alec the night of his life. He wanted to stick around for breakfast in the morning too. 

“No charge.” Magnus waves away the protest he can see building on Alec’s lips. He wasn’t the type of man who enjoyed handouts. There was a pride to him, beneath all that rakish charm. “I haven’t taught in ages. I wouldn’t be up to par for being paid anyway. But I can dust the rust off and you can learn enough to cut a rug and make yourself the envy of your sister’s wedding.”

Alec makes a sour face, and Magnus can’t help but laugh. “Fine. I can dust the rust off and you can be a perfectly passable dancer and not draw any undue attention to yourself at your sister’s wedding. How’s that sound?”

Alexander’s shoulders soften and droop down, and the smile he gives Magnus is equal parts relief and something more playful. If Magnus wasn’t already aware how much trouble he was in, then he would have figured it out right at this instant. Because he was in Trouble with a Capital T. “That sounds great, Magnus. Thanks.”

There were people milling outside of the door that the tea shop shared with Bag End Bakery. Two women with big cat’s eyes sunglasses were checking their phones, and their watches, respectively. They were waiting for someone. Which meant in the next few minutes, they’d be coming inside to order, and it would be back to work.

Magnus looks back over at the clock. 8:50. How did time manage to fly by so fast when he was talking to Alec? It was like magic. 

But all good things must come to an end. “How about you can come by here after close. We can move the tables out of the way, and we have a nice wood floor to practice on.” Magnus plucks the napkin out from under Alec’s cup, pulling the pen from behind his ear so he could start to scribble down his phone number.

“For now, wear something comfortable tonight. Something you can move in. Basketball shorts and a t-shirt or a tanktop are what I usually practice in. And wear the most comfortable pair of tennis shoes that you have. We’ll lay the ground work before we get you practicing in the shoes you’ll be wearing at the wedding.”

Magnus writes his name beneath the number with a flourish, and in a moment of pique, he draws a heart on a balloon string next to his name. He even draws the little square in the corner of the heart balloon, like it’s catching the glint of the summer sun on it’s plastic surface. If his intentions weren’t clear before, this would make them neon bright. Hopefully. 

“Here.” He slides the paper napkin back over to Alec, looking over his shoulder as the women spill into the shop, chattering among themselves like a gaggle of sparrows sitting on a wire. They would be ordering from Bilbo and then they would make their way over to his side of the shop. Time was up. 

“Tonight. 8pm. I’ll be here.” 

Feeling especially bold, Magnus reaches over once he stands and pats Alec’s hand. His skin was warm, and soft. Lovely. Every bit of that man was lovely, and Magnus was in so very deep over his head. 

“You be here too.” That’s a playful little waggle of his finger in front of Alec’s nose before Magnus darts back behind the counter, calling out to the women that had broken away from their group at the pastry case to head his way. 

[kingofdirtandnothing]

polyfacetious asked: Malec Teeny Weeny Au Meme: (Accepting)

Jet Airliner - Steve Miller Band

Magnus leans back against the seat in the private jet, one arm thrown artfully over his head. He can see the pretty photographer watching him through the lens of the camera. 

Tall, dark and handsome puts the camera down to adjust one of the box lights, and Magnus arches upwards, playing at a stretch when all he wants is those pretty blue eyes on him. 

“You’re flying the whole way with me, aren’t you?”

Magnus bites down on his bottom lip, and he’s gratified to see the pretty photographer echo the gesture right back at him. 

Oh, this would be a fun flight.

[kingofdirtandnothing]

Disney Drabbles: Because if I can't take my trip this year, at least my characters can

@polyfacetious Magnus and Alec: Port Orleans

The room is gloriously overdone. 

There’s a magic carpet woven into the carpets, and the upholstery is all richly colored and tassled. There are actual, framed pictures of princesses on the wall. Magnus had cooed in delight when he saw them, and very delicately pretended not to hear Alec’s burst of snorted laughter behind him.

Alec didn’t appreciate the finer things, not like Magnus did. 

