#Free Word Processing libraries

[fileformatcom-blog]

Create, Read, Manipulate & Convert Word Documents via Open Source JavaScript APIs

JavaScript open source Word Processing APIs provide software developers with flexible tools to load, read, edit, manipulate, manage, generate and convert word documents, PDF and Web documents to other supported file formats like DOC, DOCX, DOTX, XLSX, RTF, XPS, WordML, HTML, MHTML, MOBI, AZW3, CHM, ODT, OTT, TXT, MD, SVG, PS, PCL and image file formats like PNG, JPEG, TIFF, EMF, GIF and so on. within web applications. These APIs allow users to handle various document tasks directly from the browser without relying on native desktop applications. Developers can create applications that automate repetitive tasks and streamline workflows. It is also very valuable for creating applications that enable real-time collaboration and editing of word processing documents. Developers can use open source libraries, reducing the need for expensive commercial software. Developers can create customized workflows that automatically generate and send Word documents, such as contracts, to clients based on predefined templates. Integration with these APIs makes it easy to add signatures or automate document distribution.

Whether you're adding paragraphs, inserting images, adding tables or charts, managing headers or footers, extracting text from documents, rendering individual pages and bookmarks, Execute mail merge for documents and insertion of outer documents and HTML blocks into a document. Build efficient, flexible tools for generating and editing Word documents without needing Microsoft Word installed. Perfect for CMS systems, real-time collaboration tools, and more.  By incorporating these JavaScript APIs, software developers can automate tasks, improve collaboration, and create flexible and cost-effective solutions for creating and handling popular word processing documents.

[strawburry01]

Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby

Ford Pines x Fem! Reader (no Y/N mentions)

Summary: Ford and you are trying to find another cryptid but a thunderstorm causes some emotions.

AN: Thanks for liking the first one all! This is technically a Part 2, but doesn't rely on anything from the first part so don't worry.

Part 1

Word Count: 2k

 You stood in your dark room, humming along to the spinning vinyl as you painstakingly converted your camcorder footage to a VCR tape. Ford always noted that you could just save them to a computer, or just keep it on the camera itself- not understanding your insistence on saving it as physical media. Something in you liked the process though. It was meditative. Being able to uncap your marker and squeakily write the date and contents on the side, and then slide it alongside the rest of them in your growing library. It was rewarding to see the pile growing. Ford still had his growing notebooks, and you now had your growing video library. Between the two of you, both of your research had really been taking off.

As soon as the grant was passed, Ford and you shoved all your collective crap into his car and drove through the night, and then some, to make it to Gravity Falls. From the moment you crossed into town, you could tell he was right with his analysis. Something about the town felt so distinctly, well, weird. It was a quiet, small town, but everyone you met had been kind, although not very outwardly chatty. To be fair, two strangers from the east coast just moved in and were far too excited to be there. It was enough to confuse and freak out anyone.

But the two of you were fine with being the talk of the town. In fact you secretly thought Ford enjoyed the positive attention based on how much he convinced you to go to Greasy’s Diner for brunch. 

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, it’s scientifically proven,” Ford would always say trying to defend the addiction. As long as he paid, you weren’t complaining.

In the background your vinyl began to skip. You grumbled and flipped it over for the next side of songs as Ford entered, head deep in his notebook, not even acknowledging your presence.

“Knocking is considerate,” you commented as you focused on your work, glancing up at him as he sat in the chair nestled in the corner of the room. You had found it on the way into town on some random road with the word FREE spray painted on a sign nearby, so after mild convincing, Ford and you were able to balance it on top of the car.

“The door was open, you relinquished knocking privileges,” he said, without looking up,

“What if I was changing?” you said, “I could’ve been naked you perv,”. You watched as his face reddened and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as he snapped out of his reading. 

You both liked each other. You felt like it was painfully obvious to everyone, even each other, but something kept you both from ever admitting it. Was it your scientific brains always insisting that it was some stupid imbalance of hormones and forced proximity? Both of your egos trying to constantly one up each other, never wanting to admit you liked the other? Perhaps the fact that if you actually admitted to liking each other, what would that mean for research? Or even worse, liking each other would mean you fell into the cliche.

But god, you had been around each other practically 24/7 for the past months now in Gravity Falls and it was only getting worse each day. Like a growing vine, only getting larger and larger. The only reason you were so confident Ford liked you back was the fact he never attempted to deflect your teasing. He was one to always correct you, or really anyone, if they said something incorrect, but whenever you taunted him, he would just redden and try to change the subject. 

Ford coughed in his chair and shifted as he uncapped his pen to continue an entry in his journal, trying to move past your teasing.

“Sounds like a safety hazard if you were in here without clothes,” he muttered. You threw a marker at him across the room.

“Don’t judge the artist, perhaps I was trying something new,” you said as you slid another tape, labeled “Gobblewonker Part 3” besides Part 1 and 2. 

“Let’s move from this hypothetical,” he said, firmly closing his journal, “there’s a storm coming in tonight according to weather reports. I wanted to try and see if we could catch the Thunderbird at some point,”.

“Pretty elusive fella, no?” you asked, scanning your tapes to see if you had anything on Thunderbirds.

“Yes, and unless you agree to a goat sacrifice this time we’ll just have to be patient and attentive,” he nodded. He really wanted you to agree to a sacrificial goat to draw one out. You crossed your arms and stared at him.

“Stanford Pines I’m not letting you go to hell for animal sacrifice,” you said.

“Fine, but don’t blame me when we can’t see one, because someone has strict morals all of the sudden,” he said as he stood up and left. 

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN ALL OF THE SUDDEN PINES?” you shouted after him.

It was no use. He disappeared into the small cabin you were both calling home for now. It was dark when the rain started. Big drops pelleted the roof, which didn’t enthuse you as Ford insisted on setting up outside. You bundled your rain slicker close, trying to create some warmth, but instead only making your clothes underneath damp. Ford on the other hand couldn’t be bothered it seemed. He was moving around his instruments too much for his hood to actually stay on, causing his hair and glasses to be drenched. 

“Do you need help?” you asked, not being able to watch him struggle for much longer.

“Can you just line up that telescope with the gap in the trees there?” he asked with a point towards the sky. You nodded and risked your fingers in the cold to swivel the telescope until it was centered on the break in foliage. You stood back up and saw Ford staring at you before he quickly looked away. He seemed stressed, so you spared a joke.

He let out a sigh as he stood back, looking over the set up. He dragged over two lawn chairs and held out his arms, gesturing for you to sit in one. Ford was damn lucky you believed in his confidence, you thought to yourself as you sat down. You couldn’t even use your camcorder out here because of the rain. You didn’t want to risk it. 

The two of you sat, listening to the rain fall off the trees for a while until you started dozing off, catching yourself every time and jolting up. Ford scooted his chair closer and put his arm on your chair. 

“Sorry it’s so late,” he said, “sleep on my arm if you need to. You’ll ruin your neck if you keep sleeping like that,” he noted. You smirked to yourself as you took him up on the offer, leaning onto his shoulder, not minding the drops that had accumulated on his coat.Before slipping into sleep you felt him put a hand on your leg, gently running over it with his thumb.

You weren’t sure how long you were out for when a crack of lightning lit up the sky and awoke you. Ford was instantly up and checking all his devices for the elusive Thunderbird, but you were frozen to your chair. The rumble of thunder filled your ears and paralyzed you in place. It was stupid, it was so stupid. You’re from the damn east coast, get over it, your brain chided, but your body couldn’t agree. You’d always been terrified of thunder, despite your knowledge that it was unlikely anything from a lightning storm would ever hurt you, you couldn’t help that loud noises from the sky scared you to death.

“Shit, are you okay?” Ford asked, realizing that you were not by his side. He turned and saw you, sitting down, but looking thousands of miles away. You wanted to nod your head yes, that everything was fine and you were over your dumb overreaction, but you couldn’t. You stared up at him through his dewy glasses and shook your head.

“I hate thunder,” you muttered, embarrassed, flinching as another rumble went overhead, “I thought I’d gotten over it…”. Ford stared at you and then turned back to his devices. 

“Let’s go inside. These will get any data and recordings I need,” he said as he pulled you up out of the chair. 

“I’m sorry-” you started to say before he cut you off.

“Don’t apologize. It’s a very understandable fear. It’s not worth your wellbeing,” he said as he continued leading you inside. 

Inside the house the noise from above only reverberated more it seemed, causing you to jump. You caught Ford almost commenting on it, before he closed his mouth and helped you out of your rain jacket instead. You kicked off your boots at the door and they thunked with mud against the wall. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you scared,” Ford quietly remarked as he hung up his own jacket. Before you can reply there’s another rumble of thunder, louder now, causing you to jump into Ford’s arms. You feel him seize up under the sudden touch, but he quickly wraps an arm around your back with the other on the back of your head, pressing you into his red-sweatered chest. You slowly let out a shaky breath as you tried to calm your nerves. Ford slowly started running his hand up and down your back trying to calm you as well. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he repeated.

You two stood like this for a few minutes as lightning lit up the sky outside.

“I-I’m sorry Ford, I’ll be okay, I’m just going to go to my room,” you said as you stepped back out of his arms, despite your brain screaming at you you were a fool for doing so. 

“Can you actually sleep like this?” Ford asked, watching you walk to your room only to get stopped by another thrum of thunder. You looked over your shoulder.

 Swallow your pride you idiot, you both thought.

“Would you-”

“I could-”

“-keep me company?”

“-stay with you?”

You bit your bottom lip as you laughed, Ford laughed too and rubbed the back of his neck. Both of you could’ve been mistaken for high schoolers in that moment. 

