maple-syrup-supremacy

[maple-syrup-supremacy]

In honor of Valentine’s Day,

Dedicated to everyone who uses the Metric System with pride.

❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧

Metric Love

On the night of February 13th, Karl could be found poring over a letter in his study.

Even kilometres could not separate us, said the line in his poem.

“Miles” definitely has a better ring to it, he thought. But it was essential that she knew that he was an avid metric fan.

Which is why he’d booked a reservation in a cafe exactly three kilometres from his house. No need to bring a bad aura on the first date by having it in a place three miles away! He needed as much luck as he could get.

He could imagine his date lovingly look at him over her approximate 140 mililitres coffee cup as he told her about how, in the metric system, one only had to move over the decimal point—

He woke from his daydreaming when his glasses fell off his nose. He hastily put them back on again and scrutinized his letter. Kilometres sounds better, he decided, and inserted the letter into the envelope.

After carefully measuring three centimetres of clear tape and sealing the envelope with it, he laid back and closed his eyes, dreaming of a 20° Celcius day.

#ace writes #valentine's day #metric system

[maple-syrup-supremacy]

I desire so much It is a feeling I can touch

I cannot get it all What I have is very small

I want at least some things to go my way All I am left to do is pray

Heaps of hopes and dreams dominate It piles on and on until it such a great weight

Finally I know It is not in my control; but it must not be my deathblow

Taglist: @themadhatter999 @writeforjordelia @shadowhuntingdemigod @ipromiseiwillwrite @the-enchanted-dreamer @revvs-trash @blackxstairs Lmk if you wanna be added/removed!

#ask to tag #i don't think there is anything but yk #ace writes #poem

[maple-syrup-supremacy]

TW injury

“Sorry,” they say My gaze says, “I will make you pay”

They have ruined me I have become the beach glass near the sea

I am no longer who I was I look down at my hands wrapped in gauze

People say, everybody gets hurt However, I’m the only one covered in dirt

Did they do it on purpose?, I wonder My glare can fight thunder

Taglist: @della-vacker-supremacy @themadhatter999 @writeforjordelia @shadowhuntingdemigod @ipromiseiwillwrite @the-enchanted-dreamer @revvs-trash @im-not-ruined-im-ruination Lmk if you wanna be added or removed!

#tw injury #ace writes #poem #ask to tag #yes y'all get another one #it has a similar tone to the previous one

[maple-syrup-supremacy]

TW killing mention, crying mention

There’s two types of situations, aren’t there? People had low expectations for me, and I just proved them right People had high expectations for me, and I failed to prove them

They don’t understand They just walk away, internally saying reprimands

I’m the one who’s left behind I’m the one who’s blind

Embarrassment threatens to kill me And I don’t know what to be

Suddenly all I want to do is cry Instead I look up and scream at the sky

I whisper, “Someone kill me now” I am so frustrated I vow,

“I will prove them wrong” I am very strong

Taglist: @della-vacker-supremacy @themadhatter999 @writeforjordelia @shadowhuntingdemigod @ipromiseiwillwrite @the-enchanted-dreamer @revvs-trash @im-not-ruined-im-ruination Lmk if you wanna be added or removed!

#tw killing mention #tw crying mention #ace writes #poem #ask to tag

[maple-syrup-supremacy]

If TSOA was a metaphor

There are many types of trees, and all of them are unique.

All of them have suffered.

Achilles and Patroclus were not so different when they were trees.

Achilles grew up in a famous grove, showered with love and care. Always in the spotlight.

Patroclus had to be moved from his original spot to the grove that had Achilles because he was being treated so poorly.

But after he was imported, he and Achilles were near each other and as they grew together, their roots entangled.

They had several years of peace, like the calm before the storm.

Because they were soon tested.

Tested against the might of the world.

Attacked.

Achilles shielded Patroclus, and since he was nicknamed the greatest warrior, he prevailed. He fought back like the wind: uncontrolled, powerful, and victorious.

But all good things must end. Or rather, be balanced.

When Achilles refused to fight, and let the other trees in the grove die, for they could not sustain without him, Patroclus took up the job.

To his surprise, he was triumphant in the beginning. But when everything started to go downhill, it went to the very bottom.

Patroclus was dead.

To say Achilles raged would be comparing an ant to a bird.

Some whispered, he has become a monster.

Perhaps he had. His lover was dead, after all.

Patroclus’s roots, which were entwined with Achilles’s, slowly killed him. The final blow was the enemy’s last shot of the war.

Achilles dropped the most glorious, sweetest fruit he had ever produced as he left the world of the living.

The people gave him the finest, a hero’s burial.

But not Patroclus.

The people did not treat him with kindness, which was what Achilles had asked for.

He was left there to rot.

One tree was given the best funeral one could ask for, but the other was given the opposite.

Is that how we treat the world and our community?

Are we that cruel?

#tsoa #patrochilles #ace writes

[maple-syrup-supremacy]

Romeo and Juliette - Benmars One-shot

Not Sad | Sad | Sadder | Saddest

TW/CW: Romeo and Juliette, blood, gore, violence, suicide, basically everything that happens in These Violent Delights

Sometimes things happen only because we are told to believe they happened.

Not a single word was said as they walked back to the White Flower territory.

Roma hadn’t let go of Alisa’s hand, and her other hand was in Benedikt’s, squeezing it tightly.

Ben let go of Alisa’s hand without a single word and with a plain expression and started walking to his room.

Roma didn’t stop him.

“Poison,” ordered Benedikt to the nearest servant.

No one commented on the state he looked like. They all hurried to the pantry where the poisons and serums were kept.

None of them asked why. The gang members were always asking for poison so they could poison someone.

A minute and a half later, Benedikt had a small vial which he stuck into his pocket and went into his room.

Alisa looked at the door again and again, as if hoping Marshall would suddenly walk through. It wasn’t fair she was alive when he wasn’t.

Benedikt Montagov screamed raw in his sleep.

No one came. They were used to this by now.

But Roma hesitated outside of his cousin’s door. It was his fault Marshall was dead.