“Alec!” That’s a delighted burst of laughter from the bathroom as Magnus catches Alec from where he’s tucking their suitcases under the bed to tug him into the bathroom. “Look.” A manicured finger points out the gold genie lamp faucet, and even Alec laughs at that one. 

“I think we’re going to have to live here. Forever.” Magnus sighs, dreamy and pleased and floats his arms up to curl around Alec’s neck, leaning in close against him. 

So this trip didn’t happen right after graduation. They’ve actually been in college for two years now. But it’s still a celebration, just like they planned it would be. And Magnus is over the moon with all of it. 

“I have everything I need. Ridiculous opulence, easy access to a castle, and my very own prince.”

[kingofdirtandnothing]

polyfacetious asked: just breathe. 

“You can’t be here.”

That seemed like the pot calling the kettle, because the kid didn’t look old enough to be in Tony’s kitchen either. But he held a cleaver in the direction of where Alec was standing in the back doorway to the kitchen, the one where Jack brought all of his deliveries. 

“I need to talk to Tony. About tonight. If I can just-” Alec takes a hesitant half step forward and stops immediately when the kid with the rolled up sleeves and the hair falling into his eyes jabbed the cleaver in his direction. Something about those green eyes led Alec to believe that he’d do it. 

“You can’t. Stay out there. Tony!” The kid’s voice carries across the kitchen, and Tony pops out of where he’s dipped into his office to look over order forms for the night. 

“Five. Stop threatening people with knives.” The boy, Five, turns his cleaver back to where he was very intently separating root vegetables from their ends. 

Alec mouths Five? at Tony, who shrugs as he steps out into the street. “I don’t have the kid’s birth certificate. That’s what he told me, that’s what I call him.” Tony has, actually seen the kid’s driver’s license. Because he couldn’t have him wielding sharp objects in his kitchen if he was underage. But there was a reason the kid didn’t want to be known by his name, and Tony respected that. 

They all chose this place for a reason. Who was he to stomp on someone else’s freedom? 

“Alright, you have my attention. What do you need, kid?” 

Alec sputtered, and launched into his plea for a Friday night table.

-----

In the kitchen, Five has turned his attention from decapitating tubers to scrubbing the oysters for tonight. He was banished to prep for the time being, but he could be patient. Tony would give him a chance one of these days, and Five was going to show him what he could do. 

He had whole pages of notes on side dishes and appetizers that didn’t lean as heavily into seafood as the rest of Tony’s menu did. And yeah, seafood was all well and good. But when Five got the notoriety to open his own place, there wouldn’t be a fish, mussel or cephalopod to be found. 

He was going to show these people that simple could be good, and that down home didn’t always have to “spruced up” in order to be worthy of a Michelin star. Mashed potatoes could be show stoppers all on their own, no gastro-chic required. 

He just had to be patient. 

Five lifted an oyster to eye level, squinting at the seam of it, like the nasty son of a bitch on the inside might be able to see eye to eye with him.

“I hate you.”

[kingofdirtandnothing]

@polyfacetious from ( x )

Tony has never been good at guilty. Not over his own actions. He’s a fuck up, he knows he’s a fuck up. He’s been one since he was fourteen years old and nothing has ever changed that.

But seeing how his fuck ups hurt people? That’s its own brand of hell.

And watching the kid struggle to try and be okay, to be there for Tony after he failed him? It takes him apart, all the way down to the strands of DNA. This is his failure, written huge and wide and inescapable.

He failed these kids. Alec lost his whole world because Tony wasn’t prepared. 

“Part of me...Part of me keeps thinking that I should talk about it. That we should talk about them. Keep ‘em alive that way. But the rest of me thinks it’s giving up.”

And he can’t. Because if he gives up, he’s got nothing left.

[kingofdirtandnothing]

polyfacetious asked: Malec — angels and demons

Magnus stands before the creature, massive and all encompassing, dozens of wings and too bright to look upon, and he hears the question as if it were carved in his marrow. 