You changed into your flannel pajama pants and oversized t-shirt as Ford dutifully faced the wall before changing into his boxers and one of your other oversized shirts you threw at him. 

“I don’t need this,” he said, holding it up.

“I can’t handle this much skin on you yet,” you replied as you slowly got under the covers. You felt the weight of the bed as he got in behind you. He softly grumbled complaints about wearing a shirt as he snaked his arms around your waist. 

"Is this okay?" he asked into your hair.

“Yes, now hush Pines,” you mumbled back. You shuddered a little as thunder rolled overhead again, causing Ford to tighten his hold on you.

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” he repeated as you calmed down again. You sighed into your pillow as you began to close your eyes.

“So…” Ford said, causing you to open an eye, “does this mean you like me?”.

“Do you like me?” you asked, tilting your head so you could try to face him. Ford took his chance to quickly kiss your cheek before you hid your head back into the pillow.

“Of course I am, are you kidding me? I’ve liked you since the first week of knowing you,” he said, “people aren’t friends with me, let alone people like you. You’re really important to me,”. You could feel your face heating up at his compliments as you tried to hide in the pillow, “Are you blushing? I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you do that…” he said with a chuckle.

“For fucks sake of course I am Ford, I’ve liked you for so long now too,” you admitted. The two of you were silent as rain continued to patter on the roof.

“Damn,” Ford said before nestling his head into the back of your neck, “I guess my brother was right,”.

You smiled as you began to doze off, with Ford holding onto you. Neither of you knew that you wouldn’t sleep alone again as long as you were in this universe.

Part 2.5 up

[rosesareredrosa]

When Laughter Fades

Mattheo Riddle x fem reader

Summary: Mattheo takes things too far with his "banter" and didn't notice y/n's feelings of hurt and anger until one day she decides to speak up and Mattheo has to change to keep the relationship steady

Authors note: Sorry anon for the wait this was randomly so hard

Word Count: 1070

Mattheo Riddle loved pulling pranks. They brought him joy and amusement, especially when his favorite target, Y/N, was involved. She usually laughed along with him, but he didn't realize how close he was to crossing the line until today.

It was a sunny Saturday afternoon, and the Slytherin common room was buzzing with students enjoying their free time. Y/N was seated at a table, diligently working on an essay for Potions class. Mattheo, ever the prankster, watched her from across the room, a devious idea forming in his mind.

He slipped out of the common room and returned moments later with a small enchanted box. Inside it was a jinxed snake that would leap out and hiss at whoever opened it. He approached Y/N's table with a casual grin.

"Hey, Y/N, I found this weird box in the Room of Requirement. Want to see what's inside?" he asked, holding out the box to her.

Y/N glanced up, raising an eyebrow but smiling. "Sure, Mattheo. Let's see it."

As soon as she opened the box, the snake leaped out, hissing loudly. Y/N screamed, knocking over her ink bottle in the process. Ink splattered all over her essay and her robes. Her face paled, and then flushed with a mix of fear and anger.

"Mattheo, what the hell!" she shouted, her voice trembling.

Mattheo's grin faltered. "It's just a prank, Y/N. It's a fake snake, see?"

He picked up the snake, which had now returned to its inanimate state, and showed it to her. But Y/N wasn't laughing.

"Just a prank? Look at my essay, my robes! This isn't funny, Mattheo. You always do this, and I'm sick of it!" Tears welled up in her eyes as she glared at him.

"Y/N, I didn't mean to—" Mattheo started, but she cut him off.

"That's the problem, Mattheo. You never mean to, but you always end up hurting me. Maybe you should think before you act."

With that, she turned on her heel and left the common room, leaving Mattheo standing there, guilt and regret washing over him. He watched her go, the weight of his actions sinking in.

Days passed, and Y/N avoided Mattheo. The usual spark in her eyes was gone, replaced by a guarded, wary look. Mattheo's heart ached every time he saw her, knowing he had put that look there. He had to make things right, but he didn't know how. Apologies had never been his strong suit.

One evening, after searching for Y/N around the castle, Mattheo finally found her in the library, sitting in a secluded corner. Her face was buried in her arms, and she looked up as he approached, her eyes red-rimmed from crying.

"Y/N," he said softly, approaching her table. "Please, can we talk?"

She looked up, her expression weary. "What do you want, Mattheo?"

"I want to apologize. I was an idiot, and I took things way too far. I never wanted to hurt you, but I did. I'm so sorry, Y/N."

"You always say you're sorry, but then you do it again. How can I believe you this time?"

"I know I've messed up," he continued, "but I promise I'll change. No more pranks, no more teasing. I care about you, and I don't want to lose your friendship."

Y/N stood up, her frustration boiling over. "You care about me? You have a funny way of showing it. Every time I start to trust you, you pull another stupid prank. Do you have any idea how much that hurts?"

"Y/N, please, I never meant to hurt you. I just thought it was all in good fun."

"Good fun? Fun for who, Mattheo? Because it's not fun for me. It's humiliating and cruel."

Mattheo felt his heart sink. He hadn't realized just how much pain he had caused her. "I... I didn't see it that way. I thought we were just playing around."

"Playing around? This isn't a game, Mattheo. These are my feelings. And every time you pull one of your 'pranks,' it feels like you're saying my feelings don't matter."

"I'm sorry," Mattheo said, his voice breaking. "I really am. I don't want to lose you, Y/N."

She sighed, her anger giving way to exhaustion. "I don't know if I can trust you again, Mattheo. You've hurt me too many times."

"I'll prove it to you," he said desperately. "I'll show you that I can change. No more pranks, I swear. Just give me a chance."

Y/N looked at him, her eyes filled with a mix of hope and doubt. "Alright, Mattheo. But this is your last chance. If you hurt me again, we're done."

He nodded fervently. "I won't let you down. I promise."

In the days that followed, Mattheo made good on his promise. He was attentive, considerate, and kind. He helped Y/N with her studies, brought her favorite snacks, and most importantly, he listened. But he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that things weren't the same. Y/N was more reserved, her laughter less frequent, and Mattheo feared that he had caused irreparable damage.

One night, as they sat by the lake, watching the sunset, Y/N broke the silence. "Mattheo, do you ever think about the future?"

He glanced at her, surprised by the question. "Sometimes. Why?"

"I've been thinking a lot lately. About us, about everything that's happened. I want to trust you, but it's hard. Every time I see you, I remember the hurt."

Mattheo's heart clenched. "Y/N, I promise I'll never hurt you again. I care about you so much."

She turned to him, her eyes filled with a mix of hope and sorrow. "I want to believe you, Mattheo. But it's going to take time."

"I know. And I'm willing to wait, to do whatever it takes to make things right."

Y/N leaned her head on his shoulder, a small gesture of trust. "Thank you, Mattheo."

As they sat there, wrapped in each other's presence, Mattheo knew that this was his chance to prove himself. The road to healing would be long and difficult, but he was determined to show Y/N that he valued her far more than any prank or joke. He would cherish her, protect her, and make sure that her laughter returned, brighter and more genuine than ever before.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

more notes on: writer's block

It is an anxiety we feel when we are unable to transfer ideas from our heads to the page.

It is a feeling of inadequacy—that whatever we write will be unoriginal, unimaginative, or have very little value.

It is a temporary state in which we are so overwhelmed with the expectations of an assignment, instructor, ourselves (inner editor) that we can’t get started.

Techniques to Combat Writer's Block

Stream of consciousness writing

There are variations to this type of writing. In general, the ideas are the same: writing freely without considering grammar, punctuation, sentence structure, etc.

The most important aspect of this exercise is to just write.

Variations include: write what comes to your mind as you focus on your topic; write with your eyes closed; cover your computer screen and type freely; write slowly while focusing on each shaping of the letters; or set a timer/alarm and write non-stop for 10-15 minutes.

Change your location

If you usually write at a computer, try the kitchen or dining room table.

If you usually write at a desk, try a seat by a window. Or how about a coffee shop, a park, or the library?

Relaxation techniques

Take a break from trying to write. This will help you to rejuvenate (but come back soon)!

Take some deep breaths. People who tell you that physical exercise is important for mental activity are telling the truth.

If nothing's happening on the computer screen or paper, take a walk around the block. Hit the treadmill or tennis courts or drive to the gym. But take your notebook with you.

Fresh blood will be flowing through your brain and jogging might just jog something loose in your head. It happens.

Start in the middle of your writing project

Avoid the problem of getting started by starting on a part of the project that interests you more and then come back to the introductory matter later.

After all, your readers will never know you wrote the introduction last (another joy of word-processing technology!).

Talking aloud

Talk over your paper with a friend, or just blab away into a tape recorder (even better).

Play the tape back and write down what you hear in clusters of ideas or free write about them.

Accountability & community

Set up a time and place to write with someone else or a few other writers.

Start by talking about what you are working on, your struggle, and what needs to be done.

You can set a specific amount of time for everyone to write silently (an hour or a few).

Then come back together in the end to vocalize what you accomplished (and what you still want to accomplish if more needs to be done).

This goal setting, accountability, and community are highly valuable for the writing process.

more on: writer's block

[marwhoa]

request: omgggg <33 did not know u did ohshe!!! i love the way u did mori u did him justice!!! is it possible to for you to write mori x tiny reader please? i just find the height difference very cute and comical. thank u! 💕

🝮 mori-senpai headcanons

morinozuka takashi x short!reader

author’s note: I like Mori :)) my favorite is Hikaru, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t write for anyone else uwu 💕

word count: 1.2k

ఌ As he does with Honey, Mori can’t help but hold you. For one, he doesn’t want to accidentally knock into you, since you’re a bit out of his peripheral vision, and he has a habit of zoning out if there’s no sense of danger! If you hate being picked up, he’ll respect that, but do note that he is crying a river mentally.

