#Laptop Authentication Methods

[techtalkcentral12]

In this video m gonna show you How to Check whether your laptop is Original or Refurbished/Repaired in a very easy way.

Quick guide: Verify laptop authenticity - Spot Genuine or refurbished Laptops with expert tips & tricks.

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[cherry-leclerc]

method acting ☆ cl16

genre: angst, yearning, humor, fluff, journalist!reader, established relationship

word count: 13.2k

There’s a lot of things you’d like to do differently in life. And the weeks leading up to that night is one of them.

inspired by doomsday, lizzy mcalpine , true blue, boygenius , cool about it, boygenius !

cherry here!… hello there. sooo this was supposed to go up a few days ago, but silly me scheduled the wrong date, haha, so this is me formally apologizing for that. on a more lighter note: i’m so excited for you guys to read this one considering this is the re-written version of ‘method acting’ if you guys even remember the original version. love u all very much, and enjoyyy :)

From his boyish smile, to his dominant smirk—you knew it all. 

The way it would slowly start to spread, but always ended with a dimple. You loved many things in life—many, many things—but nothing comes close to him. From the very start, he’s been gentle. A gentle giant, you’d sometimes joke with a teasing voice, to which he’d roll his eyes yet never deny. 

The way he’d start every sentence with—honey—and end with—I love you. The way he’d cradle your face between his hands, kissing the corner of your mouth first before pressing down completely. The way he’d translate for you with all the patience in the world. Everything about him had been so easy to learn, so easy to love.

But here, in a room, staring at each other, you begin to wonder if you ever knew him at all. Because suddenly you don’t know what the frown on his face means. What the furrowed brows with the pinched expression interpret to. You don’t know any of it. 

Why are you so surprised, though?

You caused this, anyways.

-

“I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that you don’t know how to use a USB, Lis. Aren’t you supposed to be, I don’t know—tech savvy?” 

Lissie aims a harsh glare before tapping her nail against the computer screen as if that might make the process a whole lot quicker. “So what? I lied on my resume. Everybody does it.”

You chuckle. “Who even uses USB’s nowadays?”

“Apparently Grandpa Will. Oh, yay, it's done!” She shimmies. “I’ll see you later, m’kay?” With that, she zips down the paddock without a second glance. You sigh, gathering your stuff and making your way down the busy crowd, heading straight towards Ferrari Hospitality. 

He’s on his computer when you first walk in, keys clicking. He nibbles on his bottom lip, knits his dark brows like he’s in pain. As soon as you tap your finger against the wall, he perks up, all his interest suddenly gone. He grins. “And to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Lis,” you respond, claiming a seat next to him. 

The Monegasque hums, leaning in to kiss your lips swiftly. “Thank you, Elisabella.” You giggle, sneaking a quick peek at his open screen. “Whatcha’ workin’ on? Wait—let me guess. You’re getting your marriage license annulled?”

“To be with you, yes,” he agrees, nodding enthusiastically. “How do you think Joris is going to take it?”

A playful shrug. “He’s just going to have to accept it, no?”

“I suppose.” Snapping the computer shut, he fixes himself, head pressed softly against your lap, closing his eyes. The sight of his even breaths and curved nose makes you smile as you start threading your fingers through his hair. He sighs, tense shoulders instantly rolling back. “Journling, and whatnot. It’s a habit that has a near expiration date, for sure, but is quite nice as of now.”

And though he can’t see you, your neat brows raise up in surprise. “Journaling on an electronic device? Why not an actual journal? You know—something authentic. I actually know of a place back in Portland where they sell some cute ones, ver—”

“I’m not looking for cute. I’m looking for security.” A beat. “I’d lose it in a week, and we don’t want that happening, now do we? My laptop works just fine. Plus, I feel more at peace knowing it’s not something I will just leave behind.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” you declare, enjoying the way his lips twist with a childlike snarl. “Anyways, I’m glad you’ve picked up on a new hobby. It’s good for you, Charlie.”

“Learned from the best.” You blush. “By the way, media shouldn’t last longer than an hour? Wanna go out?”

“Aren’t you tired?” you question, forcing his eyelids open as he squirms, pushing your hand away.