What do you believe in, son of Lilith? 

“Love.” Magnus speaks without hesitation, and opens his mind to the bright white light that probes curiously against him. He thinks of his children, grown and strong and so wonderfully kind. He thinks of his grandchildren, living in a world just a little bit better than their parents, and how good that feels, to be a part of that change. 

He thinks of his friends, of sweet Alfie Solomons and his broken brother who found love out in the wilds of the world. Of Billy Butcher who gets to see his kind live on through a tiny child, full of hope. Klaus and his old god. Simon and Jace. 

On and one, the pictures go, and the creature still prods. Magnus knows what it’s looking for. 

“My love.”

Golden slitted eyes close, and Magnus wears his smile as easily as he has for the last thirty years. 

His sweet Alexander, with hair the color of the darkest night without stars, with the kindest eyes Magnus has ever seen. The press of plush lips against his. Bow callused fingertips brushing against his skin with a reverence that hasn’t dampened with the decades. 

Magnus thought he knew love. He thought in six hundred years that he’d felt everything a man could feel, that he had taken his heart to the highest summits and languished in the lowest of valleys.

But none of that could come close to loving his Alexander. 

“I believe in Alec Lightwood.”

[kingofdirtandnothing]

polyfacetious asked: [ public ] >_>

NSFW Meme: (Accepting)

Magnus isn’t stupid. He’d noticed the same car behind him on his weekly trips to the massage parlor for almost a month now. And if that wasn’t enough, Camille had been foolish enough to pay for her private investigator right out of their communal bank account. 

Really, woman. If she wanted to catch him cheating, she was going to have to do better than that. 

So Magnus has been good. No happy endings, though he still tips his sweet little blonde jock the same amount as when he did get off. No tinder dates, no grindr, no random hookups to make the weeks go by.

It’s been a month. A very long, very cold month. (Or as cold as Los Angeles ever gets. It’s a metaphor, really.) And while Magnus is hell bent on not giving his bride what she wants (a way to break the pre-nup) he needs something to get him through the day. 

So he pulls into the hotel parking lot and saunters up to the front desk to pay for a room on the first floor. He knows his new little tail won’t be able to resist, since the building doesn’t open to the outside. 

Except the doors to the pool and hot tub area. Which just so happen to face out into the parking lot. And a conveniently parked black sedan with a cute little detective in an atrocious shirt inside. 

Really, Camille brought this on herself. She should have known better than to hire a good looking private investigator. 

Magnus changes into his swim trunks and leaves everything else up in the room, making his way down to the pool, which is blessedly empty on a Wednesday afternoon. It wouldn’t make Magnus change his plans, but he’d really rather not end up arrested for this. 

He does a few laps around the pool to get the blood flowing, and to be certain that he’s pleasantly disheveled when he adjusts his beach chair to “accidentally” be facing the door. 

It doesn’t take him long to get going, a few teasing brushes at his nipples before he’s got a hand in his trunks, fingertips trailing over his hardening cock. Just the thought of the tall drink of water out there watching him through a camera lens is enough to have Magnus gleefully putting on a show. 

He arches and bucks, hips rolling, and even gets stupidly brave enough in the heat of the moment to push his trunks down over his hips and free his cock so that he can push himself over the edge, painting the planes of his stomach with white as he shudders through his release. 

And thankfully (or regretfully, depending on what side of his mind is speaking) no one walked in.

Magnus pulls his trunks back on and stands, walking right over to the parking lot access door. He blows out a heavy breath against the glass to leave condensation enough to draw the words:

Call Me :)

[kingofdirtandnothing]

polyfacetious asked: Nodus Tollens: The realization that the plot of your life doesn’t make sense to you anymore. Obscure Feelings: (Accepting)

This is not how Magnus expected to be spending his Christmas Eve. 

Now his plan, his plan was to have a lovely little fête at his loft with friends and good mulled wine and a charcuterie board so grand it would make vegetarians weep with longing. 