ఌ secretly finds it irresistibly adorable when you’re too short to reach things and need his help. One of his fondest memories is when he just happened to be in the right place at the right time in the library!

During study time, Mori wandered off to the library to search for books on the women’s court in the Heian Period. While he was searching, he turned down one of the aisles to catch you grumbling under your breath about how “ all the books I need just had to be placed right out of my reach, what a joke! “

He didn’t intervene! Just watched fondly as you pulled a step stool over to solve the problem yourself (you’re independent! surely you have a few tricks up your sleeve to navigate a taller world?).

Thing is, the step stool wasn’t tall enough, so you resorted to standing on your tippy toes and trying to nudge the book into a free-fall. That is when Mori intervenes, as he watched the book shelf teeter under your inadvertently-tugging hand.

“ Y/N! “

It all happened so quick. You swore the world seemed to slow as the stool beneath you flipped and the books began cascading down the shelves towards you. With your hands crossed over your head, you squeezed your eyes shut and braced for the impact. While your butt hit the floor hard, you were surprised to find your back never met the same fate.

Instead, there was a light pressure and warmth radiating from the small of your back.

Opening your eyes hesitantly, you tuned in to the pained grunt and watched as Mori was hovering over you. The weight of the bookshelf was heavy on his back, but nothing could convince him to step aside and let you take the brunt of this instead.

“ Oh god, Mori?! You—“

You were at a complete loss of words. Thankfully others in the library quickly noticed and came to help lift the bookshelf. Before you were both free, you didn’t miss the out-of-breath whisper by your ear.

“ At least you’re safe.. ”

ఌ Stays close to you in crowded situations. He will use his height and strength to his advantage to ensure you have a comfortable amount of wiggle room regardless of where you’re at—the cafeteria during high traction times, the commoners’ train while it’s rush hour, malls experiencing season-high discounts, etc. Regardless of the setting, you can count on him.

ఌ Mori can tend to have cuteness aggression, and having a partner shorter than he is definitely contributes to that. He refuses to acknowledge he ever did this, but you can remember plain as day a particular study session in the third years’ science class after school.

As you sat across the table from Mori, yammering on and on about the current problem stumping you both, there was an odd creeping feeling that he wasn’t paying attention. Lo, and behold, as you rose your head to fact-check, you found Mori’s eyes just staring at you, clear as day that not a thought was processing behind those eyes.

Just before you could reprimand him, Mori shot up in his seat and rounded the table to stop at your side.

“ Whuh—“

Dumbly, you mumbled out a noise of confusion as his hands planted firmly on your cheeks and kneaded the flesh before then pushing until your face was scrunched up and making duck lips. You tried to swat him away but found your hand freezing in midair as an unfamiliar expression washed across his features.

Laughter. Mori had actually burst into laughter, a pure and genuine laugh that echoed in the room like the sun’s rays radiating in summer. You decided to let it slide for now.

ఌ Unlike the sweeter Honey, you tended to be more of a spitfire. A feisty fire that definitely fought back, and sometimes that worried Mori. While you could hold your own verbally with a silver tongue, some people can be a bit more… physically combative, as seen in the case with a particular vacation that landed Haruhi in danger with some particularly confrontative boys. While Mori wasn’t too much a fan of how frequently you could end up in danger, he was amused by how easily most of your enemies would tuck tail and run if he so much as glared them down from behind you.

And it was quite rewarding whenever you’d turn to look at him with a big triumphant grin, shamelessly declaring “ see ? you have nothing to worry about—they’re intimidated by me! “

ఌ Even though Mori yearns to dance with you whenever the host club holds parties, because of the size difference, he usually chickens out of even offering to dance with you. He’d hate to ruin an experience like that with you just because the difference in height is so comically large.

What he didn’t account for is your free spirited personality not caring one wink of how others would perceive you two dancing—you also know that he may be tall, but it’s not like your 3 feet tall compared to his 6’4 ass. At one of the most recent soirées, you almost-quite-literally swept him off his feet when you asked for a dance.

As you both took to the floor and swayed in each other’s arms, slowly the other partygoers began enraptured by the sight. Fortunately for you two, you had both melted so far into each other’s gaze and warmth that the others watching you had completely gone unnoticed.

Mori cursed himself for being so dumb and taking so long to ask a dance with you.

He also ended up purchasing his first set of photos from Kyoya’s personal collection. They had captured you both in such a perfect light and detail that he considered opening a museum in your honor. All just to show the world what a masterpiece you both made together.

He decided against it.

The photos instead sit upon the walls of his room, congregated on the exact spot he faces every night before bed.

ఌ Once y’all are together, you tend to rely on Mori a lot more, as per the rules of “ Girlfriend Incompetence ” or otherwise known as princess brain. Things you could very well do on your own are instead passed to him as something “ only he can do ! you couldn’t possibly do it yourself ?? “

A book on the higher shelf? Well, you could easily get a step stool, but why do that when you could bat your pretty li’l eyes at Mori-senpai and he would bring down the moon at your request?

A puddle obstructs your path? D’aw, well, just go around it! Or, you could turn to Mori with a pouty lip and a sweet little “ please? “ He’d sweep you up in an instant—an easy task with how much smaller you are—and easily traverse over the puddle. You would find yourself mentally lamenting just how much longer his legs are, but you’ll get over it since it grants you the privilege of being in his embrace.

[theliteraryarchitect]

How to Keep Yourself From Editing As You Write

Not to say there's anything wrong with editing as you write, but if you want to stop yourself and find you can't, here are some tips.

1. Write longhand or on a typewriter.

Not only is it more difficult to edit as you write, changing mediums can help you establish new habits.

2. Try one of the many writing apps that come with features that discourage editing.

Cold Turkey Writer won't let you close the window until you reach a certain number of words. The Most Dangerous Writing App will delete all your progress if you stop typing. And I know there are at least a few apps that disable the backspace key.

3. Set a timer and a word-count goal.

This relies a bit on willpower, but the timer really helps. I talk about the specific process I use in this post.

4. Take a break from reading writing advice.

While you can’t ever “un-know” what you’ve learned, it’s especially difficult if you’re constantly absorbing critical information while at the same time trying to be creative. Give your right brain some space. Go outside, read fiction, paint or draw. Get away from your Tumblr feed. Turn off the internet while you write.

5. Practice, and be patient.

You’ve developed a habit of editing-while-writing and it will take some time to reverse it. Give yourself short practice sessions of not editing: Try to write 50 words without editing. Do some timed freewriting. Think of it as a muscle that needs to be exercised to get stronger.

Hope this helps!

/ / / / /

@theliteraryarchitect is a writing advice blog run by me, Bucket Siler, a writer and developmental editor. For more writing help, download my Free Resource Library for Fiction Writers, join my email list, or check out my book The Complete Guide to Self-Editing for Fiction Writers.

[ukiiseikou]

rofan au where aventurine is a duke who acts as the advisor or some close subordinate to king veritas ratio and reader is a princess from another country that was kidnapped as a political hostage oh the love triangle hsjsjsjwj??

all's fair in love and war.

aventurine x f! reader x veritas ratio. thank you for the ask <333 mwaaaah xx

you're a princess of a small country caught between two major kingdoms vying for power over the continent.

you didn't go without protest and fight, but the king's men took you by force and separated you from the rest of your family. the king had hoped that by using your freedom as a bargaining chip your father would eventually cave and agree to join his side of the fight.

at the castle, you are miserable. despite the silk sheets and velvet chairs the room that they placed you in is a prison. the maids refuse to look you in the eye, doors are slammed and locked in your face, and the food is too salty for your taste. you eventually start taking matters into your own hands, refusing to see anyone, talk to anyone, and refusing to eat the food that's delivered to you every day on a silver tray.

duke! aventurine tries to make your stay as comfortable as possible to earn your complacency. he brings you flowers from your home kingdom and tells the palace cook to cool it with the salt. you make any requests, and it's granted the next day - all thanks to the duke, of course. he ignores your resistance and simply talks to you, even if it's like talking to a brick wall.

"two can play this game," he shrugs and laughs. he spends the entire day sitting in your room, watching you like a hawk while fiddling with a coin in his hand. neither of you cave.

"you will do well to stop throwing a tantrum. the king would hate to see you starve to death before you are returned to your family," he grasps you on your shoulder one evening and says to you lowly. you shrug him off.

king! veritas you see less often. compared to aventurine, who drops by everyday, the king is always in his war room or on a diplomatic meeting or meeting the council. however, when he is free for dinner, he always makes a request (read: orders) for you to join him.

you find him a little stiff and standoffish, unlike aventurine, who smiles easily, is always taking the brunt of the joke, and always crowding and intruding into your space. but you know both of them are just as sly as the other, a match made in heaven, maybe, specifically sent to torture you.

you would expect a political prisoner to be treated with more malice and cruelty, but the king steps around you like you're made of glass and deals with your complaints and tantrums with patience.

you find the king is somewhat of a intellectual, able to match your words with his own carefully thought out ones. the first time you offered your own opinion on a matter at the dinner table he had the gall to say "colour me impressed", like you aren't a princess versed in literature and diplomacy.

you actually catch him a lot in the royal library, once it's open for you to peruse (thanks to aventurine bringing it up once to the king). he sometimes sees a book in your hand and offers his own thoughts on it - and if you've finished it, he asks what you think of it.

you spend long hours talking about books, his research, and general politics. he even says you make better company than aventurine, because at least you can keep up with his thought process.

as the war nears it's end and ratio's kingdom seems to be coming out the winning side, your father finally remembers his kidnapped daughter and requests to see you . he eventually starts a process of aligning himself with the king, first by proposing a marriage of alliance, afterall, you are a princess, and surely any noble would be glad to take your hand! you know your father is eyeing the literal king himself, and through a letter he tells you to up the flirt with him. but as always, your letter is intercepted by the duke, who hasn't left your side since you've arrived, and proposes to you that a marriage to a duke is just as viable and perhaps even better! afterall, you would not have to deal with the court and the responsibilities of being a queen, and enjoy more freedom as a duchess. that is... if you are willing, of course.

a/n: writing this felt highly unethical guys please don't fall for your kidnappers no matter how nice they are. anyways who would you pick LMAOOOOO

[drdemonprince]

Can you offer any (academic) writing advice for Autistics and ADHDers? You clearly write a lot and write very well and very clearly, so some insight into your process would be great. Personally, I tend to struggle with over explaining or over citing (cause I am always getting misunderstood) and that I get very fixated on not misrepresenting what my sources are saying to avoid feeling like I'm lying. All this is time consuming and makes it hard to say what I really want to say. Thanks!

