#polyfacetious

[kingofdirtandnothing]

polyfacetious asked: MaxKurt — cuddles :|

Five Minute Meme: (Accepting)

There’s no moonlight. The moon is new, the sky is dark, the room like the inside of a womb. 

Kurt draws his fingers through Max’s dark hair, slow and steady like a prayer of his own making. There is no guilt, no shame in the press of a body against his. How could there be?

Max was perfect, an angel walking the earth with dusty boots and bright eyes and a voice like water over rocks. 

He was a blessing. 

And Kurt would thank god for him every single day.

[normaltothemax]

@polyfacetious​ another starter i’ve owed forever

They’d been talking for several minutes, Max had held her tongue for several minutes now, because, apparently, it wasn’t polite to comment on how someone smelled right upon meeting them. But now that they’d gotten to know each other a bit---she knew his name was Gar, and she hadn’t even commented on how that was a weird name---she could ask, right?

She was gonna ask.

“So, what are you? And don’t say human, because you don’t smell human.”

[kingofdirtandnothing]

@polyfacetious big ass Christmas Drabble Extravagaza: Day Ten

Miles has been lurking. Kinda. 

Because lurking is a way nicer way to say he’s been kind of, sort of stalking the cute guy who worked at the flower shop. Because homeboy was tall, and handsome as hell, et cetera, et cetera. 

Miles just...needed some time to figure things out. How to go about it. No rushing in half cocked, that’s what his mom would say. Because that’s what Dad would do. And they were trying to keep Dad from doing that. 

Which is how Miles ended up Fresh Prince-ing it, and moving from Chicago all the way to Monte Carlo, to try and help his dad. His parents had been divorced since he was five years old, and honestly the thought of them being together was weirder than anything. 

Mark had never tried to be his dad, and Miles always appreciated that. He loved Mark like family too, but those were shoes no one else could fill. No matter what ocean was between them. So when Mom started worrying about Dad’s mental health, it made sense for Miles to be the one to step up. 

He graduated last year, and this was a free freaking year between high school and college. A year to party and do whatever he wanted, before he buckled down and got his life on track. Chemical engineering degrees weren’t going to get themselves.

And at first, Miles thought about just going for it. Sauntering up in there, handing his phone over to the cute white boy and going ‘hey sexy, call me sometime’. Because if there was one thing Miles was good at, it was getting numbers. And yeah, he could have dropped this whole virginity thing awhile ago if he wanted to, but he was waiting for someone special. 

That was Dad’s fault. Mom and Mark told him a whole bunch of times that sex was just something people did, and as long as he was safe with it, that it was En Bee Dee. No big deal. But Dad...Dad talked about love and relationships like they were some kind of fragile antique. That it was worth it to wait for the right person for your first time. 

And now he was here, and staying here for at least a year, and every time Miles wound himself up to go spit game at the cute white boy florist, he stopped himself. Because Max (he wore a name tag, it’s not like Miles was some kind of creepy Facebook stalker) had real nice eyes and a pretty smile, and he seemed like a cool ass dude. 

You didn’t go in on nice people like that. (Somewhere in the back of his head, he can hear his mom’s voice asking him ‘why would you treat anyone like that, why does their worth define your perception?’ but Miles isn’t listening because he’s eighteen, he can only take so much psychological shit in a day, thanks mom.)

So now Miles was trying to figure out how to do this right. Because it was decided, which maybe he shouldn’t decide shit without actually talking to the guy, but too late. Miles was going to date the cute white boy, and he was going to do everything right, full meet cute and shit, and he was gonna win him over, then get his cherry popped all romantically. It was a Plan. Capital letters and everything.

But he’d never actually done this before, and the books in the romance section in Dad’s shop weren’t super helpful. Probably because most of them were super heteronormative and lame, but Miles had snuck out some pearls of wisdom. 

Like...food. Food was always the way to win somebody over. If you were into somebody and they didn’t like food, then you needed to clear the fuck out and find somebody else. 