And Magnus accomplished those things. There was a fire in the fireplace and an old Christmas album on the record player, and he was surrounded by friends and colleagues, with an atrocious wine aerator he got from the game of White Elephant tucked against the side of the couch. 

Magnus was off duty, both from his very legal and posh plastic surgery clinic in Midtown, and from his other clinic which wasn’t exactly a clinic, but a room in the back of Sister Margaret’s, stocked with supplies and often filled with trained killers who met the wrong side of a gun or knife. 

None of that world was supposed to come anywhere near this world. Magnus kept his lines very neat and tidy. He didn’t play where he worked, and he absolutely did not bring work home from Sister Margaret’s. 

Except for the fact that there was motion on Magnus’ balcony, and they were nine stories up. It wasn’t a stray cat, that much was for certain. He excuses himself, making mention of needing fresh air and steps out onto the balcony, closing the door gently behind him.

And what to his wandering eye should appear? 

A trained killer with the face of an angel, and bloody, battered hands. Magnus swallows down a sigh, and the question of how exactly the kid knew where he lived, to focus on the task at hand. 

“How much of that blood is yours, Alexander?” He’s only seen the boy a handful of times, mostly a shadow in the background while someone like Wade or Tony was getting patched up. Alec was very, very good at his job, and most of Magnus’ glimpses of him were watching him turn in bounties. 

Which made this all the more worrying. 

Alec mumbles I’m fine and Magnus doesn’t have the bedside manner right now to keep from rolling his eyes. All Alec’s blood then. Magnus steps in to where he’s propped up against the fire escape (nine stories, his calves must be killing him) and takes up that hand. Closer inspection shows a series of gashes. All Alec’s blood then. Likely from putting his fist through a window or door. 

“I don’t keep a first aid kit on my balcony, Alexander.” But he’s going to, after tonight. Just to be safe. That dark head drops, somewhere between sullen and recalcitrant and Magnus has to resist the urge to shake him. 

Alec mutters this was a mistake and is rounding into I should go when Magnus talks over him. “Go downstairs. There’s a restroom in the lobby. Wash your hands, then come to the door. Keep your hands in your pockets when you come in, and I’ll take you to my room to take your coat.”

There is a first aid kit in his bedroom. 

Magnus waves away any argument before it can build. “I’ve been telling my friends I’m hooking up with people anyway.” It was a good cover story for slipping off to pull bullets out of mercenaries. “They’ll just assume I’m on my knees for you in there for a different capacity.”

Those hazel eyes go wide, and Magnus turns back towards the balcony door, putting on his best ‘doctor’s orders’ voice. 

“Go on. I expect to see you in under ten minutes.”

[kingofdirtandnothing]

13 Days of Halloween: Day 6 (1)

@polyfacetious

(“I’ll thrill you more than any ghost would.”)

It’s a knee jerk reaction, a ridiculous phrase thrown out into the cool October air like Magnus might be able to do anything at all to draw his sweet Alexander away from the siren’s call of duty. 

Magnus knows it’s impossible, of course. Alexander is nineteen going on one hundred, more weight of responsibility on his shoulder than anyone his age deserves. And he will continue marching under the weight of angel’s wings and the clave’s orders until he falls for good. 

Maybe he can blame it on the season. On the cool air coming in from the balcony and his downright lovely display of Jack-O-Lantern’s flickering on the railing, macabre faces grinning with the glow of green witchlight. 

And Alexander, may his angel bless him, actually stops with one hand on the door knob. Now, whether that’s a hesitation born out of a desire to stay or more out of confusion as to why Magnus would compare himself to a spirit of the damned, it’s hard to say.

Those eyebrows could be very hard to read at times. 

Not for the first time since he met Alec Lightwood, Magnus feels the sting of self consciousness set alight in his soul. There was nothing he hated more than feeling small, and no one seemed to accidentally make him feel small more than the person he adored most. 

“Only kidding.” Magnus waves him away with a paltry little smile, summoning his martini to his hand. 