“A little. But I still want to do something with you.”

A tired sigh. “Cute, but I can’t. Lissie and William are out for today, so it’s just me, which means I have to conduct all the interviews by myself.”

The brunette bats an eye. “Why?”

“She forgot she had a deadline—hence why I was busy helping her—and Will still has to look it over. They have to send it in by midnight and it’s—it’s a lot.”

“Why couldn’t she just email it?”

“That’s what I’m saying!” you screech, causing him to flinch and squeeze his eyes. Sheepishly, you pat his head. “He insisted on a USB. Says he wants all work done like the olden days.”

“That sucks,” he mumbles. “And who even uses USB’s nowadays? They’re so outdated.”

“That’s what I’m—” You stop, mid-sentence, lowering your voice when he sits up and scoots away. “Saying,” you finish, whispering. You purse your lips, sending a slight grimace. “You get it.”

Charles nods, standing up and placing his laptop into his duffel bag. “I’ll come back and pick you up, yeah? Meanwhile, I can maybe cook something for us.”

“Honey,” you coo. “I love you, but please don’t.” His face drops. What the fuck? You giggle. “How about take-out?”

“How about,” he mutters, stiff as a statue when you press your lips down onto his jaw, but quickly melts. “Chinese?”

“Sounds good.” Another peck. “I’ll call you!”

-

If you remember—and you do remember—you fell in love with writing ever since you watched The Devil Wears Prada. It was a reset for you because before that you had seriously considered going to law. At first, you started with column writing in your school's newspaper. No one ever read it, you’d always find it on the floor after being trampled on, but you never cared. 

Soon after, you started publishing smaller pieces here and there on your fashion blog that has since been taken down, but that was the moment you knew. Thing was, you wanted to nurture this into a career, you really did, but nothing to do with fashion, rather sports. 

Maybe it had to do with the fact that every Sunday your Grandpa would beg for you to come over to his house and watch the races with him. They were extremely boring at first. Who willingly drives for roughly two hours in loops? Then, it clicked. Everything changed and you were enthralled. 

After that, all you knew was that you wanted it bad. It was hard, studying over time in order to get done quickly and just start working, but it was well worth it. You met Lis the same year she started working with Formula One, so you both figured a lot of things out together, and for two years, it was just you and her, interviewing and writing about the drivers on the grid.

But he noticed you both years ago.

He first noticed the burn on the back of your left leg. He initially thought it was a band-aid by the way it healed, but later found out you had burned yourself with a curling iron back in highschool when you were rushing to get your senior pictures taken. Then he noticed your eyes and the way they always had a glimmer to them, even if something wasn't going your way. He respected the hell out of you after that.

 How do you do that? 

You freeze. Do what?

Stay so…so—optimistic. Happy, I suppose.

You laughed then, and he saw the way your hair fell over your shoulder like a silk curtain. He would have smiled if he wasn’t so stuck up on that. It’s all a facade. They way you see me—it’s not real.

Believe me, I don’t think you’re real.

You blush, looking back down at your journal where you’ve been too busy scribbling prior to his question. You just have to ignore them sometimes, you know? Remind yourself that they don’t know you and you don’t know them. Trust me, it helps.

And after that, you two never stopped talking. 

Whether it was about work, or perhaps even the weather, you two always had something going on. Something everyone noticed, but never brought up. And at one point, you confessed your next dream.

Journalist of the Year, he repeated, a goofy smile slowly itching his skin. Yeah, I can see that.

It’s not that easy, though, you retort, exhaling heavily. I mean, I’ve been doing this for quite a while now and I haven’t even been considered once, which is fine, maybe I’m not good enough, but maybe it’s also time to…I don’t know—give up?

He kept quiet, kept his eyes focused on you, and frowned. If it’s something you want, then it’s most likely something you can have. 

Pft, you scoff. Nah. Not this. It’s nearly unattainable for someone like me. Even Lissie has won, and we’ve been here for the same amount of years. Now I’m not saying she doesn’t deserve it, but that just comes to show that there’s always someone better. And I’m just here. You look up. It’s okay, you can laugh.