The thought hit him like the bullet had hit Marshall. Only he didn’t die; he got to live with betrayal and the knowledge that it was his fault everything had gone to pieces.

Why, oh why, had he ever trusted Juliette? he asked himself again and again, though he knew why: he had hope.

Now that hope was crushed just like the thought of never seeing Marshall again.

Benedikt couldn’t take it anymore. He had poison, and now it was going to be of some use.

He hesitated one minute before he decided. He was going to see Marshall at any rate. Even if that meant dying.

“Mars, I’m coming,” he whispered to no one.

Then he screwed the lid off and emptied the contents of the vial into his mouth.

Juliette knocked furiously on the door of the safe house. Marshall opened it immediately, looking at her with hope. “Can I go now—”

“One of our spies told me Benedikt Montagov killed himself. Because of you,” she added softly.

Marshall recoiled in shock. “I can’t believe you’re actually lying to me. You were lying earlier too, weren’t you? What are you going to get out of this?”

Juliette took a deep breath, and pulled out a crumpled pamphlet out of her pocket. Marshall’s eyes scanned over the title: Benedikt Montagov, beloved member of the White Flowers, died—

And before Juliette could stop him, he grabbed a knife from her belt, and stuck it in his stomach, right where Tyler’s bullet had shot him, cutting the stitches open.

He fell with a desperate, bizarre look on his face, his lips forming the word “Ben.”

But there is nothing we can do. It’s the way of life.

And death.

Taglist: @della-vacker-supremacy @themadhatter999 @writeforjordelia @theenchanteddreamer @shadowhuntingdemigod @reyna-herondale Lmk if you wanna be added or removed! (Also feel free to tag other people.)

#ace writes #benmars #tvd

[maple-syrup-supremacy]

Not a Lie - Benmars One-shot

Not Sad | Sad | Sadder | Saddest

TW/CW: Romeo and Juliette, blood, gore, violence, suicide, basically everything that happens in These Violent Delights

The deer is almost out of the jungle, but the lion catches up at the last mile.

Alisa looked at the door again and again, as if hoping Marshall would suddenly walk through. It wasn’t fair she was alive when he wasn’t.

Benedikt Montagov screamed raw in his sleep.

No one came. They were used to this by now.

But Roma hesitated outside of his cousin’s door. It was his fault Marshall was dead.

The thought hit him like the bullet had hit Marshall. Only he didn’t die; he got to live with betrayal and the knowledge that it was his fault everything had gone to pieces.

Why, oh why, had he ever trusted Juliette? he asked himself again and again, though he knew why: he had hope.

Now that hope was crushed just like the thought of never seeing Marshall again.

“Mars! Marshall. MARSHALL SEO.”

Benedikt had said Marshall’s name in every variation, language, and tone he knew. He had pleaded with anyone (whether they were above or below) to get Marshall back. He had done everything except kill himself to see Marshall. But it was killing him anyway.

All he wanted was one last hug. One last laugh. One last smile.

“Mars,” he whispered softly, one last time, a boy that knew nothing would ever be right again but still had a sliver of hope left, before he buried his face into his pillow and sobbed out whatever liquid was still left in him.

The damn loneliness was killing Marshall Seo as much as Tyler Cai’s bullet had been.

He wanted to make sure poor little Alisa was safe, Roma was okay, but most of all he wanted to see Benedikt.

Ben, the other part of his heart, the twin of his soul, the yin to his yang, the yang to his yin. Ben. The person he loved most.

It was his fault, he supposed, for getting so entangled with a person who loved someone from the enemy’s side. But was it his fault he had become attached to a person? His fault he had eventually started loving his best friend? Was it his damn fault that he lived in a city divided by a blood feud?

Even if it wasn’t, it was still his life. And there was nothing he could do but wait till Juliette could do something about her cousin so he could finally get out of this safehouse and into Ben’s arms.

Then it occurred to him: he could do something. How had he not realized? Maybe the desperation was driving him mad, that he actually considered the craziest idea he had ever had.

Damn doing a favour for Juliette Cai. He needed to see Benedikt. Let Benedikt know he was alive. He could sneak out of here, his face hidden in his hoodie, buy (or steal) a wig from the roadside sellers, get a mask of some sort, and sneak into the White Flowers territory.

Yes, that’s what he would do. The only thing that would keep him sane.

He took an empty water jug and smashed it against the windows, breaking the wood that had warded up the glass. He heard something smash below, and knew that the debris must have fallen. He ducked to make sure no one had seen him. After two minutes, when he figured that if anyone had seen the broken glass and chopped wood would have left, he lifted himself up and looked out the window—the first view of the city he had seen since almost two weeks. It looked . . . different. Less people. He supposed they were all being cautious, and at least no one would be able to see a random person climbing down a building.

Marshall messed up his hair, put his hood on, and took a deep breath before he put one leg out the window.

Grabbing the windowsill tightly, he put his other leg out the window as well.

He climbed down, slowly and steadily, years of practice guiding him. When the distance left was just half a meter, he jumped down.

He hid behind an empty cart, making sure no one had seen him, waiting out two minutes in which he re-adjusted his hood and started walking again.

Within ten minutes, he found the tailor shop he, Benedikt, and Roma used to go to get disguises. Usually they paid, but he had no money now, so he entered through the back and found a large purple overcoat, a russet wig, and a cat mask. He put them on, listening attentively in case someone came into the storage room, and left.

He walked for a bit, until he could tell he was in White Flower territory, and Ben’s place was just a block away.

Then he heard whispers. He caught a few words: “our territory,” “imposter,” and “Scarlet.”

But he caught it too late.

The bullet was embedded in his back before he could react.

He fell, face-first onto the ground, with only one thought in mind:

I failed you, Ben. I failed you again.

“Sir!” A servant knocked on the door repeatedly.

“Go away!” Benedikt screamed.

“Sir, there’s some news about Marshall Seo,” the servant said.

That got Benedikt’s attention. He rushed to the door and opened it. In front of him was a servant with flushed cheeks. “Is Marshall alive?” he asked breathlessly.