“Duty first, of course.” He can’t leave it like that. He can’t. “Maybe when you’re done we can...have cider.” Genius, Bane. What an exciting prospect for a shadowhunter. 

“In the hot tub.”

Better. But still pathetic.

[kingofdirtandnothing]

polyfacetious asked: [ wall ]

NSFW Meme: (Accepting)

Alec’s got a hand against his chest, keeping him pressed back against the pillar, and there’s a bead of sweat dripping down his temple that Magnus is mesmerized by. He leans in, pulse too high to worry about what he must look like, and lays the flat of his tongue against the skin, lapping it up. 

There’s a strangled sound in Alec’s chest, raspy and short and Magnus knows the kiss is coming before Alec even ducks his pretty little head. It’s a frantic, breathless kiss with more teeth than Alec usually allows himself, and Magnus is sure he’d sell his magic to the highest bidder if it meant he got to stay here forever. 

���Bedroom.” Alec lifts a hand and Magnus should listen. Truly, he should. This is a moment meant for the bedroom. But instead he darts forward to take those lifted fingers into his mouth and suck them all the way down past the knuckle just to watch Alec’s pupils dilate. 

“No.” Magnus’ own voice is wrecked, and Alec echoes the word in confused stereo. No? “No. Here.” Here is relative. They’re in a training space added on to the loft to help Alec keep his idle hands in check while Rafael grew accustomed to his role as the head of the institute. 

They were home. Alone. And the front door was technically locked. Except for the fact that their children and any number of their friends could waltz right past the wards and into the living room, which would give them a few clear view of the training space. 

But Magnus isn’t giving Alec time to think about that. Because there’s dusty blue magic circling around Magnus’ hands and down into Alec’s skin before he has time to mount a logical defense. 

Those already wrecked eyes are little more than rings of color as Alec’s hips buck, and he dives back into the kiss, holding onto Magnus for dear life as the magic slithers and pulses inside of him. 

Magnus wasn’t wasting any more years pretending his sweet husband didn’t very much enjoy being fucked by magic. “Y-you?” It’s a testament to will that Alec can even get the words out with what Magnus is doing to him. Which means Magnus needs to up the speed. And maybe the size. 

He brushes a knuckle down Alec’s cheek lovingly.

“Once you come, I’ll let you take me in your mouth, darling.”

[kingofdirtandnothing]

polyfacetious asked: Vellichor: The strange wistfulness of used bookshops.

Obscure Feelings: (Accepting)

Of all the places in all the world he expects to see the cute swat guy again, this is not it. A gym, dripping with sweat like he’s walked right out of Magnus’ late night shower thoughts? Sure. 

At the grocery store, preferably in a tank top of some variety, with a backwards cap buying milk or eggs or...whatever men in that kind of shape buy to keep in that shape? Absolutely. 

But in the middle of a dear friend’s dusty old bookstore, looking like a treat in a t-shirt so soft it molded against the delicious lines of his shoulders? This was definitely not in Magnus’ fantasy rotation, and it shows by the way he stands at the end of the aisle and gawks.

Like a fish. A landed, idiot fish with his mouth open. “Um-”

“We worked together. I mean. You were called in on one of my cases. Shots fired at a residential in Beverly Park. Guy took his wife and kids hostage. You guys took care of it.” And Magnus would live forever with the 1980s music video slow mo of Alec pulling his helmet off to reveal luscious, sweaty hair and a beautiful face. He was doomed from that very moment.

“I uh. I was the sheriff on the call.” Genius. Utterly brilliant. If he didn’t remember him, Magnus looked like a tool. If he did, it looked attention seeking. This was a no win situation. He lowers his eyes, just happening to make out the spine of the book in Alec’s hand. Ruben Dario. 

“I uh...haven’t read that one. What’s it about?” 

Alec has the good grace to look sheepish at Magnus’ blatant stupidity and mumbles something about poems and yeah, Magnus is ready to jump out of Ragnor’s window and pay to replace it later. 