So Miles decided that he was going to win Max over with food. And after an afternoon group chat texting spree with Mark and Mom, who was definitely not working even though she was at work, they decided that Miles cooking at home would be too intense to start off with. Way too much room for rejection. Also, Miles couldn’t cook for shit, so. 

Take away. That’s what he was going to start with. The good stuff, from Diego’s, because you had to eat it fast, while it was still warm, so it gave Miles a reason to stick around the flower shop and talk. Then maybe by the time they were done eating, he could drop an ask for Max’s number and walk out of there, smooth as butter. 

Now, he just had to survive Diego and get the tacos. Which was easier said than done, because Diego liked to talk mad shit, especially once he realized that Miles spoke Spanish. (And Miles realized that Diego stuttered way less in Spanish, so he dusted off his Rosetta Stone and practiced that shit at night, just to make sure it was all fresh in his mind.)

Thankfully, it was late enough in the afternoon that the line wasn’t too long. Diego’s got mad busy around noon, because everyone knew when he started cooking fresh and they wanted to get the food right off of the grill. 

But Miles, he knew the better secret. If you waited for the lunch crowd to thin out and bail, then Diego would have to make stuff fresh for you anyway. Still the same fresh off the grill meat and tortillas, but none of the wait. 

Then again, Miles didn’t have a job to get back to, so maybe that had something to do with why his secret tip worked for him and not for anybody else.

“Que pasa, homie!” Miles throws his arms out wide when he steps into the little shop, and is greeted with Diego leaning across the counter to smack knuckles with him, and then pull Miles into one of those single armed hugs that dudes did. 

“You’re late today.” Diego glances up at the clock. It’s closer to two than it is to one, and Miles has made a habit of being here about fifteen after one, most days. 

“Yeah. I was texting with my mom, you know how it is.” Diego’s eyes are big and brown and warm, lips tugging up into a smile. You wouldn’t live if you said it to his face, but everybody knew Diego was a Class A Mama’s Boy. 

“Yeah, for sure.” Diego smacks him in the arm one more time before he turns back to the flat top behind the counter. “Your usual?”

There’s a pang of nerves, like drunk butterflies behind Miles’ ribs. “Two actually.” That gets him a raised eyebrow from Diego. Dad usually ate with M’Baku and James at the book store. And when they ate lunch together, it was almost always at Tony’s. (Because Tony would feed Dad for free, that place was not cheap.)

“Two huh?” It doesn’t take more than a second for Diego to hone in on it. Dude was like a sexy, stuttering shark. “You got a date or something, hermano?” 

See, that was tricky. Because Diego was opening the door up to talk shit about him, but he was doing it in a way that made Miles feel warm and fuzzy. What a jerk. “Hopefully.” Fuck it, there was no such thing as too much input. “I’m gonna take it over to the hot guy at the flower shop and see if I can get the digits.” Miles holds up his phone, giving it a little shake. 

“Max?” Diego’s laughter is big and bright. If ever there was a dude who guffawed, it was Diego. “Man, I wouldn’t have pegged him as your type.”

See, there it was. Here came the shit talking. But for once, Miles was ready. “Nuh uh, man.” He waggles a finger in Diego’s face, after he shoves his phone back into the back pocket of his jeans. “You don’t get to come at me about being white boy thirsty, you hear me?”

That earns him something that’s somewhere between a cough, a laugh and a gurgle, and Diego gives him the finger, chopping the meat up on the grill with the other hand. Yeah, being a mama’s boy wasn’t the only thing Miles knew about Diego. Homeboy had it bad for Klaus across the street. 

But Miles can’t leave it at that, and it’s not like he can talk to his parents about this part. They’d just ‘aww’ at him, and he can’t take that. “He’s hot, okay? And he seems nice.” Seems, because Miles has never actually talked to the dude. He just hopes Diego won’t poke holes in his plan, here. They didn’t need a Titanic situation happening. 