The servant nodded, then stopped. “He—was. He was on White Flower territory, and some of them thought he was a Scarlet. They shot him in the back. He’s dead now.”

Benedikt finally lost his grip on reality and fell to the floor.

It is a different kind of loss.

Benedikt Montagov had gotten his consequence for hoping.

He would never hope again.

Taglist: @della-vacker-supremacy @themadhatter999 @theenchanteddreamer @writeforjordelia @shadowhuntingdemigod @reyna-herondale Lmk if you wanna be added or removed! (Also feel free to tag other people.)

#ace writes #benmars #tvd

[maple-syrup-supremacy]

A Living Ghost - Benmars One-shot

Not Sad | Sad | Sadder | Saddest

TW/CW: Romeo and Juliette, blood, gore, violence, suicide, basically everything that happens in These Violent Delights

If the reason you’re living for ceases to exist, do you still exist?

Alisa looked at the door again and again, as if hoping Marshall would suddenly walk through. It wasn’t fair she was alive when he wasn’t.

Benedikt Montagov screamed raw in his sleep.

No one came. They were used to this by now.

But Roma hesitated outside of his cousin’s door. It was his fault Marshall was dead.

The thought hit him like the bullet had hit Marshall. Only he didn’t die; he got to live with betrayal and the knowledge that it was his fault everything had gone to pieces.

Why, oh why, had he ever trusted Juliette? he asked himself again and again, though he knew why: he had hope.

Now that hope was crushed just like the thought of never seeing Marshall again.

“Mars! Marshall. MARSHALL SEO.”

Benedikt had said Marshall’s name in every variation, language, and tone he knew. He had pleaded with anyone (whether they were above or below) to get Marshall back. He had done everything except kill himself to see Marshall. But it was killing him anyway.

All he wanted was one last hug. One last laugh. One last smile.

“Mars,” he whispered softly, one last time, a boy that knew nothing would ever be right again but still had a sliver of hope left, before he buried his face into his pillow and sobbed out whatever liquid was still left in him.

The damn loneliness was killing Marshall Seo as much as Tyler Cai’s bullet had been.

He wanted to make sure poor little Alisa was safe, Roma was okay, but most of all he wanted to see Benedikt.

Ben, the other part of his heart, the twin of his soul, the yin to his yang, the yang to his yin. Ben. The person he loved most.

It was his fault, he supposed, for getting so entangled with a person who loved someone from the enemy’s side. But was it his fault he had become attached to a person? His fault he had eventually started loving his best friend? Was it his damn fault that he lived in a city divided by a blood feud?

Even if it wasn’t, it was still his life. And there was nothing he could do but wait till Juliette could do something about her cousin so he could finally get out of this safehouse and into Ben’s arms.

Then it occurred to him: he could do something. How had he not realized? Maybe the desperation was driving him mad, that he actually considered the craziest idea he had ever had.

Damn doing a favour for Juliette Cai. He needed to see Benedikt. Let Benedikt know he was alive. He could sneak out of here, his face hidden in his hoodie, buy (or steal) a wig from the roadside sellers, get a mask of some sort, and sneak into the White Flowers territory.

Yes, that’s what he would do. The only thing that would keep him sane.

He took an empty water jug and smashed it against the windows, breaking the wood that had warded up the glass. He heard something smash below, and knew that the debris must have fallen. He ducked to make sure no one had seen him. After two minutes, when he figured that if anyone had seen the broken glass and chopped wood would have left, he lifted himself up and looked out the window—the first view of the city he had seen since almost two weeks. It looked . . . different. Less people. He supposed they were all being cautious, and at least no one would be able to see a random person climbing down a building.

Marshall messed up his hair, put his hood on, and took a deep breath before he put one leg out the window.

Suddenly he stopped. What the hell was he doing? There was no doubt someone would recognize him! He was being an idiot. His dream, his hope of seeing Benedikt again shattered. There was no point.

No point at all.

He moved his leg back inside the room and sighed, grabbing a full water jug. He slid down, his back grazing the wall beneath the window.

He drank greedily—as if the liquid would wipe all his worries away.

It was salty.

No.

No, you don’t.

You exist physically, but not mentally and emotionally. There is no point for you to live while the reason you lived for doesn’t. You become a living ghost.

That’s what Benedikt Montagov had become.

A living ghost.

Taglist: @della-vacker-supremacy @themadhatter999 @writeforjordelia @theenchanteddreamer @shadowhuntingdemigod @reyna-herondale Lmk if you wanna be added or removed! (Also feel free to tag other people.)

#ace writes #bemars #tvd

[maple-syrup-supremacy]

I'm Not the Same Person You Left - Benmars One-shot

Not Sad | Sad | Sadder | Saddest

TW/CW: Romeo and Juliette, blood, gore, violence, suicide, basically everything that happens in These Violent Delights

Hope is a feather. It sticks on for some time, but eventually it falls.

Alisa looked at the door again and again, as if hoping Marshall would suddenly walk through. It wasn’t fair she was alive when he wasn’t.

Benedikt Montagov screamed raw in his sleep.

No one came. They were used to this by now.

But Roma hesitated outside of his cousin’s door. It was his fault Marshall was dead.

The thought hit him like the bullet had hit Marshall. Only he didn’t die; he got to live with betrayal and the knowledge that it was his fault everything had gone to pieces.

Why, oh why, had he ever trusted Juliette? he asked himself again and again, though he knew why: he had hope.

Now that hope was crushed just like the thought of never seeing Marshall again.

“Mars! Marshall. MARSHALL SEO.”

Benedikt had said Marshall’s name in every variation, language, and tone he knew. He had pleaded with anyone (whether they were above or below) to get Marshall back. He had done everything except kill himself to see Marshall. But it was killing him anyway.

All he wanted was one last hug. One last laugh. One last smile.

“Mars,” he whispered softly, one last time, a boy that knew nothing would ever be right again but still had a sliver of hope left, before he buried his face into his pillow and sobbed out whatever liquid was still left in him.

The damn loneliness was killing Marshall Seo as much as Tyler Cai’s bullet had been.