Hi there! I've written an essay about a lot of this, here is the free link to read it on Medium:

Much of my writing process is inspired by the book How to Write a Lot by Paul Silvia, and it is specifically tailored to academics. The advice applies to people who write popular nonfiction or fiction just as easily, however. And he does have advice relevant to the self-editing and self-doubt you describe feeling.

The full piece gets into this more, but here are some of the stand-out tips:

Schedule a regular time to write every week and show up no matter whether you are feeling it or not.

Throw out all your magical thinking about what you "need" to be able to write. You don't need the perfect workspace, divine inspiration, the right pen, the right playlist. You just need to show up to write regularly, and do it

Editing, outlining, working with research notes, and drafting all count as "writing." Don't expect your initial drafts to be perfect or to equate writing only with getting new words on the page.

Try writing in public spaces to help get yourself in the mindset of explaining a concept to someone with a different frame of reference and type of expertise than you. Writing in a cafe or a public library can force you think and write in a more accessible way. (alternatively, you can pretend you are explaining the concept to a specific person in your life who you respect but who doesnt have all the same reference points as you -- sometimes this is called the "Grandma Test". Explain something like you are talking to your grandma.)

In addition to all this, I would add that you should read a lot of writing, both good and bad, especially work that isn't dry and academic. If all you read is journal articles, you'll write a journal article -- and most of those are hell to read, even for academics. read fiction. read bad wattsapp shipping. read substacks. read newspapers. read indulgent personal nonfiction in the cut or whatever. read reddit posts. notice what works and what doesn't. develop an ear.

and then write a lot! it took me 15 years to get good enough for anything i wrote to get noticed. you can expect to take many years to get comfortable developing your own voice, too. i dont know how far along you are, but even when you've made tremendous progress you'll only notice your flaws and feel the most turgid brain foggy moments. that doesn't mean you're failing.

also, to some extent you can embrace your citation-dense, precise manner of self-expression. we are living in a moment of maximalism and indulgent, long creative works. it's the decade of the 5 hour youtube essay and the 2 hour album. my 5,000 word essays do better than my 2,000 word ones. you should strip down unnecessary tangents and trust yourself and your reader a little more probably, but ive found that the more blatantly autistic and indulgent my writing gets the more the right people like it. a writer's flaws and their distinctive voice are kinda hard to separate. you're not for everyone!

good luck!

[delicatebarness]

cry baby | chapter twenty eight

Summary: IT IS ART SHOW TIME BABY.

Warning: None, I don't think?

Word Count: 1550

Spotify Playlist | Support: Ko-FI

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N: Oh my little cry baby. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

Tags: @buckys0whore | @thezombieprostitute | @lanabuckybarnes | @mishkatelwarriorgoddess | @softieekayy | @noonespecial90 | @hello-therree | @randomawesomeperson102 | @whoreforbarnes | @thejutvtsupport | @somnorvos | @cjand10 | @plasticbottleholder | @birdenthusiastez | @am-3-thyst

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602

Teetering on the edge of despair and resilience, you desperately tried to piece together the fragments of your life. The fragments that had shattered in the wake of recent events. Since your conversation with Steve, the days felt like a blur of raw emotions and introspection. 

Looming over the horizon was your art exhibition, the one beacon of hope amidst the chaos. The show’s preparations made for a much-needed distraction, which offered moments of peace as you immersed yourself in the creative process. However, the lingering thoughts of Bucky, Peter, and Steve cast a shadow over your excitement. 

As you arranged your artwork in the gallery one afternoon, your phone buzzed. A message from Peter lights up the screen. Your heart raced as you read the message: “Can we meet? I think it’s time we talked.” 

You held your breath as you replied, agreeing to meet him at a cafe nearby. Your mind raced as you made your way there, the anticipation gnawing at you. All you could think about was, what you say, how you explain, and whether he would even listen.

Peter was already seated at a corner table when you arrived, his expression somber. As you cautiously approached him, your heart pounded in your chest. The silence was heavy between you as you sat down, unspoken words filled the air as did lingering emotions. 

Your voice trembled as you began to apologize softly. “Peter, I’m so sorry for everything. I never meant to hurt you.” 

Pain and understanding filled his eyes as he looked up at you. “I know,” he replied, keeping his voice equally soft. “But I need to understand why it happened. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

The words caught in your throat as tears welled up in your eyes. “I was scared,” you admitted. “I thought if I could forget about it, move past it, everything would be okay. I didn’t want to lose you.” 

Sighing, Peter ran a hand through his hair. “I get that. But, trust is everything in a relationship. It broke something between us when you kept that from me.” 

Your heart ached at his words. You nodded. “I know. I realize that now. I want to make amends and rebuild that trust. But I understand if you need time.” 

He reached across the table, taking your hand in his as his expression softened, “I do need time,” he said gently. “But, I also care about you. I want to try to work through this, together.” 

You squeezed his hand, relief washing over you. “Thank you, Peter. I promise to be honest with you from now on. No more secrets.” 

A small, reassuring smile tugged at his lips. “We’ll take it one step at a time.”

There was a glimmer of hope as you left the cafe together. 

~

The night of your art exhibition finally arrived. Looking around the gallery, it was alive with the buzz of admiration and excitement. Peter, friends, family, and art enthusiasts filled the space, marveling at the essence of home you captured in your array of sketches. Only your art could depict the familiar buildings around the city– the bar, the library, and more.

Moving through the crowd, you exchanged smiles and grateful words to those who came to support you. However, there was a small part of you that couldn’t shake the disappointment that Bucky hadn’t shown up. He had been a huge part of your life for so long, and despite the recent tumult between you, his absence felt like a void in the celebration. 

You tried to push the thought aside as you focused on your friends and family. Peter stayed close, he introduced you to various guests, his presence comforting and supportive. He touched your arm gently, as you spoke with a couple that stood admiring a sketch of the old library. 

“Hey, I want to introduce you to someone,” he said softly, guiding you toward a corner– where stood a striking woman, her gaze intently fixed upon one of your pieces. “This is Michelle,” he continued, his voice holding an enthusiasm you hadn’t noticed from him before. “She’s a big fan of your work.” 

Turning to face you, Michelle’s smile was warm and genuine. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you,” she said, extending her hand. “Your work is incredible, The way you capture the essence of each building… it’s like I’m seeing them for the first time.” 

Returning her smile, you shook your head. “Thank you, that means a lot to me.” 

Beaming, Peter was pleased with the introduction. However, the more you chatted with Michelle, you couldn’t help but notice the way Peter looked at her– his eyes lingered on her longer than usual, and his smile was a bit wider. It was subtle, but it was there. Unmistakable. 

You observed Peter and Michelle’s interaction as the conversation flowed. There was a natural chemistry that was hard to ignore between them, an easy rapport. His laughter was more frequent, and his posture relaxed. You were certain that he was attracted to her. 

As you chatted with Peter and Michelle, your gaze wandered around the room. Your breath hitched in your throat when you saw a familiar figure standing alone. Bucky was stood intently staring at one of your pieces. Relief and anxiety washed over you as you excused yourself and made your way over to him. 

His expression was unreadable as he stood before a particular sketch. You realized as you got closer which piece had captured his attention– the sketch of him. Amidst all the buildings, there he was, a part of the landscape you created in your ‘Home’ theme. 

He turned to look at you as you approached, his eyes filling with a depth of emotion you couldn’t place. “When did you make this? Why?” he asked, a softness in his voice tinged with curiosity. 

Offering a shy smile, a heat flushed across your cheeks. “Um, I made it a few weeks ago,” you admitted softly, your cheeks warming further under his gaze, “For years, I’ve sat across from you in our booth. For my entire life in this city– all I see is you.” 

Your heart pounded with the weight of the truth. And, for a few moments, you both stood there. The world around you faded away, it was just the two of you. Years of shared memories and unspoken truths connected you. 

Just as you were about to say more, Howlett approached with a broad grin. “Hey, kid! I bought your art of the bar!” he announced, his voice booming with pride. 

The news snapped you back into reality as a surge of joy washed over you. “Really? Thank you so much!” you exclaimed, turning to find Peter alongside Howlett. Peter beamed as he pulled you into a celebratory hug. 

As you basked in the moment, Bucky watched, a small smile playing on his lips. For a beat longer, he stood there until he could no longer beat not being the one to share in your triumph. He quickly turned and slipped away.

A hollow feeling settled in your chest as you turned around, looking for Bucky. He was gone, and your heart sank. It was in that moment, as your eyes scanned the room but yet, found no trace of him that a realization hit you with a force. A force you could no longer ignore– you are in love with him. 