“Max is cool.” Diego agrees, dumping the meat into the corn tortillas in their red and white checked cardboard containers. “He knows a crazy lot about flowers, too. When I wanted to send some to my mom, he walked me around through there and told me what all the different ones meant, and how people used to send love letters with flowers. That shit was wild, like even the color mattered. Can you imagine? Sneaking somebody a random ass bouquet of flowers but instead of it really being random, you were telling them that you were crazy in love with them and wanted their body.”

Diego hands over the two containers of street tacos, a couple of napkins tucked underneath so that Miles wouldn’t forget. They go easy into Miles’ hands, and his thanks is swallowed up by Diego continuing to talk. “Play it cool, man. I don’t think he gets hit on a lot. So it might take him some time to realize that you’re actually into him. So don’t freak and bail, okay?”

Miles would love to take offense to that, except for the fact that he’s absolutely the kind of dude who would freak out and bail at the first sign of rejection. He had a delicate soul, okay? Fine, fine he could figure it out and power through the teeth grinding mortification of waiting to see if somebody was into you. 

“Yeah yeah, I got it. Play it cool.” Miles backs up towards the door, pressing down his left heel and his right toe to do a little about face before he gets the gross, mushy shit out. “Thanks man, you’re the best.”

And of course, his emotional maturity is rewarded with Diego shouting ‘I LOVE YOU BABY, YOU’RE SO GOOD TO ME’ and making obnoxious sucking  kissy noises as Miles hurries out of the door and onto the street. Miles could still hear him with the door closed. What an asshole. (Miles loved the shit outta him.)

It’s four buildings down and crossing the street before Miles finds himself in front of the Midgar Flower Shop. And it’s only when he’s standing there that Miles realized he didn’t even check if Max was working today. What the hell was he going to do with extra tacos if Max wasn’t here? Miles couldn’t give them to the pretty brunette, he didn’t want her to get any ideas-

-”Max is inside. I’ll be back in thirty minutes! You guys have fun!” Speak of the adorable devil, Miles swears a blue streak as the pretty brunette pats him on the back and actually fucking skips away from him, her ponytail bouncing in the breeze. Someone really needed to put a bell on her. 

Miles pulls in a deep breath and steps inside, all those worried butterflies in his stomach turning into dancing ones when Max looks up from where he was cutting the stems on some flowers, and smiles at him. “Hey. What can I do for you?”

Miles offers over one of the containers of street tacos, his heart sitting high in his throat.. 

“Diego was having a special.” No he wasn’t. “Buy one, get one free.” He would never. Stepping up to the counter, Miles puts Max’s tacos down, in case he needed to make a swift exit. 

“You looked kinda hungry, so I figured I’d see if you wanted them or something.”

[kingofdirtandnothing]

@polyfacetious from ( x )

Honestly?

Anakin forgot about the seed. 

I mean, yeah, he’d see it most times when he’d climb up the balcony to get into Max’s apartment without drawing any attention to himself. But then again, Anakin spent most of that time thinking about being able to kiss Max, and not about one of about a million flowers spread across his apartment. 

He also didn’t know what the seed was. He’d bought it from the Night Market, done up in red for the New Year. The old werewolf woman told him that they were lucky seeds. That’s all he needed.

The text comes while he’s sprawled out in his room at the Institute, half dozing while he waited for time to go out and do his patrol. Anakin paws at his phone where it’s hidden beneath his pillow, and has to blink a few times to make the words clear. 

It takes four tries to get the text back to not have any typos in it. 

I’m glad you like it, you deserve beautiful things.

[kingofdirtandnothing]

polyfacetious asked: ⭐️

Headcanon Meme: (Accepting)

Look, he’s into some kinky gay shit. But Mickey never thought holding hands under the fucking stars with an idiot jock’s little brother would be something he liked doing.

Even if he’d kick the shit outta Max for telling anybody.

[kingofdirtandnothing]

polyfacetious asked: please don’t regret me.

Aaaaaangst!: (Accepting)

It all happens so fast. 