He wanted to make sure poor little Alisa was safe, Roma was okay, but most of all he wanted to see Benedikt.

Ben, the other part of his heart, the twin of his soul, the yin to his yang, the yang to his yin. Ben. The person he loved most.

It was his fault, he supposed, for getting so entangled with a person who loved someone from the enemy’s side. But was it his fault he had become attached to a person? His fault he had eventually started loving his best friend? Was it his damn fault that he lived in a city divided by a blood feud?

Even if it wasn’t, it was still his life. And there was nothing he could do but wait till Juliette could do something about her cousin so he could finally get out of this safehouse and into Ben’s arms.

Then it occurred to him: he could do something. How had he not realized? Maybe the desperation was driving him mad, that he actually considered the craziest idea he had ever had.

Damn doing a favour for Juliette Cai. He needed to see Benedikt. Let Benedikt know he was alive. He could sneak out of here, his face hidden in his hoodie, buy (or steal) a wig from the roadside sellers, get a mask of some sort, and sneak into the White Flowers territory.

Yes, that’s what he would do. The only thing that would keep him sane.

He took an empty water jug and smashed it against the windows, breaking the wood that had warded up the glass. He heard something smash below, and knew that the debris must have fallen. He ducked to make sure no one had seen him. After two minutes, when he figured that if anyone had seen the broken glass and chopped wood would have left, he lifted himself up and looked out the window—the first view of the city he had seen since almost two weeks. It looked . . . different. Less people. He supposed they were all being cautious, and at least no one would be able to see a random person climbing down a building.

Marshall messed up his hair, put his hood on, and took a deep breath before he put one leg out the window.

Grabbing the windowsill tightly, he put his other leg out the window as well.

He climbed down, slowly and steadily, years of practice guiding him. When the distance left was just half a meter, he jumped down.

He hid behind an empty cart, making sure no one had seen him, waiting out two minutes in which he re-adjusted his hood and started walking again.

Within ten minutes, he found the tailor shop he, Benedikt, and Roma used to go to get disguises. Usually they paid, but he had no money now, so he entered through the back and found a large purple overcoat, a russet wig, and a cat mask. He put them on, listening attentively in case someone came into the storage room, and left.

He walked for a bit, until he could tell he was in White Flower territory, and Ben’s place was just a block away.

He took to the wall to make sure no one could see him and sneakily made his way deeper into the buildings.

When he was able to see Ben’s window, he stopped. Did he really want to do this? Endanger Ben? Put Ben’s life into even more danger?

No.

No, he didn’t.

But his desire to see him was overwhelming and Marshall decided he could not live with the fact that he would’ve been able to see Ben but didn’t.

And no doubt Ben wanted to see him too.

He took off the overcoat, the wig, and the mask, letting his disguise slip away.

Marshall took a few steps forward away, and was able to touch the window. He knocked hesitantly, then paused. Then knocked again, properly this time.

He gasped.

Benedikt wasn’t sure whether he was dreaming again, had died, was looking at Marshall’s ghost, or was getting hallucinations.

And honestly, he didn’t care. He was getting to see Marshall again, and that was all that mattered.

Benedikt’s blonde hair was messed up, his face was flushed, his skin was way too pale, and he basically looked like a ghost. Someone who hadn’t eaten, slept, or even had proper hygiene. Marshall grimaced when he saw his best friend.

“I must have died and gone to heaven to receive such a present,” Benedikt said. “Or I must certainly be dreaming. Or is it your ghost? Haunting me? I know I should’ve saved you, but I couldn’t. So I’ll let you give me as much grief as you want as long as you’ll stay.”

“Benedikt, you’ve gone crazy,” Marshall remarked.

“Maybe it is the actual you. Only you could be so vexing.”

Marshall leaned back. What was wrong with Benedikt? Then he noticed a plate, full. Not a crumb had been eaten. Benedikt hadn’t eaten anything today, maybe not even drank. Suddenly he felt selfish for delaying this visit for so long. “Can I come in?” he asked, not bothering for the answer, already moving to de-attach the window lock.

Benedikt seemed to have resurrected, and he fiddled with the lock before Marshall, opening it, letting him in.

He looked behind and in all directions, making sure no one could see him, and crawled through the window.

Tripping at the last second, he toppled into Ben, who didn’t have much strength—after all, he had been eating less—and together they fell, Marshall half on top of Benedikt, half on top of the floor. He blushed, which wasn’t like him to do.

Before Benedikt had gathered his strength to sit up, Marshall did, and grabbed the plate with food on it. He helped Benedikt sit up, and slowly fed him small bites of an apple. As Ben had finished the apple, Marshall peeled an orange and fed him that.

Slowly, Benedikt regained his strength, his proper strength, as Marshall fed him a day’s worth of food. It seemed as if Benedikt had only been having only one or none meals a day.

Finally, when the plate was empty, Marshall moved his right index finger over Ben’s lips, wiping away bread crumbs. When he was done, Ben moaned.

“What?” Marshall asked, honestly surprised.

“I never knew—all these years, and God, I was dumb.”

“We’ve been over this. You are dumb.”

Benedikt laughed. “That—you making me laugh. I—” He shook his head. “Can I kiss your finger?”

“You’ll get your mouth dirty again.”

“Maybe I want that.”

Marshall sighed and stuck out his finger into Benedikt’s lap. Ben kissed it. Then Marshall ran his finger over Benedikt’s mouth again, wiping his face clean, taking care of him.

Benedikt had wished for one last hug, one last laugh, one last smile. Now we would make sure each one was memorable, plastered into his memory.

He would make sure he never lost Marshall again.

Marshall Seo the full moon outside, bringing hope and possibilities and new beginnings. He cherished the view and feelings like he cherished Benedikt.

It grows back, though.

Benedikt Montagov had lost a feather, but it had grown back.

He had hope again.

Taglist: @della-vacker-supremacy @themadhatter999 @writeforjordelia @theenchanteddreamer @shadowhuntingdemigod @reyna-herondale Lmk if you wanna be added or removed! (Also feel free to tag other people.)