The empty space where Bucky had stood was all you could think about as the celebration continued around you. Noticing the shift in your mood, Peter gently squeezed your hand. “Hey, are you okay?” he asked with concern etched on his face. 

“Yeah,” you forced a smile as you nodded, “just overwhelmed,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. Your revelation pressed down heavily on you, making it hard to focus. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Peter said softly, pulling you closer as he wrapped his arm around you. “This is your night. Enjoy it.” 

Leaning into him, your thoughts were miles away as your feelings for Bucky lingered. You tried to push them aside as the night wore on but, they were always there.

~

It wasn’t long before the gallery slowly began to empty. Peter and Michelle were deep in conversation, and you watched them from a distance. It strangely made you happy to see Peter so at ease.

Natasha and Wanda approached you while you stood lost in thought. They had noticed your distant gaze. 

“You seem a bit out of it,” Natasha said softly, nudging your shoulder. “Everything okay?” 

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, just a lot to take in tonight.” 

Glancing over to Peter and Michelle, Wanda’s eyes narrowed slightly as she watched their interaction. “You noticed it too, huh?” she asked with a gentle tone. 

Your shoulders slumped as you sighed. “Yeah, it’s hard not to. He looks… happy around her.” 

Natasha put a comforting arm around you. “It’s understandable. You’ve been through a lot lately. But, it is okay to feel what you’re feeling.” 

You took a deep breath, looking at both of your friends, voicing the truth that had been weighing on your heart and mind for the last few hours. “It’s not just that. I… I’m in love with Bucky.” 

---

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[suugarbabe]

Saving Grace (II)

[Chapter 2]

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Word Count: ~2.7k

Warning: none

Summary: Mattheo and Y/n need to devise a plan and pray to Merlin their friends can't see through their facade.

[chapter 1]

Your fingers tapped the top of the table that you picked at the back of the library. Mattheo had agreed to meet you roughly ten minutes ago and you were getting restless. He was pretty notoriously late to classes so you guess you couldn’t be too surprised he was late to this meeting as well. You started chewing on the nails of your hand that wasn’t tapping on the table, mind racing of all the ways your plan with Mattheo could go wrong. “You know that’s terrible for your nails, love.” You jumped at Mattheo’s voice, breath brushing against your ear as he leaned down behind you to whisper. You glared at him as he sat down across from you. “So, what’s the plan, beautiful?” Mattheo’s eyes were playful, as was the smile he wore as he spoke. 

“Do you really think that or are you just doing that thing where you try to be charming just because I have breasts?” You seemed to have stunned him into silence for a moment, but he recovered quickly, “First off, the charm comes naturally. Secondly, do I really think what?” You sat up straighter, trying to find the confidence you had just moments ago. “Do you really think I’m beautiful?” Your cheeks burned as you finished your sentence. Mattheo grabbed your hand, “You are very beautiful, Y/n. But I don’t have some sort of ulterior motive, love.” 

“Then why are you helping me?” You questioned. Mattheo shrugged his shoulders, “Do I need an excuse to put Pucey in his place?” You laughed together. It was nice, seemingly feeling at ease with someone that could so easily instill fear in so many people. It was strange, you had known of Mattheo your entire Hogwarts career. You had come in together, sorted into Slytherin the same day. He’s essentially worn the same smirk for six years straight. He’s snogged two of the girls in your friend group, not that you think he’d remember. You’ve seen him in several fights, bruised and battered in classes for several days after. But you don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this, eyes crinkled from smiling, head thrown back, just looking comfortable in general. 

You must have been caught in a daze because Mattheo was once again snapping in front of your face, “Y/n, you still with me? You do this zoning out thing a lot?” You blinked a few times, shaking your head, “Sorry, aha, just lost in thought I guess. Pucey really gives me the creeps and I wanna make sure we’re convincing if need be.” He nodded, leaning his elbows on the table, “Like we’re gonna make out in front of him convincing?” He wiggled his eyebrows. You couldn’t help but laugh, “Well thank Merlin we’re setting ground rules because you clearly need direction. So…give me the details of the party, what time is it supposed to start, what houses are going to be there, where do you generally hangout in case I need you?” 

He pulled at his bottom lip as he thought about his answers. He started talking with his hands, using his fingers to make sure he responded to each question, “Slytherin is hosting the party, obviously. I think it’s supposed to start around nine or something like that? But as you experienced today, I don’t generally show up on time. As far as who’s invited, I’m pretty sure it’s just a free for all, so that should be helpful in putting some distance between you and Pucey.” You stared at him blankly, obviously confused as to how that was helpful, “More houses means more bodies, more bodies means more obstacles between you and the git. Easier to duck away from him and find yours truly.” He smiled so cheesily his dimples started to pop out. You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms in the process, “Again, where would I find you at this people packed party that you’ll be late to.” 

“Typically, we hang out in the back corner, where the more comfortable sofas are going to be.” You motioned with your hand for him to keep talking, “And this ‘we’ consists of who exactly?” He started rattling off names, “Me, Theo, Pansy, Enzo, Blaise, Draco and whoever happens to be Draco’s flavor of the week.” He smiled at himself for the last bit. “I’m sure your flavor of the week is typically included in that as well?” You asked cheekily. “This time, that’s you, Princess,” he winked and you scoffed. You had set firm rules for yourself that you were not going to fall for his normal tricks. In this situation, you were the one using him and it was not going to be turned around at any point in time. 

“Okay, loverboy, ground rules. We need to set them. If we’re gonna convince Pucey that I’m with you, you’re gonna have to control yourself and not flirt with, or at least makeout with any other girls at the party. Think you can manage that?” You were teasing him mostly, but also slightly worried that his head downstairs might dictate his actions more than his head upstairs. “Contrary to popular belief, I am capable of controlling myself. I just choose to make sure I’m fully entertained at these events.” 

“Well, I’m your entertainment this party, understood?” Mattheo nodded slowly, “Understood.” You took a deep breath before continuing again, “How much PDA do you think will be necessary?” He smiled a little too widely for comfort, “Well personally, physical touch is my love language, so I’m very touchy. I won’t shy away from touching you, maybe have you sit on my lap if we go by my friends. Maybe a kiss or two, yanno, just to be convincing.” You nodded, “Okay, I can do that.” Mattheo looked a little shocked at your response. “Listen,” you started, “Adrian’s a fucking pest, as soon as he notices me at this party he’s going to try and be attached to me like a leech. So I’m willing to do anything at this point, which leads me to my next question.” 

He waited for you to continue. You took a deep breath, your words seemingly slamming together as you let your breath go, “Doyouthinkwecouldstartthiswholetonight.” His eyebrows furrowed together, “Slowly for me, love.” You closed your eyes, wincing at your words, “Do you think we could start this whole thing tonight. Like, at dinner? Just be seen together, maybe a little flirty banter or something. I just wanna make sure other people besides just Adrian see us interact in a slightly-more-than-friendly way, if…that’s okay…” you trailed off, peeking one eye open to gauge his reaction. To your surprise he wasn’t smirking for once. He just nodded, “I agree, our friends have to think something is blossoming as well otherwise their confusion will throw Pucey off. Wanna let me know anything that’s absolutely off limits?” 

“No sex,” you might’ve answered a little too quickly. At least that was what you hoped was the reason Mattheo started laughing. “There’s just obviously no reason because we’re just…faking it for when people are around. I get your adventurous with…things…but yeah, I don’t think that’s necessary.” Mattheo held his hands up in defense, “Not a problem. I can handle it.” He smiled now, “What are you friends going to think when they see you with me? Will they be skeptical?” You shook your head, “No, I don’t really talk about to them about guys I like or anything like that, so they would probably just think it was another guy I’ve kept from them. You’d definitely be the first guy I was out and open with whilst at school though, so that would be new to them.” Mattheo’s head tilted slightly as he listened, curiosity in his eyes, “Who have you been with? Do I know them?” You pretended to zip your lip and lock it, indicating you were not going to reveal any names to him. 

He stood then, holding his hand out to you, “Shall we go to dinner then, darling.” You stood, grabbing his hand. He laced his fingers with yours immediately, leading you through the library toward the corridor to the great hall. The two of you earned several stares on your way out, a few people leaning in closer together and whispering to each other. As you left the library into the corridor Mattheo leaned down to whisper to you, “A simple walk through the library and we’ve already got people talking about us.” You smiled at the ground, following him quietly through the halls. The staring and whispering continued. You’d never had attention on you like this, but Mattheo barely seemed to notice. He pulled you closer to him in the hall, making sure you were right on him all the way up to the great hall. He stopped right before the doors, turning back to you, “You ready for this, love?”

You nodded your head, “Ready as I’ll ever be.” He turned back around, still holding your hand as he walked through the great hall doors. It felt like everyone’s eyes were on the pair of you. You knew that probably wasn’t the case, but there were definitely those keeping a close eye on you. He led you towards the Slytherin table, your friends eyes nearly popping out of their head. Your friend, Ottilla, stood, stopping you both, “Y/n, care to introduce us to your…friend?” Mattheo plastered on a smile so deep his dimples popped through, “Mattheo Riddle, pleased to meet you.” You found your voice suddenly, “Mattheo these are my friends, Ottie, Darcy and Flora. Though I’m pretty sure you’ve made an acquaintance with two of them previously.” Your mouth leveled into a thin line, but no one seemed to notice.  The three said a chorus of ‘hello’s’ to the boy. “Darcy, Flora, nice to see you again,” Mattheo winked, “Do you mind if Y/n sits with me for dinner tonight? I promise she’ll give you all the details later.” The smirk never left his face. All of your friends nodded, like they really had a say anyway. 