One day, he’s got his first orders to report to the High Warlock of Brooklyn, who just happens to be blue and beautiful and surrounded by flowers like some new version of Venus on the half shell, and the next...they’re here. With Anakin begging Max not to regret him. 

Or get him fire for kissing the High Warlock. Who just happens to be his boss’ brother.

There’s more to it, of course. The Head of the Institute kept sending him to the High Warlock. It was supposed to be a punishment. Anakin was too impulsive, he was too reckless. A shadowhunter was supposed to be patient. Thoughtful.

But all those afternoons running errands for the High Warlock or digging out plants in his greenhouse to transplant them into the earth while they all bowed in deference to their caretaker, those were moments that Anakin treasured. It never felt like punishment. 

It felt like freedom. 

Max never asked him to be emotionless. He never asked him to put his feelings to the side. And when Anakin had frustrations with some of the older tenets of the Shadowhunter code, Max listened to him. He didn’t just tell him to follow the rules and stay out of trouble.

(And even when Anakin spent an entire afternoon lamenting the hateful nature of sand after he was punished with a week at the Cairo institute, Max still listened.)

That’s why it was so stupid of him to do this. (Maybe Inquisitor Lightwood was right. Maybe Anakin was just too reckless.) But there’s blood drying in his hair and he lost his stele somewhere back on the Brooklyn bridge where he was fighting demons and Anakin is afraid. 

He’s afraid of dying without ever knowing love. Afraid of dying in silence. 

He pulls away from the flabbergasted high warlock, who hasn’t hexed him to high hell, so at least there’s that, and shifts from foot to foot. 

“I’m sorry, Master Bane. I really am. I don’t want to cause you any trouble, but-” The words catch in his throat, emotion so thick that he can hardly breathe around it. 

“I can’t change the way that I feel. And I couldn’t sleep, thinking about how if I died, you’d never know how much I’m in love with you.”

[kingofdirtandnothing]

polyfacetious asked: homework  Five Sentence Sinday: (Accepting)

“Fuck your homework.” 

That’s incredulous laughter on Mickey’s lips as he hikes Max up against the underside of the bleachers, trying to see if he can balance him on the edge of it to suck him off. 

Probably won’t work, because Max is a squirmy shit and for all his fingers are tightening in Mickey’s hair, he’s still talking about classes and his brother and fucking homework. 

“Do it later.”

He gives up and lets the freshman back down onto his feet, hands gentler than his voice ever is as he runs them up along Max’s neck to cup his face and kiss him.

[kingofdirtandnothing]

polyfacetious asked: Amortentia — Max

Amortentia Meme: (Accepting)

“Queen of the Night Jasmine.”

[kingofdirtandnothing]

polyfacetious asked: 💀

Sad Fucking Death Meme: (Accepting)

My dearest Max,

I was holding you in my arms just a few minutes ago. You’ve finally started sleeping through the night, though it’s almost always your father who gets you to sleep. You adore him, as you should. He’s incredible, and he loves you very much. 

I’ve told him not to give you this letter until you turn sixteen. I have full faith that the warlock sickness will be cured before you fully come into your powers, and that you will be safe. 

I want you to know that I have no regrets. My life has been long, and though it’s just gotten to the best part, I wouldn’t change a minute of it. Because it all brought me here. To our family. And that’s worth more than a dozen lifetimes.

I know Alexander will be an incredible father to you. But I would be remiss if I didn’t ask you to have a little patience with him now and then. He’s the type to close in on himself when he’s hurting. He doesn’t always know how to ask for help. But he loves you very much. You are his world. 

I’m sorry that death touched your life so early. The first time I held you, I told myself that I would be there for you for all the things a warlock could never prepare for. That I would hold your hand through the loss and the pain of a long life. 

I wish I could, darling. So much. 

Whatever you choose to do with your life, whoever you choose to be or who to love, know that I am proud of you. That my love for you will outlast all the stars in the sky. 

Live a long, happy life for me Max. 