#ace writes #benmars #tvd

[maple-syrup-supremacy]

Stargazing - A Kanej One-Shot

*Kaz is with Inej on her ship*

“The stars,” Inej said. “They’re so beautiful.”

Not as beautiful as you, Kaz wanted to say. The sky is as dark as your hair. The stars are the twinkles in your eyes. Yet they still do not compare.

Instead he said, “Yes. They are.”

Without saying a word, Inej shuffled closer to Kaz. He let her.

Together they looked upon the sky, enjoying each other’s company more than that of the stars.

@della-vacker-supremacy @themadhatter999 @writeforjordelia @theenchanteddreamer @shadowhuntingdemigod @queen-born-out-of-fire @ninacarstairss Lmk if you wanna be added or removed!

#ace writes #kanej #grishaverse

[maple-syrup-supremacy]

Go to Bed - Jurdan One-Shot

“This is heaven,” Cardan mumbled, still chewing.

Jude, who was about to take another bite of her slice, laughed. Then she took another bite.

“My dad’s the cook, so of course it’s good,” Heather said. She put the breadstick that was in her hand in her mouth.

Oak drained his glass of Pepsi to the dregs and looked at the bottom as if hoping more would come.

“Why does Faerieland not have this?” Cardan demanded suddenly. “I have to go to the mortal world whenever I have a craving for this?”

“We could always send it to you,” Heather suggested.

“Or Taryn could bring it over whenever she comes,” Vivi said.

“Mmm,” Taryn said, licking her fingers like she used to do when she was a kid.

“So what’s this called? Pigga?” Cardan asked between bites.

Oak giggled. “Pizza. With two ‘z’s.”

“Well, this pizza is delicious.”

✼✼✼

“Go to bed, Oak! It’s 11!” Taryn said.

“Do I have to?” Oak groaned.

“Yes,” Taryn said firmly, shooing him on the couch. (Jude and Cardan were going to sleep in his room.)

“Fine,” he said, extending the e so it sounded more like Fineee.

When Jude came into Oak’s room, Cardan was already lying on the bed. “I have seen that whenever mortals say ‘go to bed,’ they mean ‘go to sleep,’ and not literally go to bed. However, whenever I say it to you, I mean it literally. Go to bed, Jude, but not to sleep.”

“You’re a shameless hoe,” Jude told him.

“But I’m your shameless hoe,” Cardan said.

“True,” Jude said, her lips curling into a smile before she put her mouth over his.

✼✼✼

The next evening, after a long day of arguing with two trolls, a faerie, and a hag, they were ready to go back to Faerieland. But Vivi had other plans—you can go back tomorrow, she said; who knows when you’re going to come back to the mortal world? I have six tickets for a movie—and so they went to the nearest cinema to watch The Lion King remake.

All of them except Cardan had watched the original one, so they compared it to that while he sat in the midst of it all, intrigued by what was going on screen.

After the movie was over, Cardan said, “I’m like Simba. I’m the king and I have evil family members who kill their brothers.”

Oak laughed. Vivi shot Cardan a nasty look.

“We’re all monsters here!” Cardan defended. “Your dad killed his wife and her husband. Taryn killed her husband. I don’t even know the total list of people Jude has killed—”

This time Jude shot Cardan a nasty look. “What about all the crimes you’ve committed? What about that, huh?”

“Let’s just go home,” Heather said, breaking up the argument.

✼✼✼

By the time they reached home, it was past midnight.

Cardan went straight to Oak’s room, not bothering to listen to Vivi’s speech to Oak about going to bed right now or taking his shoes off. “You’re going to get my bed dirty!” Oak complained when he came inside to get a pillow.

Cardan rolled his eyes and kicked his shoes off, then wrapped himself in the blanket.

When Jude entered the room, he was half-asleep. “I thought when ‘go to bed’ didn’t mean ‘go to sleep,’” she teased.

Cardan attempted to swat her but just grabbed empty air.

Jude laughed before giving him a kiss on the cheek and settling in beside him.

Taglist: @della-vacker-supremacy @themadhatter999 @writeforjordelia @theenchanteddreamer @shadowhuntingdemigod @queen-born-out-of-fire Lmk if you wanna be added or removed!

#ace writes #jurdan #tfota

[maple-syrup-supremacy]

The True Vision - Malec One-shot

“Daddy!”

Max was tugging on Alec’s sleeve. Gently, Alec took his hand off and pulled Max on his lap, ruffling his hair. “What is it, Max?”

“I want another brotha orra sista!” Max exclaimed.

Alec frowned. “But don’t you like Rafe?”

“Another brotha orra sister!” Max repeated.

Rafe, who had been smugly looking at Alec’s phone, looked up. Alec thought he could see several emotions flash in his eyes—fear, being unwanted, a feeling of not belonging—that orphans had. Alec knew Magnus had those too when he was very young. He had told himself he would do anything to make sure no one felt like that again. Now, it was happening in his own home.

“Rafe, listen,” Alec said as gently as he could.

Rafe just stared at him with wide eyes.

“We will never ever abandon you. We love you. Do you know that, Rafe? You’re safe with us, I promise.”

Rafe didn’t say anything.

Max seemed to realize what he had said and how it affected Rafe because he pouted, pulled himself out of Alec’s lap and walked over to Rafe and hugged him. They stayed in the embrace for so long, Magnus came into the house, exhausted from arguing with Elliot the vampire about how he could not install a disco ball in Hotel Dumort. Magnus gave Alec a kiss on the cheek, then pointed to Max and Rafe and mouthed What happened?

I’ll tell you later, Alec mouthed back. Rafe and Max both had tears in their eyes and when they pulled away they stared at each other until Max decided, “I don’t want another brotha orra sista. Rafe is Max’s brotha. Max loves Rafe.”

Rafe had started full-on sobbing. Magnus walked to him and patted him on the back. “Do you want to see some magic?”

Rafe nodded eagerly.

Magnus snapped his fingers to reveal a glowing orb—that looked a lot like a snow globe, Alec thought—that had an image that made Alec’s knees weak. It was the four of them together: Alec and Magnus holding hand, Rafe on Magnus’s shoulders and Max on Alec’s shoulders, the two of them laughing and also holding hands. It made Alec appreciate just how much Magnus, Max, and Rafe meant to him. He would do anything for them.