As you approached the other end of the table, Mattheo’s friends didn’t even look up. He sat down next to Draco, patting the bench next to him for you to follow. You sat, waiting for his friends to start questioning you being there. Mattheo cleared his throat, making the others all look at him, “This is Y/n, she’s erm…a new friend.” Draco scoffed, “Is that what we’re calling the girls you bring around now?” He immediately regretted his words as Mattheo elbowed him in the ribs, “Don’t be rude, cousin.” Draco mumbled a muffled ‘sorry’ under his breath. Mattheo introduced the rest of his group. You, of course, already knew of all of them. Admittedly you used to have a crush on Theo in third year, but found him far too intimidating to even approach. They all said a proper hello to you. You weren’t sure if they were actually being nice or just feared Mattheo too much to be rude to you in front of him. 

“You coming to the party with us tomorrow then?” You turned at the sound of Blaise’s voice. You stole a glance at Mattheo, who simply nodded, encouraging you to answer on your own. “Erm, yeah, i-if that’s okay.” You heard Mattheo laugh softly next to you, “It’s not up to them, love. If you want to show up with your friends first, that’s okay. You know where to find me when you’re ready.” He gave you a soft kiss on your temple, the gesture causing Draco to raise his eyebrows. Enzo and Theo looked at each other, smirks plastered on their faces. “Something to say Enzo? Theo?” Mattheo challenged them. They shook their heads, smiling to themselves. You didn’t talk much the rest of dinner, just watched and observed how Mattheo interacted with his friends. He was quick witted, and very funny. Funnier than you expected him to be. You found yourself smiling a lot more than you anticipated. Mattheo and his friends actually weren’t that bad of company considering. The group seemed to have warmed up to you by the end of dinner. All except Draco who stayed skeptical, though you were pretty sure that was his constant state of being. 

You could feel someone watching you. You turned to see Adrian down the table, glaring at you. The sight of him made you physically stiffen. Mattheo noticed your change in demeanor, following your stare. Mattheo leaned in close, whispering in your ear, “Let’s give him a show, shall we?” You weren’t sure exactly what Mattheo had in mind, but at this point, you had to trust him. You nodded your head, silently giving him permission for whatever he had planned. He cupped your cheek, lightly rubbing his thumb across your bottom lip. His hand slid down to your throat, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he used this grip to pull you into him. His lips pressed to yours gently, adding just enough pressure to make your heart race before pulling back, “Ready to go, Princess? I’ll walk back with you.” You were at a loss for words, your heart racing wildly. You nodded and began standing, Mattheo following suit. You said a quick goodbye to the others, looking down the table once more to see Adrian sulking. That made you smile. 

Mattheo wrapped an arm around your shoulder as he walked you out of the great hall. Once you entered the corridor you found your voice again, “Pucey looked like someone pissed in his pudding.” Mattheo giggled, and you didn’t think you would have heard something so adorable from him. “It was fun to fuck with him, you played along pretty well,” he was holding your hand now as you two walked toward your common room. “Honestly, the kiss was more tame than I anticipated,” he raised his eyebrows at this. “Oh? A hand round your throat a usual occurrence for you, y/n?” His tone was teasing, you played along, “I don’t kiss and tell.” He hummed to himself, filing that bit of information in the back of his mind, “Well I thought my tongue down your throat might be a bit much for the dinner table.” You smiled but didn’t respond, instead just kept walking until you reached the common room portrait. You let Mattheo speak the password, then followed him through the entrance. 

The few peers that were already in the common room kept peeking over at the two of you. You did your best to ignore them as Mattheo walked you to the sixth year girls' dorm door. There was no one in the hall, but he still held your hand. You were facing each other now, you were the first to break the silence, “Well I guess I’ll see you at the party tomorrow?” He shook his head, “Not unless you plan on skipping divination…and charms, and…potions.” You laughed, “Forgot we had classes together.” You paused for a moment, tilting your head, “Wait…we don’t have potions together.” He was smiling to himself now, “I convinced Slughorn to let me switch from the afternoon class. Told him I needed the afternoons for quidditch practice. Figured I could keep an eye on Pucey that way, seeing as after that class is normally when he stalks you.” You shook your head in slight disbelief, “Seems you’ve thought of everything.” Mattheo wore a proud look, “I’m a lot smarter than people give me credit for.” 

More students started coming back from dinner, filling the common room and walking toward their dorms. You looked back at Mattheo as Pansy turned the corner towards the dorms. You wrapped one hand around the back of his neck, going up on your toes to place a kiss on Mattheo’s cheek, “I’ll see you in class tomorrow.” His smile seemed genuine, not just one to convince other people. “See you tomorrow, Princess.” And with that he walked back down the hall, leaving you to follow Pansy into the dorms.

[chapter 3]

AN: I don't have a set schedule on when I'll be updating this story, just kind of doing it as things come to me, but if anyone wants to be in a taglist for this one, let me know 😊 . I'm also open to any suggestions about what you may want to see, etc. I do have a general idea for the party in the next chapter already, but I'd love to hear what you guys wanna see happens

[fileformatcom-blog]

Open Source Java APIs - Create, Protect, Merge & Convert Word Documents

In the world of software development, Java is a popular choice for building robust and scalable applications. When it comes to working with word processing documents, Java developers often face the challenge of integrating their applications with various file formats. This is where Java open source word processing file format APIs come into play. Java open source word processing file format APIs are sets of programming interfaces that enable Java developers to create, read, access, concatenate, split, convert, and manipulate word processing files in various formats, such as OpenDocument Format (ODF), Rich Text Format (RTF), Plain Text Format (TXT), Markdown Format (MD), and so on. These APIs provide a standardized way for Java developers to interact with word processing files, allowing them to create applications that can read, write, and edit documents with ease.

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[mosaickiwi]

Nails, TV, Moving

Rendacted paints your nails and 'asks' you to move in. 1.3k words, GN reader c:

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

~

"Unfortunately for our contestant—" the host’s words get cut off as you press a button on the remote.

"Booooo," you jeered at the TV from your spot on the floor and changed the channel. 

Ren hummed softly at your voice, but didn't look up. Despite the dark bangs that obscure their eyes, you can tell they’re focused. He was happily painting your nails—the same shade of black as his own—at your request. He insisted you sit as close as possible on the blanket he laid down, instead of across the coffee table. He'd only ever painted his own nails after all, so the angle was very important to keep him from messing up. You were certain he just said that because he wanted the closeness.

The screen barely flashes a few frames before you're changing it again. A football game, a cartoon, a drama, and then—you finally stop. There's a couple wandering through a cabin, with a disembodied voice narrating all it had to offer. One of the many house hunting shows that came on every so often.

"Oh, this one's pretty." You put down the remote to watch. The couple head upstairs where the master bedroom is and your excitement quickly dies. "Maybe not. The bathroom is a huge let down."

Ren casts a glance up at the TV as the camera pans over the room once more. He took in the slanted ceiling, with the tub stationed on the lower end, lit up by an angled skylight. He didn't really see whatever problem you had. "What's wrong with it?" he asked.

"The ceiling is already so low. You'd have to fold yourself in half to get in that tub, tall as you are. And you'd probably hit your head every time you got out. We couldn't live there," you grumbled and rested your chin on your free hand, eyes never straying from the screen. "No way I'd put you through that."

You didn't notice how he perked up when your concerns involved him—you even said ‘we.’ A miniscule drop of polish fell on the paper towel under your hand. He wasn't sure if you were being considerate, or if your perfectly normal relationship was at the point of buying a home together. He hoped it was the latter. Either way, including them already planted ideas in their mind. "So then, what's our—your ideal home have?"

"My ideal home…" You’d only really thought about things you didn’t want, thanks to your current apartment. "I can't say I'm very picky. No holes in the walls, enough room to breathe, no rats," you paused for a bit—now they were in a rather awkwardly shaped second bedroom. "When I was little I wanted to live in a bounce house. Or have a freezer dedicated to ice cream."

Ren smiled while he carefully painted the nail of your pinky. "One of those is doable."

"True, but I'd rather not blow up my house every day," you joked and continued pondering. "The location is probably the most important, right?" He silently nodded in agreement as you went on. "Corland Bay's nice and all—having everything so close together makes things easy. Except sometimes I wanna fall asleep without hearing cars pass by or Violet playing games. It's much quieter here. Plus your bed is comfy."

"You're more than welcome to live here, Angel," he innocently offered. “Although maybe you’d enjoy somewhere more secluded.”

“Like just out of town? Not too far from civilization. I'd still wanna be near the beach." You watched the couple fuss about the kitchen in another house before you really processed what he just said. You turned to look at him for the first time since the show caught your interest. "Are you asking me to move in with you?" 

"Oh, is that what it sounded like?" His tone was full of shock, but you could see the way his snake bites pulled up in a faint grin. He examined your nails and lifted your hand once he deemed it finished. "I do have all this space, though. The library’s close by. Beach is a short walk away, too. No neighbors, no noise. I've never had a rat problem. I guess it hits all the marks f’you, doesn’t it, Angel?"

"Ren…" You rolled your eyes at his antics. 

"If you really want to move in that badly, I'm not opposed," he said teasingly. "Other hand."

You didn't respond just yet, merely giving them a playful side eye and placing your hand flat on the table. Gently, you blew air on your wet nails while he went to work. The noise of the TV faded into the background as you thought about his offer.

It was a big step to take. You already spent a fair amount of your time at his place. The ever-dwindling amount of laundry you did at home served as proof. Cohabitating with them wouldn't be much different from now. Ren always gave you space when you asked, even with his clingy personality. He was tidy, quiet, and never made a fuss—the perfect roommate on paper. The real issue was money. A place like this would cost way more than a librarian’s salary could pay.