A beat. I could be a hypocrite to tell you that it’s not good to measure how talented you are or how talented you can be based on some award, but Jesus Chrsit, I do the same thing. I understand. And it’s because I understand that I’m telling you to keep working hard and prove yourself to them. You have it in you—I’ve known ever since we met. You smile. Your time will come, yeah?

And for the first time: you believed it. 

A nod. Thanks, Charles. Yours will too.

About a month later, you two started officially dating. It almost seemed too good to be true at times, but wherever he looked for you in the crowd, you knew it just had to be. 

But the start of your relationship was also the end of something else.

Interviews and articles? 

He nods. Right. None of that.

You follow his actions, nodding numbly as you blink. So, no more working together? Because you want me to have a fair shot?

Yes, he confirmed. I just don’t want you to be nominated—because it’s only a matter of time, I have a feeling—and feel as if they picked you simply because of your dating status. 

Who’s going to do all of that, then? 

There’s plenty of other reporters. Lissie? Will? Maybe even Natalie. He took a step closer, grabbing your hands gently. What I’m trying to say is that I want you to feel accomplished. That what you did was simply because of your work, and not having to do with your connections because trust me, that doesn’t feel good.

But I love working with you. You give his hand a squeeze, tilting your head and smiling sadly. You’re my favorite person to write about and talk to…

And he genuinely seemed to be pained by your words, wincing.

But you suck it up because you know he’s right. I’ll always be your favorite?

Only the best.

A hum. Alright then. You take a step back, extending your hand for a professional handshake. He smiles, taking it and giving it a good tug.

 It was nice working with you, Mr. Leclerc.

-

“I’ll never understand,” Lissie starts, pressing the elevator button for the twenty-fifth floor and chewing on a licorice. “Why you two ever create such a stupid rule like that?” A hard chew. “All I’m saying is that it could have definitely helped you out a whole lot. You probably would have won by now.”

You roll your eyes, but not without thinking how she might be right. You’ve definitely wondered about a world in which you two hadn’t taken this approach, and while it would have been nice, you also know that it would have felt a little less special knowing that being a nepo to Charles had something to do with it. Which is most likely what would have happened, let’s be completely honest here. 

“You came to this arrangement, what? Twenty years ago, maybe fourty? And it’s not to be rude, but you haven't been nominated, so was this really worth it if it hasn’t made much of a difference?”

“Okay,” you grunt, ripping the red candy away from her and throwing it into the nearby trash as soon as you step out of the elevator. She pouts, following along. “I think we get it, I fucked up, very funny.”

“No,” she hums. “I never said you did, I was simply thinking, that's all.” You scoff. “But whatever. I have a feeling this is it. You definitely have it in the bag. They’d be crazy not to add you for a fourth time!”

Spinning, you smile bitterly at the Brit girl. She gulps. “Thank you, Lis, your mild support is very much appreciated.”

You turn back around, walking faster.

“Sheesh, sorry,” she hisses, entering the familiar office with a lost expression.

Carly, your manager runs over, practically jumping onto you and hugging you tight. “Lis, close the door!” You groan at the loud sound against your ear, but she's none the wiser, already embracing you harder. “You did it!”

“I told you!” Lissie shoots smugly.

You freeze, heart racing. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not lying—”

“Why would she be lying?”

Letting go, Carly lets out a delirious laugh. “Everything—all of it—has finally paid off. You did it, you’re on the list!”

“Holy shit,” you whisper in disbelief, playing with your necklace as you pace the spacious office. Lissie and Carly both grin at each other from ear to ear, nodding enthusiastically. You come to a halt. “Are you making this up because I said I would kill myself if I didn’t make it this year because, for your information, I was totally kidding!”

“It’s not a joke,” the redhead squeals, jumping again. “I’m so proud of you!”

“I am too!” Lissie shrieks, running and kissing you face as you try your best to swat her away even though you’re laughing. “Even after what I said in the elevator, I knew this shit was the real deal this time! Didn’t I tell you? Carly, I told her.” She twirls you, making you grin harder.  “You won!”

“Okay, let's touch some grass, ladies,” Carly cuts in. “We can’t forget that this is just a nomination and that there’s still work that needs to be done in order to secure our best chances.”