Rafe seemed to realize that, too. He squeezed Magnus’s hand and held his other hand with Max. He also stuck his tongue out at Alec, which reassured him that Rafe was okay.

“Now, who wants to go to bed?” Magnus said.

“Not me!” Max said excitedly. “I want to see what Rafe sees! On Dada’s phone!”

Rafe looked surprised. What did he look at in my phone? Alec wondered briefly, but shrugged that thought aside.

Together, Rafe and Max went to Max’s room, giggling at a joke Max had said. Alec didn’t know Rafe could giggle, but it was a pleasant sound that made Alec’s heart go ka-bump. It made Alec feel like he was the luckiest man in the world. And perhaps, because Alec had found true love, he was.

As soon as their kids were asleep—Rafe still holding Alec’s phone which he carefully pried from his fingers, Max drooling which Magnus cleared up with a flick of his hand—Alec and Magnus made their way to their room.

“So what happened?” Magnus asked.

“Max told me, ‘I want another brother or a sister,’” Alec said.

“I believe he says ‘I want another brotha orra sista.’”

Alec shook his head. “You’re missing the point. It hurt Rafe’s feelings.”

Magnus nodded. “That does make more sense. But why would Max say that? Sometimes . . . I don’t know what to do.” He looked lost.

Alec put his arm around Magnus. “That’s my line. Besides, we’re in this together. And there’s no place I would rather be.”

Magnus smiled, making Alec breathe heavily. Magnus looked so much better when there was a smile on his face. “I know that, Alec. There’s no other place I would rather be either.”

And they kissed for a long time, knowing that this was a dream come true.

Reposting because I can't find it thanks to tumblr

#this was my first one btw #ace writes #malec #tsc

[maple-syrup-supremacy]

Masterlist

Ao3

Fics

The Shadowhunter Chronicles

Malec

The True Vision

Kierarktina

Cat Calendars

Thomastair

The Hunger Games AU

Haline

Rewrite History

Kit x Ty

Focused

Grishaverse

Kanej

A Crow Feather

Stargazing

The Folk of the Air

Jurdan

Go to Bed

These Violent Delights

Benmars

I'm Not the Same Person You Left

A Living Ghost

Not a Lie

Romeo and Juliette

The Song of Achilles

Patrochilles

If TSOA was a metaphor

Poems

Triggers

Crying in the Night

Expectations

Physically Hurt

Desires

#DO NOT REBLOG #masterlist #ace's masterlist #ace writes #ask to tag #poem: triggers is super lame so don't @ me idk why i posted it

[maple-syrup-supremacy]

Focused - Kit x Ty One-shot

“I only use black, Kit,” Ty said. “The other colours—they make me unfocused. Some are too bright, some are too dull. The black is stark, fixed. It keeps me steady.”

Kit could agree. Sometimes people made things way too flashy—and he could only imagine how much it hurt Ty, who saw everything sharper and more vivid than it was.

“And the font too—I like to keep it plain and simple. Did you know Comic Sans MS is a dyslexic-friendly font?”

Kit stole a glance at Ty’s straight black hair, falling into his eyes. How soft were his locks? he wondered.

“Kit?”

Suddenly Kit realized he hadn’t been saying anything—to Ty it would look like he didn’t care. And Ty thought most people didn’t care. Kit wasn’t one of them. “Sorry—yeah. I like using Calibri.”

Ty’s eyes lit up. “Really? That’s my favourite font too!”

Kit couldn’t believe two Shadowhunters were having this conversation—about colours and fonts, which he doubted even the mundanes talked about. Never in his school days had anyone mentioned an interest in how their text looked. They just hurried to finish it.

“I—I also designed my lock screen with the words you liked,” Ty added shyly.

Kit mouthed Oh.

“Back when Livvy—Livvy was alive,” Ty started, and Kit thought how hard it must be for him to talk about his twin in the past tense, “she made a home screen for my phone. It was the words I liked. We said them to each other in the dark. The words on a screen—they were steady. They helped. But after she—died, and you left, I changed them with the help of Dru. She wanted to add skulls to the outline”—a bit of humor and love had crept into his voice—“but in the end, we left it plain. Just black words on the colour of the sky.” Then he added softly, “The colour of your eyes.”

Kit felt himself melt.

“What are you saying?” Kit asked finally, not sure if it was all right to ask, but unable to help his curiosity. Ty glanced up at the moon through his lashes. They were thick and dark, almost childlike. They gave his face a look of innocence that made him look younger—a strange effect, at odds with his almost frighteningly sharp mind. “Just words I like,” he said. “If I say them to myself, it makes my mind—quieter. Does it bother you?” “No!” Kit said quickly. “I was just curious what words you liked.” Ty bit his lip. For a moment, Kit thought he wasn’t going to say anything at all. “It’s not the meaning, just the sound,” he said. “Glass, twin, apple, whisper, stars, crystal, shadow, lilt.” He glanced away from Kit, a shivering figure in his too-large hoodie, his black hair absorbing moonlight, giving none of it back. “Whisper would be one of mine, too,” said Kit. He took a step toward Ty, touched his shoulder gently. “Cloud, secret, highway, hurricane, mirror, castle, thorns.” “Blackthorns,” said Ty, with a dazzling smile, and Kit knew, in that instant, that whatever he’d been telling himself about running away for the past few days had been a lie.

—Lord of Shadows

A scene in TWP

Taglist: @della-vacker-supremacy @themadhatter999 @writeforjordelia @theenchanteddreamer @shadowhuntingdemigod-blog Lmk if you wanna be added or removed!

#ace writes #kit x ty #tsc

[maple-syrup-supremacy]

Rewrite History - Haline One-shot

“Helen, kiss me. Kiss me until I can’t breathe,” Aline said.

“Darling,” Helen said, “kiss me. Kiss me until I can’t breathe.” She put a mug that read MY WIFE IS BADASS under the coffee maker and turned it on.