"As much as I want to, I have to consider rent first," you thought aloud, causing him to stop and look up.

"Angel, you don't need to pay anything." His answer was almost immediate and it surprised you how firm he sounded about it.

You shook your head. "I know I probably can't do half, but I’d like to do my fair share. How much is your rent each month?"

"Well, actually," he stalled and idly rolled the nail brush in his fingers before putting it back in the bottle. The rent was one thing he couldn’t be bothered to keep track of. "...I have no idea?"

"How—what?"

"It's an automatic payment so I never think about it," he admitted, explaining further at your incredulous expression. "I mean I definitely saw it when I found the listing—and when I signed the lease. But I can't remember it off the top of my head."

You had a hard time believing what you were hearing. You knew your own rent by heart—it mocked you every time it took a chunk out of your bank account. A question about how he budgeted weighed in your mind, although the rather calm way Ren spoke clearly answered it: he didn't. It seemed obvious now; he'd been a frivolous spender from the beginning.

The blank look on your face made him a little worried. "Honestly, Angel, it’s not an issue. I’ve been paying it on my own just fine," he insisted. "You don’t have t’worry about any cost if you stay here, I promise.” He’d be happy as a clam to pay triple whatever he already was if it meant you'd move in. Hell, he’d even pay for you to live in one of the empty units next door.

"Fine then," you sighed in defeat, glancing towards the TV screen for a moment. The show was already ending. "If I tried to give you money you'd just find a way to give it back anyways.”

Ren let out a faint breath as if he was holding back laughter, but didn’t disagree. "So, how about it? Gonna move in?” he asked with a sincere smile.

You couldn’t help but smile the same in return. “Yeah, why not? I’d be crazy to say no. I can talk to my landlord and be out in a few weeks, probably.”

His excitement only seemed to grow at your words. He was radiating silent joy, fingers tapping rhythmically on the table as he uncapped the bottle of polish once more. You could almost imagine a tail wagging behind him as he tried to make steady brushstrokes over your nail.

“Are you really that happy?” you laughed and he nodded. “Maybe I should just move in tomorrow.” His hand barely slipped, leaving the tiniest streak of polish on the side of your ring finger.

“Oops,” he muttered.

[httpdwaekki]

surprise | s.c.

summary: changbin shows you his new piercing.

w.c: 511

warnings: very short n sweet, not really sure what this is but it’s here LMAO.

a/n: now listen. i know the piercing is fake BUT LET ME HAVE MY MOMENT OKAY. also besties i will get to your requests i promise i just got really bad writer’s block so i wrote this to kinda get me out of it. but they are coming !! anyway, i hope you enjoy! remember to eat, drink water and take your meds, ily <3

my library

(pictures are not mine! credit to owners!)

he stopped at the doorway, leaning against the wooden frame, admiring the scene in front of him. you were propped up, against your plethora of plushies and pillows, legs stretched out in front of you. your eyebrows creased in focus, glasses slowing slipping down your nose.

he moved from the door frame, “hi jagi.” you quickly glance up, not wanting to lose your place as the plot intensifies. “hi bub,” you start, pushing your glasses back up to their rightful place. “give me one sec to finish this chapter.” he moves next to you, grabbing your legs, placing them on his as he sits down.

“how was-” you cut yourself off as he turns his head, a small refective light catching your eye. “woah!” you quickly slip your bookmark in your book before tossing it to the side. you quickly sit up, your legs sliding against his until your plush ones are atop his muscular ones.

you grab his face, squishing his soft cheeks in the process, turning his face to the side. you examine the two silver balls resting against his soft cheek, under his left eye. eyes wide in wonder as they dart around his face.

“you didn’t tell me you were getting a piercing.” you whisper, taking your free hand, gently touching the area under the reddened skin. “do you like it?” the question sounded slightly muffled since you were still squishing his soft cheeks.

you turn his head directly to you in surprise. “i love it jagi, it looks so good.” his cheeks redden under your touch. small smile etching into his soft features.

you gently turn his head once more, placing a soft kiss under the piercing. you finally let go, grabbing his arm that now laid in his lap. “did it hurt?” you ask, eyes still stuck on the reflective jewelry.

“not really,” he whispers, his hands fine your soft thighs, “do you like it bunny?” he asks gently. your gaze immediately snaps to his boba eyes.

“so much, it looks so good bub.” you smile, hand coming up to rest on the opposite cheek, thumb brushing his plump cheek.

“are you sure? it’s new, not something i’ve done before, it’s not too,” he pauses to find the words. “random i guess? or weird on me?” you immediately shake your head.

“not at all bin, it looks really good.” you smile, reassuring him. his ears start getting red from the compliments. “thank you, bunny.” he whispered, giving your thigh a squeeze.

you smile, pulling him into a passionate kiss. he moves his hands to your hips, pulling you into his lap fully before placing his hands back on your thighs.

you pull away slightly. “i love you.” he whispers against your lips. your smile widens, “i love you more pretty boy.” pulling him into another kiss.

do not repost

[kairiscorner]

imagine drinking with miguel and this unexpected conversation comes up.

"i love you."

his voice was slurred and groggy, and he was hiccuping all night–shattering the silences between you two. he had too much to drink that night, and you could tell; miguel wasn't a lightweight, meaning he had to drink more than just a few shots to get to this point of blanking out randomly and hiccuping multiple times in a row.

and especially to utter words like that in one breath.

you felt your face heat up as you tried processing what miguel just told you; the sound of his hiccuping interrupting your train of thought. he takes in a deep breath and gazes at you lazily, admiring you as the lights get brighter around you and engulf your figure in the luminous, showy lights that enhanced your beauty.

"i... fuck, i love you. there... i said it... i fucking love you..." he said in a hushed voice as he felt his eyelids get heavy and begin to droop. he began to lose his balance and gave in to gravity, laying down on his side as he flopped over on the bench he was drinking on. you hurried over to him and heard him mumble in his half-sleepy state, "you're all i want... mi vida... you're perfect just... as you are." you were the only one to ever witness miguel in such an honest, vulnerable state while inebriated; and though his words made you freeze up and actually dwell on them, feeling your heart palpitating in your chest incessantly at the sound of his words repeating in your head–you couldn't believe him, even if the truth supposedly comes out when you're drunk.

but miguel's anything but a liar–he's secretly a man capable of loving, but only at a distance. it is when his mind feels heavy and free all at once that he can express to you the truth: that he loves and adores you with all his heart, and always, always will love you.

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @hearts4gabri @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok @fictarian @yuridopted0 @simsrandomstuff @luvstarrstruck @popeheywardssecretgf @meeom @arachnoia @melovetitties @fable-library @ophanimgold @smokeywhalee @capnshtfce

[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free: Chapter 1 - Sous le ciel de Paris

MASTERPOST | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Welcome to the start of my new multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl! Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. Please note that while I do have a plotted outline, I will be posting chapters as I write them, and I expect that process to take quite a few months. Please bear with me! This first chapter sets up the story - reader moving to Paris in the summer of 1939 and bonding with her new flatmate, Eloise Bridgerton. Please note that Benedict won't be turning up for a couple of chapters yet. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy! <3

August 1939

Emerging from the underground Trocadero metro stop, you round the corner of the recently completed, gleaming Palais de Chaillot and stop dead in your tracks. There before you is the most iconic landmark of Paris. Perhaps all of France.

La Tour Eiffel. 

Breathtaking in its metallic magnificence, glowing in the setting sun. A sight that buoys your travel-weary soul seven days after you left New York: boats and trains finally bringing you to this wondrous spot. A light breeze even dances over your neck in greeting, a balm from the cloying subterranean heat of the metro. 

It's a light elbow check to your arm that pulls you back from a state of reverie. 

“A beautiful sight, but one you’ll get used to,” your uncle Robert chuckles, shaking your heavy leather case to indicate it's time to move along. “In fact, I've been told you will be able to see it from your appartement…” 

He has accompanied you to Paris and will see you settled into your new adventures before continuing on to visit friends in England. He spent the roaring 20s living right here in the 16th arrondissement himself and, indeed, has arranged for you to share living quarters with a young British lady, a relative of his English friends. It's a comfort to know you’ll have at least one English speaker to chat with as you dive headfirst into learning proper French as you go.

Robert leads you away from the amazing sight and into the bustling streets, alive with cars, trams, bicycles and pedestrians buzzing in all directions. It's all at once like New York City, but yet so different as well, cafe terraces filling the wide pavements with all manner of people gathered to sip robust cafe au lait and refreshing limonade. 

Within minutes, you are on a quieter side street and stopping outside a handsome honey-coloured stone facade with wrought iron window balconies and window guards, teaming with colourful, fragrant flowering pots. The number 14 gleaming white on a traditional navy blue tile. Your uncle pushes the enormous wooden door open, beckoning you into a cool whitewash wall corridor with mosaic floor tiles.

“Ahhh, Robert!!” a sophisticated middle-aged lady bustles from a nearby doorway and greets your uncle warmly, kissing both cheeks. It would appear they are friends of old.

“Y/n, this is Madam DuLac, your landlady,” he explains as you offer a handshake, admiring her boucle jacket and chic bun.

“Qu’est-ce?” she signals with a good-natured frown, obviously finding your polite greeting lacking, pulling you into a hug and two-cheeked kiss. She smells like Chanel perfume, cigarettes and baked goods. “You are in Paris now, ma chérie; this is how we greet one another,” she counsels in heavily accented but perfect English.