Your father,  Magnus

[kingofdirtandnothing]

polyfacetious asked: SPOTS TO KISS + 16

Kiss Meme: (Perpetually Accepting) 16.  a kiss on the back of the neck.

“Uh, that’ll be a no vote from us.” 

Thomas doesn’t even wait for young Max Bane to even finish his speech. He just smiles at him, all sharp teeth and leans himself against the back of James’ chair, arms folded over those luscious broad shoulders. 

And they were the votes for the South. Sure, there were other High Warlocks scattered across the Great Plains and down into the depths of the South, but they all answered to one of two men. 

Both of which were sitting in the room with some of the world’s greatest warlocks. “If I remember correctly...” Thomas croons, tapping a finger against his chin. “There was a High Warlock in this very room who happened to be the swing vote when the Seelie Civil War broke out. He said that it wasn’t our place as Lilith’s Children to get involved. Now who was that, hm?”

Thomas leans forward, attention rapt on his friend, who rumbles Magnus Bane and says nothing else. There were a great many words you could use to describe James Madison. Staunch Stalwart. Thoughtful. Calculating. 

He was also the best damn hype man Thomas could ever hope for. 

Whispers spread like ripples on cool water through the room, and Thomas soaks them up with great satisfaction, even as the little blue emperor shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 

“I would believe that would be a precedent, don’t you?” Dark eyes sweep across the room, not landing on anyone too long. He doesn’t need to single anyone out, all he needs to do is sow the seeds of dissent. “If we don’t help our brothers in blood when they needed us in their uprising, then I see no reason to get involved in the nephilim civil war. They’ll figure it out.”

Thomas waves the thought away, like a particularly insistent gnat. “Or they’ll all die out before it becomes our problem.” He’s delighted to hear a small laugh hidden behind a cough, somewhere to his right. 

Hook, line and sinker. 

Honestly? If he were the man in charge, Thomas would start working towards laws setting term limits for High Warlocks. You put the same man or woman in charge for centuries, then all you were doing was facing their entrenched beliefs and biases at every turn. 

It made for easy targets for the old guard, even as the Bane boy started stirring up trouble, and the whispers of revolution. 

“Nay.” Thomas lifts a graceful hand, watching as James does the same. And a smattering of other hands across the room. Not a majority, but a hung jury. By lunch, he’d have the votes on his side. 

But for now, Thomas delights himself with slipping forward with an ‘oops, pardon me’ as he drops a handkerchief, an absolutely bald excuse to press his lips to the back of James’ neck. 

And then get promptly elbowed in the gut. 

Thomas coughs, laughter hot on the heels and stands upright. 

“Well, gentleman. Ladies. I say we take a break for lunch.” He claps his hands together. “I’m thinking Thai. What about you?”

[kingofdirtandnothing]

13 Days of Halloween: Day 5 (1)

@polyfacetious

Getting lost in a corn maze

“You’re doing this on fucking purpose, aren’t you? Mad little stray kitten holding court in the middle of a corn maze.” Alfie throws his arms out wide, cane hung along the inside of the crook of his elbow. “You’re keeping me fucking captive, that’s what you’re doing. This is kidnapping, Thomas.”

Alfie isn’t really angry. And Tommy isn’t really lost. 

But this whole display is about seeing which one of them cracks first, because Tommy can hear Peter cackling from where he’s “hiding” around the corner. 

Once Max taught Tommy how to whisper to the seeds in the ground and ask them to grow and change, he’d opened their home up to all kinds of downworld folk who enjoyed the holiday and didn’t want to deal with mundanes. 

What they didn’t know, and what Alfie did, was that the maze changed with Tommy’s mood. All he had to do was stroke a stalk with his finger, whisper a little something in the Rokker tongue and they’d wind and change and grow closed again. 

He liked having the children around. Peter especially liked having the other children around. It was what a gypsy boy deserved. Good mates, good family. Safety. 

“Alfie.” Tommy has decades worth of practice keeping his voice calm, and even when it comes to the volatile man in front of him. 

“If I wanted to kidnap you, I would have gagged you.”