“Bossy, bossy.” Aline smiled. But she put down the frying pan to kiss Helen on the cheek. (Tavvy had come into the kitchen so Aline couldn’t kiss Helen on the lips.)

“You can kiss each other wherever you want, you know,” Tavvy said in a bored voice. “I don’t care. I’ll just look at the stove or something.” Then he said in an alarmed voice, “The stove’s on fire!”

“What,” Aline said sharply, turning around to see that the stove, indeed, was on fire. The gas was on the highest temperature. “Shit.”

Cristina, who had walked in right at that moment, said, “By the Angel.”

Aline turned off the stove with Shadowhunter reflexes to avoid getting burned and moved the frying pan to the burner on the right.

She opened the fridge, filled her palm with as many ice cubes as she could, and dumped them on the overheating burner. The sound of sizzling relaxed her—what, it sounded good!—and immediately the temperature began decreasing. Aline sighed deeply and went to kiss Helen, no longer caring who was in the room.

Tavvy made a squeaking sound. Cristina coughed and got some paper towels to put on the melting ice cubes on the burner.

As the burner cooled down, Aline made iced coffee and poured it in the mug that said MY WIFE IS BEAUTIFUL. (Magnus had gotten them a matching set for their wedding which he had promised he had paid for but later she had heard him tell Alec “I’ll pay them later,” when Alec asked the same question.) She had loved that mug in Wrangel Island, a drop of beauty in a frozen, empty place. But Helen was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, and it would always remain that way.

It wasn’t as if Aline had had a bad childhood, but her life was so much better with Helen in it. Waking up alone was nice—for instance she could use the whole bed—but waking up with Helen was worth more than getting the world rid of the demons that ever existed. Every day when she woke up and looked at Helen sleeping peacefully beside her or watching her drink coffee early in the morning, Aline was reminded of the Oscar Wilde quote from The Picture of Dorian Gray she had written to Helen. The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. The curves of your lips rewrite history. Every day being with Helen—every single day—was a blessing from Raziel, a gift from God.

And it would remain that way. For every day of her life. Because she had Helen, and Helen didn’t just make her life better, Helen was her life.

Taglist: @della-vacker-supremacy @themadhatter999 @writeforjordelia @theenchanteddreamer Lmk if you want to be added or removed!

#ace writes #haline my beloved

[maple-syrup-supremacy]

THG Thomastair AU

“I wish we could find sanctuary,” Thomas said. “You know, with shelter and such.”

“But Thomas,” Alastair said, “you are my sanctuary.”

TW/CW: If you're reading this, you've probably read The Hunger Games books or watched the movies so this has the same stuff as in them!

Idea // OG post // Ask

Disclaimers: This has headcanons along with snippets. Hopefully it's not OOC. Any Persian is what my Iranian friend told me. I like to headcanon that all the districts have their own language. Warning: The plot might be non-existent. Also, if you see any kind of mistakes (grammar, spelling, etc.) please let me know! Kinda long :)

Thomas is from District 7

Alastair is from District 11

The president is Josiah Wayland

The Head Gamemaker is Maurice Bridgestock

Eugenia is part of a group to overthrow the Capitol

Barbara and Oliver died in a previous Hunger Games

It was like it was in the books

Alastair used to be in a relationship with Charles Fairchild, son of the mayor of District 11, Charlotte Fairchild

Risa is Sona’s sister so Alastair’s aunt

Alastair volunteers for Cordelia

Cordelia struggles with him and finally says in “I love you” in Persian (dooset daram) before Alastair goes on the train

Cordelia is like Prim

Alastair’s mentor is Ragnor Fell

They be sassy together

Thomas’s mentor is Charlotte

Alastair’s stylist tells him Alastair should dye his hair back to black

In the opening ceremony, Thomas dresses as a tree and Alastair thinks how Thomas makes “a boring costume look beautiful”

Alastair has a suit on with leaves embroidered on it which Thomas later tells him “it was like nature blessed you”

Jem may or may not be an Avox Jem is Alastair’s Avox

Thomas Tanner is Thomas’s Avox

For training Alastair throws spears and pulls a 8

Thomas uses a broadsword in training and pulls an 8 as well

Thomas gets a compass rose tattoo from his stylist for the interview

The arena has a structure that looks like the Eiffel Tower at one end

The arena is covered in forests, except for the Cornucopia

When the canon sounds, Alastair runs toward the Cornucopia and escapes with a dagger to the forest

Thomas runs straight (ha!) into the forest

9 children die in the initial bloodbath

Alastair and Thomas both spend the night in trees about ten minutes away from each other

In the morning, Alastair hears rustling and eventually confronts Thomas

They first try to kill each other, but then they hear someone else and work together to fight the District 9 male tribute

Alastair puts his dagger at the tribute’s throat and stabs him there

Alastair doesn’t want to partner up and vice versa

“Alastair—I think you’d be a great person to team up with, but I . . . I don’t want to team up with you. I don’t want to team up with anyone. We—we might survive till the end, and then—” “No, Thomas, I understand. We’ll pretend this never happened. We’ll go our separate ways.” Thomas nodded, a sinking feeling in his stomach. Part of him had been hoping Alastair would disagree with him, even when it was reasonable. He ignored it and set about laying the food they’d gathered.