What he wouldn’t give for a phone call right now to save him from this hellscape of awkwardness. 

“Oh. Well. I hope you enjoy it.” He flashes him a small smile, no teeth, and moves to try and squeeze past Alec and back down the aisle, in hopes of making an escape. 

God help him.

[kingofdirtandnothing]

polyfacetious asked:💭

Thoughts Meme: (Accepting)

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to live once you’re gone.”

[kingofdirtandnothing]

@polyfacetious big ass Christmas Drabble Extravagaza: Day Twenty Five

“Archaeology is the search for...fact.” The sound of the chalk hitting against the chalkboard is loud in the quiet of the room, a percussive sound followed by the squeak of the letters being drawn out in big, capitalized block letters. The underline beneath it serves as emphasis before he turns back to face the class. “Not truth.”

In the back of the room, a young man sits with a New York Giants hat pulled low over his eyes. The voice coming from the front of the room is the same one that he remembers, though the scruffy undergrad that Wan Li knew all those years ago has aged like a fine wine into the talented orator in front of him. 

A suit and a bow tie is not something Wan would have ever been able to picture Indy in. The short shorn hair was another surprise. It made him look older. More professional. (The glasses, Wan remembers. Nights around the fire in India had given him a few glimpses of the man doubled over with glasses low on his nose, scribbling notes about the day’s finds. 

“If it’s truth you’re interested in, Dr. Tyree’s philosophy class is right down the hall.” There a low hum of laughter from the classroom at that, soft enough that it was obvious the sound was either polite or from people who didn’t want to detract from Dr. Jones’ words. “So forget any ideas you have about lost cities, exotic travel and digging up the world.”

Wan is the one who snorts at that, quiet enough in the back row of the auditorium that there was no way he was at risk of being heard. Leave it to Indy (Dr. Jones, that would take some getting used to) to stand in front of a class and tell them that their job wasn’t going to be adventure or truth seeking, when Wan had spent part of his early life doing just that with Indy. 

“We do not follow maps to buried treasure, and ‘X’ never, ever marks the spot.” It was true. The map only led them to the general direction, and there was no ‘X’ when they found the stones in the abandoned halls of Pankot Palace. Just dust and time and careful consideration from the man at the front of the classroom.

“Seventy percent of all archaeology is done in the library.” Another truth, though this one didn’t have as many facets as the rest of the spiel. When he was twelve year old out on an adventure, Wan had thought that Indy was infallible, that he knew everything. But in his time in America and beyond, Wan had learned the truth. Indiana Jones was neither infallible nor all knowing. He was just a diligent, well read men. 

That didn’t do anything to get rid of the boyhood crush Wan had been carrying around since then, and seeing Indy here with elbow patches on his jacket and his bow tie wasn’t doing much to help either.

“Research. Reading. We cannot afford to take mythology at face value.”

And that’s what Wan was doing here, wasn’t it? Refusing to take the myth of Indiana Jones at face value. He wasn’t a kid anymore. There was no way the man could be as sauve and infuriatingly charming as Wan remembered. He needed to look at the facts compared to his memory and find the truth there. 

Dr. Jones looks at the clock on the wall, and the class begins to shuffle, a susurrus of sound as laptops are closed and bags are lifted for things to be put away. He was a man of routine here, that much was obvious. 

“Next week: Egyptology. Starting with the excavation of Naukratis by Blinders Petrie in 1885. I’ll be in my office if anybody’s got any problems for the next hour and a half.” One of the girls from the front row slides a piece of paper across the desk towards Dr. Jones, and Wan doesn’t have to be able to see her face to know she’s giving him the bedroom eyes. 

At least it wasn’t just him.

Indy doesn’t look up at the highest seats in the auditorium as he grabs his books and makes his way towards his office. Wan already knows what he’ll find there. A mob of students, wanting everything from genuine help with their assignments, to an easy fix for their problems. And a few like the brunette from the front of the class who wanted a little one on one attention. 