“You speak English?” you sigh, relieved, your French decidedly lacking.

“Bien sûr,” she smiles. “And please call me Solène,” she adds with a friendly smile.

“Eloise should be home from the library maintenant; the perfect time for you to meet,” she gestures towards an elevator cage surrounded by a sweeping grey marble staircase.

“I think I would prefer to take the stairs,” you admit, nerves flaring at the idea of such a contraption.

Your uncle laughs. “Well, I am taking it; I am not hefting this case of yours up five flights of stairs,” he adds dryly as you gaze up the swirling stairwell.

“Five storeys?” you squeak.

“The view is the best from the top,” Solène advises as she rattles back the cage entry and steps in, looking at you expectantly. 

Reluctantly, you follow, all three of you and your luggage crammed into the metal cage as it jerks to life and begins its ascent.

“You will get used to it,” Solène smiles as she reads the apprehension on your face, your vice-like grip on your small vanity case and handbag.

Luckily, the lift reaches your destination safely. One shudder before it stops, and the door concertinas back in Solène’s hand to reveal a sweeping hallway with doors left and right. 

“Ici,” she signals, the last door on the right-hand side.

But before you can knock, the door peels open, and a pretty, petite brunette jumps in surprise, dropping the book she is holding.

“Pardon,” she offers in perfect accented French, and you wonder for a split second if it is the correct apartment.

“Eloise, this is y/n,” Solène gestures.

“Ohhh, hello,” she grins, and the whiplash back to a plummy British accent is momentarily confusing. “I was about to go read in the courtyard, thought you might not be turning up today. Anyway… come in, come in!”

You shake her proffered hand as she ushers you into the apartment. Instantly, you feel a warmth spreading in your belly, like you have come home. It's light and airy, with large windows looking out across the Parisian rooftops, and yes, to the left is indeed the Eiffel Tower, still gleaming in the fading evening light. But the place also feels homely, that sort of messy that is lived in, comfortable. A large velvet sofa with tumbling stacks of books around it, a little kitchenette awash with colourful enamel cookware, and a jumble of art deco posters and random paintings adorning the walls. 

“Solène, I don't suppose you've baked any more of those rather delicious madeleines, have you? To welcome my new housemate?” Eloise pipes up with a chipper, conspiratorial wink your way. 

You already like her.

“Effronte!” Solène exclaims with fond exasperation before pausing. “There may be some…”

“I remember those!” your uncle adds with a tinge of nostalgia as he drops your suitcase. “You are in for such a treat, y/n.”

“Well, while our landlady decides if she’s willing to share the treats she has obviously baked but is being coy about…”Eloise raises a pointed eyebrow at the woman before returning to you. “...let me show you your room, then maybe a drink? I'm sure it's been a long journey.”

You nod and, with an exchange of grins, follow her down a corridor. She sweeps open the door to a lovely room, a large double bed with matching bedside tables and a dresser. But best of all, french doors onto a Juliet balcony overlooking a quiet courtyard filled with a riot of birch trees, their leaves gently rustling in the evening breeze.

“Mostly, it’s pesky pigeons down there, but you do get the occasional blackbird singing in the morning,” Eloise smiles as if intuiting your thoughts.

You spend some moments wandering the room and checking out the various fixtures, running idle hands over the furniture, already feeling remarkably at home with your new housemate and, indeed, your new home for the next twelve months.

“I'm just next door,” Eloise reveals, pointing a thumb over her shoulder. 

Your uncle appears in the doorway to announce that he and Solène are off to catch up as you unpack and suggests you all reunite for dinner later at a local bistro. It all sounds so very Parisian chic; you cannot wait.

“So tell me about yourself,” Eloise flops onto your bed, already wonderfully casual in your presence, as you open your case and the wardrobe to unpack.

“I’m y/n. I'm from a little town on Long Island called Patchogue, about fifty miles outside New York City. I'm 22…”

“Me too!” she interjects, then signals for you to proceed.

“I wanted to see the world before I settled down. And I’ve dreamed of living in Paris since I was a little girl...” You feel your eyes misting at the fact it's now finally coming true as you continue. “So my parents agreed to pay for me to come to Paris for a year. Under the strict agreement, I get married when I return…” 

“You have a fiancé?”

“Yes. Well, sort of. Stanley. We practically grew up together, and we’ve been going steady since we were eighteen.”

“Going steady? That's so American,” Eloise chuckles.

You nod with a giggle, then continue. “He hasn't proposed formally yet, says he is saving up for a ‘real nice’ ring, but it will happen. He is the son of my dad’s business partner. They run a construction company. So, while I'm here, they are building a home for us to live in when I return. We will get married next summer and move right in.” 

“You don't mind?” Eloise frowns.

“Don’t mind what?” you query as you hang up your favourite dress.

“That your future is so… plotted out. I couldn't bear the idea. It's why I think my mother let me move to Paris. She was so fed up with me refusing to settle down.” Eloise laughs, idly flicking through the magazine you were reading on your journey.

“I suppose I've never really expected anything else,” you shrug, pausing as you put away your hosiery, but her words make you contemplative. “You don't have a boyfriend back home?”

“God, no. Too many pretty Frenchmen to entertain me here,” she winks. “I’ll introduce you to some, just in case you change your mind,” she breezes, climbing off your bed and drifting to the door. “Wine?”

“Oh… well, why not? When in France, etc,” you agree and close the drawer on the pile of cardigans you have just safely stacked.

“That's the spirit!” she effuses over her shoulder as you follow her back into the living room, the Eiffel Tower still glittering in the dusk.

“This place is so lovely,” you sigh, transfixed by the view as she wanders over and hands you a glass.

“It is a pretty magical view,” she agrees, staring at the skyline with you, watching as each window seems to illuminate in soft yellow with the dying light.

“And the decor, too; I see you love books as much as me,” you smile, tilting your head to the piles before taking a sip of red wine. It's the perfect balance of refreshing, mellow fruitiness and tart tannin coating your tongue, so much better than any wine back home.

“Oh god, yes! I work in the library. I can bring home as many as I want,” she enthuses.

“So, are there actually any left on the shelves?” you jest, lightly, savouring your drink and wandering to take a closer look at a smaller painting that catches your eye. It's very different to all of the others.

“My god, this is beautiful,” you breathe, hugging your wineglass to your chest as you stare transfixed at the art. It appears to be a large country house, probably British, bathed in the warm pinkish light of dawn.

“That's home. Aubrey Hall in Kent. I think the family made me bring it in the hopes it would make me homesick,” Eloise deadpans.

“It’s a wonderful piece,” you breathe, fingers reaching out to lightly trace over the heavily oiled brushstrokes. Something about it is so captivating and intimate.

“I'll be sure to let the artist know,” she smirks. “Although I'm reticent to give him any more praise, seeing as, unfortunately, he is my brother.”

“Your brother painted this?” taken aback by the revelation, assuming it an heirloom.

She nods and comes to stand next to you. “Yup. Benedict. Second eldest. I'm fifth of eight, by the way. Hence ‘E’ for Eloise. It's a thing,” she rolls her eyes.

“Wow. Big family. I just have one brother...” 

“Lucky you. Although, as much as he is irritating, if I could only keep one sibling, it probably would be him,” she admits, taking a swig of wine.

“I love art,” you sigh, finally tearing your gaze from the canvas but already knowing it is something you will return to again and again. A pull you can’t quite understand.

“Oh, then I know the perfect job for you! There’s a gallery around the corner from the library, and I saw a sign saying they wanted an English speaker to assist international visitors! You would be perfect!”

“I would love that!” you extol, even as a tiny part of your brain lingers on the idea that it would be too good to be true if it all worked out, that fleeting sense of foreboding in paradise.

“Excellent!” Eloise’s enthusiasm pulls you back to the immediate. “So let’s get your glad rags on! It's time to hit the town for your first night in Paris!”

And thus, you find yourself being bundled back into your room to refresh and change for your first night in the city of your dreams. Indeed, as you find yourself being led by Eloise, arm looped in yours, through the bustling evening streets to a little bistro, your uncle and Solène already waiting at a table with smiling faces and drinks in hand, you can't help but feel this really is the only place in the world you could ever want to be…

Your adventure is just beginning.

Benedict taglist: @foreverlonginguniverse @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaaa

[libelelle]

YAY its my birthday!!! I had a great birthday, but for those who want to celebrate with me, im asking you to help donate and give aid to Palestine. The struggle in Gaza and the West Bank hang over my head, and though today was good, i know there are millions in Palestine suffering. I gathered a few links i think will be helpful.

To donate e-sims, here is a link to a guide. The guide is easy, the process of sending esims is a simple process, and doesnt cost much. If you have 20 dollars lying around, you can buy one easy peasy.

For donations, here are links to a couple different organisations and aid efforts (any amount helps! Even if you can only send a little, it adds up!):

-PCRF (Palestinian Childrens relief fund)

-UNRWA

-Help Gaza Children

-Mona's aid intiatives gofundme, its paypal, as well as her gofundme to evacuate her family

-Here is rotating list of fundraisers for palestinians in Gaza

-Care for Gaza

If you can't donate, here are some alternatives, as well as further resources for people who can:

-Clicks for Palestinians, make sure you take the extra minute to click for their other causes as well!)

-A list of Palestinian culture, movies, food, etc.

-A list complied of history and education on the Palestinians struggle

-Posters here and here that you can print out at home (or at a library!) To put up to spread the word

Of course, make sure to call and email your reps and officials and push for support of Palestinians and cease support to Isreal.

This is by no means an exhaustive list of resources, but i wanted to gather a few for myself and others. Do what you can and Don't let yourself lose hope! Palestine will be free 🇵🇸