But they gather food and decide they’ll have a meal together and then go their separate ways

They make a meal of some fruits they find on trees and on the ground

Thomas just cannot eat the celery

They part ways

By the second night, fourteen people in total are dead

Thomas goes to the Eiffel Tower structure the next day

He climbs onto the first level and greets Alastair

Alastair’s leg is wounded

Alastair explains that the Careers fought him

The Careers include Augustus Pounceby and Clive Cartwright

“Tell me. Tell me who hurt you. I’ll kill them.” Alastair had never seen anyone so angry on his behalf that it unnerved him. “It doesn’t matter, it was the Capitol—” “Don’t,” Thomas said quietly. “Don’t try to downplay it. I want to make them pay.” Alastair paused. After a minute he said, “It was the Careers. The District 1 and 2 tribute. Augustus and Clive. They climbed onto here and started fighting me. I gave Augustus a good cut on the arm and Clive a nice scar on his cheek but they overpowered me. Augustus stabbed my leg. They left laughing.” “They didn’t finish you off?” Alastair shook his head. “I think they . . . wanted me to suffer. It isn’t like I can go anywhere, and I have no allies, so probably wanted to come back tomorrow and then finish me off. But it’s not like I’m going to last that long.” The last sentence caught Thomas off guard. “What?” “Aren’t you going to kill me?” Thomas thought about the District 1 tribute, Augustus, who had been saying that Barbara was weak before the Opening Ceremony. That Barbara, who had gotten him out of a scuffle with a Peacekeeper, was weak. That Barbara, who had volunteered for her cousin in the Reaping, was weak. He thought about the hate he had felt for the Career. Then he thought about graceful, elegant, bleeding Alastair in front of him, the way he had hugged his sister, the way he guarded himself, and decided. “No,” he said. “I’m not going to kill you.”

Thomas bandages Alastair’s wound

“Alastair, you’re hurt. Please let me wrap your leg in leaves and vines.” “Thomas, you don’t understand. I’ve always bandaged my own wounds. It’s not going to change now.” “Sometimes,” Thomas said, “it’s better to let others take care of you. They do a better job than you realize. Alastair, please. You’re bleeding. Let me help.” Alastair saw something in Thomas’s eyes: truth. He thought back to how many people would want to help him: his father, his mother, his aunt Risa . . . when he was young. As he grew up, all of them faced the same cruel system and all of them were expected to take care of their own wounds. Now, here was someone willing to help him when he should be killing him. It gave Alastair such a feeling of care and belonging that he nodded. It wouldn’t hurt to let someone take care of him for once.

They eventually decide to team up

Thomas makes a meal out of things he finds in the forest

He and Alastair eat it

Alastair heals from his wound

By that night, nineteen people are dead

Augustus, Clive, and the District 8 female tribute are still alive along with them

Alastair takes first watch during the night, Thomas takes the second

Alastair gently moved his fingers across the compass rose tattoo that Thomas had gotten from his stylist. He felt Thomas’s pulse. He promised himself that that pulse would go on even when his own didn’t.

The next day Alastair and Thomas set off (Alastair’s leg is healed)

Augustus and Clive are waiting for them

Thomas kills Augustus, attacking with A LOT of force

Clive gets a good hit on Thomas with a sword on his left arm

Alastair and Clive fight, Clive flees finally while he’s bleeding from a dozen cuts

Alastair bandages Thomas’s wound with leaves and vines

“I love it when you say my name. Say it again.” “Thomas—Thomas, you’ve lost too much blood. You’re going delirious.” Thomas sighed softly. “I would go delirious if that meant I could hear you say my name one more time.”

They get a sponsor gift: a whole meal of steak and sides, which they finish that day

Both of them fall asleep at night

When they wake up, they’re in a prison; a Capitol prison

They were in prison. But even if they were in hell, Alastair wouldn’t have minded. They were together.

They lie in each other’s arms, seeking warmth

“Why are we in prison? What did we do?” Alastair demanded, getting up as Josiah Wayland stuck his ugly face in front of the bars. President Wayland’s lip curled. “It isn’t you that did something, it’s your family.” Thomas gasped sharply. “Eugenia.” The president smiled cruelly. “So you do know her crime.” Thomas swallowed. Alastair put his hand in Thomas’s. “What did my family do?” Alastair asked, trying to change the topic. “Why, your sister did the same thing,” Josiah Wayland said. This time Alastair gave a sharp gasp. Thomas squeezed his hand, and Alastair drew a bit of comfort from him. But his mind was on Cordelia, his little sister, what would happen to her— Wayland, the monster he was, smiled wider as he saw Alastair and Thomas despairing their sisters’ fate.

Cordelia joined the same rebel group Eugenia was in

“But why are we here? What did they do that you had to take us out of the Games?” Thomas demanded when he had finally calmed down. It seemed that all the Lightwood siblings would all die in their youth. “As soon as they are in our custody, they will be executed. In front of you two. Everyone thinks the two of you killed each other. After they’re dead, both of you will be executed.” Thomas swallowed. “Why? Why will you execute us?” “Your sisters should have thought about your safety before they did what they did. At least you’ll be able to tell them goodbye. If the executioners give you the chance,” President Wayland added before he gave another cruel smile and left.

Thomas and Alastair despair over their and their sisters’ fates

“We’ll fight them. I don’t care. We’ll fight the Capitol. We’ll make them pay for what they did to Barbara and Oliver and Jem and Will and Tessa and my mom and every single person they hurt. We’ll make them pay, Alastair.”

Thomas sighed. “If only we had hope.” “I don’t think about hope, Thomas. I think about you. You’re my hope.” And now I’m going to lose you, Alastair wanted to add, but he didn’t. And then I won’t have any hope left.

“The odds were never in our favour, Thomas,” Alastair whispered, closing his eyes. Then he added softly, “And they never will be.”

Letter addressed to Alastair Carstairs, District 11 male tribute of the 56th Hunger Games, from Charles Fairchild, son of the mayor of District 11, found crumpled in a trash bin of the Training Center floor 11

Taglist: @della-vacker-supremacy @themadhatter999 @writeforjordelia @theenchanteddreamer Also tagging @jurdan-my-beloved who originally requested the headcanons and @youngreckless Lmk if you wanna be added or removed!

#ace writes #thg thomastair au

[maple-syrup-supremacy]

TW crying, addiction mention

In the night Without the light Wrapped in my blankets tight I blurry my sight

It moistens my face Slowly drying in the wide space My face shining with tears It gives me no fear

I shouldn’t want this Yet I need it It is strange It makes me feel deranged

It’s an addiction That only appears in fiction But it is real It lets me feel

Taglist: @della-vacker-supremacy @themadhatter999 @writeforjordelia @theenchanteddreamer Do you want to be tagged in my poems? And lmk if you wanna be added or removed!

#ace writes #poem #tw crying #tw addiction mention