And when Dr. Jones slips out of the window to his office as an escape route into the garden outside, Wan is there waiting, hands in his pockets. 

“They don’t pay your poor assistant enough.”

Dr. Jones is dusting off the knees of his slacks when he speaks, without looking up. “They don’t pay her at all.” He stands upright, and that smug look finally falls away. It’s been twelve long years since the last time they were in the same place, but Indy’s look says it all. “Shorty?”

Wan remembers staring up at the big brownstone and the older couple waiting on the steps, their fingers clasped together. The woman was on the verge of tears before Wan was ever introduced to her, and as soon as she knew his name, she took him into her arms and whispered ‘welcome to the family’ in Chinese. 

The Kings were never the ones to make Wan feel out of place. The other kids at his boarding school took care of that. Which meant Wan spent most of his middle school and high school years taking diction classes online and after hours until his accent was wiped away. He would never sound like he was from New York, but at least he would sound like he was American when someone spoke to him. 

“Long time no see, Dr. Jones.” Of course, Indy wasn’t Dr. Jones the last time that Wan saw him. He was still an undergrad student with a dream, working on writing the thesis that would help him get his doctorate. 

“Look at you, kid!” Indy’s laughter is warm, and so is his touch as he bustles up and pulls Wan into a hug, smacking his back affectionately as he squeezed him. It was the same kind of hugs that Wan remembered from being a kid, the kind that the sweet and gentle Kings never could manage to replicate. “What brings you all the way out to Monaco?”

The facts are that Wan is here for one reason, and one reason only. To see Indiana Jones with his own two eyes to try and finally put his boyhood crush to bed so that he could move on with his life. But the truth could be less than that and a little to the left, and still be true. “I decided to take a semester abroad.”

“Yeah? What are you studying?” Indy steps back, hands still on Wan’s shoulders as they talk. It’s still weird, being so close to him in height. He was used to Indy being monolithic, and larger than life. Now he was just a guy. 

A gorgeous, charming guy who held a whole class in the palm of his hand just a few minutes ago with an ease that should be criminal. 

“What do you think?” But it’s easy to fall back into this rhythm, to be the smart alec that Indy liked so much that he couldn’t leave him on the streets of Shanghai when it was time to move on. “Do I look like I’m here to be an accountant?”

Indy laughs, warm and low and pleased and Wan feels that same burst of childish pride that he did at twelve years old. He’s twenty four now, it shouldn’t still make him feel like he’s accomplished something to make the guy laugh. “Guess not.”

Wan glances over Indy’s shoulder and sees the door to his office start to open. He grabs the man by his sport coat sleeve and starts tugging him further into the garden and away from the office building. “Hurry, Dr. Jones. Before they find you and you actually have to help your students with their assignments.”

Indy mutters ‘har har’ but he lets himself be tugged along, out of the back end of the garden and into the parking lot of the adjoining building. There wouldn’t be any of Dr. Jones’ students here, this was the arts building. It was as close to a clean getaway as they were going to get. 

But Wan doesn’t stop walking when they get to the parking lot. He keeps striding towards the far end of the parking lot, and the quaint street on the other side of it. “Come on. You’re going to buy me lunch.” Wan isn’t asking. This was just an easy way to buy more time to get to know the man behind the myth. 

This was research. It didn’t always take place inside of a library. 

“Oh I am? And why’s that? How come you’re not buying me lunch, junior?” Indy strides to keep up, his face screwed up into faux indifference. “I’m the one who took you all around the world. The least you can do is repay the favor with a patty melt.”

Wan rolls his eyes. He knows he’s being wound up, but he’s never been able to stop himself from falling right into the argument. “You make it sound like it was a vacation! It wasn’t a vacation! We got shot at in Macau!”

“Oh, that was one time!” Indy is walking right up beside him now, shrugging out of his suit jacket to throw it over his shoulder before he starts in on his bow tie. “You always bring up Macau. What about the car you stole in Shanghai, huh? Prepubescent grand theft auto is no big deal, but one little scuffle over grave robbing and you clutch your pearls!”

The conversation devolves into a petty argument, and by the time they’re stepping into the diner down the street from the campus, it’s entirely in Chinese. The bewildered waitress looks between the two of them before she clears her throat, and it’s like watching a curtain lifted over Indy. (Or dropped. Wan isn’t sure what is an act and what isn’t.)

Indy turns a charming smile on the woman, clearing his throat. “Sorry about that honey, you know how kids can be.” Wan makes a face behind Indy’s shoulder, and he knows that the man can feel it. Kids. It’s not like he was twelve years old anymore. “Table for two, please. Actually, can you make that a booth? Thanks, sweetheart.” Indy wouldn’t be able to get away with talking to women like that if he wasn’t so damn handsome.

The woman blinks at him, trying to decide if she was charmed or offended before she shakes her head, leading them over to a booth in the corner. Indy sits in the far side of the booth, so that he can watch the room at large. Still careful, even if he wanted to pretend he wasn’t. 

“So.” The sentence stops long enough for the waitress to bring them both cups of coffee, and take their order. As promised, Indy orders a patty melt and fries. Wan orders a BLT. It makes him miss the food they used to eat when it was just the two of them. Whatever the locals were having, bright and fresh flavors in everything they had. “What made you decide to come here for your semester abroad?”

Wan doesn’t have a good answer for that. At least not one that doesn’t include pointing out to Indy that he’s here for him, and him alone. “Why not? Mom and Dad were paying and the Archaeology program had an open slot here.” One that Wan has been applying to every three months for the last two years. 

Indy’s expression softens at ‘mom and dad’. Wan knows how worried he was when he left him in New York with the King family. But Dr. Jones was a good judge of character and the Kings were a kind, loving couple who couldn’t have kids of their own. They folded Wan into their life without a moment’s hesitation. 

“And then I saw your name on the website. I thought I might sit in on your class. Maybe I could get a good nap in.”

Indy rolls his eyes, and parrots Wan’s favorite old phrase back at him. “Ha ha. Very funny.”

[kingofdirtandnothing]

polyfacetious asked: “sometimes i wonder if it would be better to just sleep for a while. ”

Poetry Starters: (Accepting)

Distantly, beneath layers and layers of cotton batting hurt and ache radiating through the force, Magnus feels bad for those men he laid out on his way into here. They were people, real people beneath those masks with their own hopes and dreams and loves and life. 

But Magnus’ love was gone. And while those men behind their cold black masks would get up again, Magnus’ heart wouldn’t.

What am I supposed to do?

Well. Alec wouldn’t have that problem anymore. And neither would Magnus. 

“I’ve heard that a sith feels no pain.” Magnus wishes he could get the words out without his voice shaking. That he could be more than just a miserable maelstrom in the force, tainting everything around him with his pain. 

But the only answer he gets is silence, and another black mask staring back at him. 

“I want you to teach me how to not feel anything. I want to be one of your knights.”

[kingofdirtandnothing]

polyfacetious asked: 💭

Thoughts Meme: (Accepting)

“Really, nothing personal. I love seelie. You guys are a great bunch. Very into nature. Very accepting.” Jack is rambling, because the longer he can keep the seelie knights talking, the more likely it is that Alec can get into the garden they need to steal the scrying mirror. 

In the grand scheme of plans, this wasn’t his best. But they were running out of time, and if they were going to save Alec’s dumbass friend from this curse, they needed the mirror. Pronto. 

“I’m a big fan. Really.” The seelie knight in front of him might as well be carved out of onyx, for as little as his face changes. Jack sees a slip of black in the background as Alec darts by on silent feet, and he picks up his speech again.

“Did I tell you that I used to date a se-”

The words die on his tongue, and for possibly the first time in his adult life, Jack O’Neill is struck silent. His stomach plummets to the floor, and Jack finds the name leaving him without any direct permission from his brain.

“...Daniel?”