“Right,” you respond, elegantly fixing yourself and nodding up and down. You freeze. “Wait, what work? I thought this was it?”

Carly shakes her head. “Oh honey, we’re just getting started.” A pause. “You have to write an article.”

“I am—confused. What do you mean by article?”

The Brit takes a seat in a nearby chair, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “It’s their one and only requirement. Show them why they should pick you.”

Carly nods, red hair bouncing. “Shouldn’t be too hard. You’re as talented as they come. Just do what you do, but…better!”

Color drains your face as you go back to pacing. “What do you mean better? This is all I got! There’s nothing left to show, oh God—”

“What are you talking about?” your manager yelps. “There’s always more!”

“Exactly,” Lissie hums, somehow munching on another piece of candy. “There’s always—that, yeah. More.”

Your eye twitches. “Okay, you already went through this and won. How did you do it?”

She pouts, tapping the licorice against her lips before clicking her fingers. “I wrote my piece on fashion and how it’s made its way into Formula One. Wasn’t even that hard. Well. Shouldn't be. Write what you know and it’ll come to ya, they say. Or maybe they don’t, but definitely still do that.”

Your shoulders drop, plopping down next to her and placing a pillow over your face. “Fuck. That’s genius.” It is, isn’t it? she mumbles, slowly chewing in deep thought. Screaming into the pillow, you feel the frustration you didn’t have a second ago finally erupt. “What am I going to do?”

“Sweetheart,” Carly starts, forearms pressed against her glass desk, and stern eyes trained onto you. “You have got to be one of the most raw writers I have ever worked with.” A beat. “Sorry, Lis.” 

“Screw you,” she snarls, focusing on her phone now. 

Your manager sighs, rubbing her temples. “And please take that as a compliment because it is. You don’t hold back, and you tell it how it is. That’s what makes you one of the best! And if it weren’t for you wanting this, I would have definitely sent an angry email on your behalf because you deserve this more than anyone.”

“Wow,” the Brit muttered, raising her dark brows. 

“Sorry,” she mumbles, cringing. “But you’ve won already, Lis, and we supported you, and now…” She faces you again with soft eyes. “We’re doing this for you. You got it, m’kay?”

“But—” your voice cuts off as you blink rapidly, losing focus with the thought of failing, imprinting itself into the forefront of your mind. “I don’t know what to write about, which is weird because I always have an idea, at least. That’s simply a bad sign, that much I know.”

“It’s only bad if you think it is,” Lissie says, clicking her phone off and smiling gently. “But in all honesty, I think it’s actually quite good. That means you know what's at stake, and you know you have to make this the best goddamn article in your entire life.” A beat. “Write what you know, I’m telling you.”

“What she said,” Carly squeaks cheerfully, eyes crinkling as she starts pouring champagne and handing them one by one. “But just so you know, we have to get this in by October thirteenth because they make their decision by the sixteenth.”

“But that’s Charles’ birthday week,” you wail, rubbing your eyes harshly. “Fucking hell—”

“He’ll understand,” Lissie cuts you off, clicking her glass against Carly’s who shrugs, sipping neatly. “All of us know he will.”

“Okay then,” you whisper slowly. You curl your hand tighter against the glass. “Cheers?”

“Cheers, mate!”

-

Entering his Monaco flat, Charles lets out a tired sigh, taking his shoes off and flinging his keys to the nearby coffee table. The loud thud makes him flinch before running over hurriedly. A large scratch lays across the rich wood as he panics, kneeling down to inspect it carefully.

“Are you serious, Charlie?” he hears over his shoulder, jumping to find you with a frown on your lips and hands on your hips. “That was a gift!”

“I’m sorry!” he squeaks. “From your Grandpa, I know, I’m sorry!”

You let out a breath, shrugging. “It’s fine. How was your day?”

He eyes you suspiciously once before getting closer to you and kissing you hello. “Eh. Decent. Yours?”

Plump lips twist before flattening back out. “Decent.”

He squints, noticing the way you play with your necklace. “You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not,” you answer quickly. Defensively.

His brows furrow deeper. “Blow me.”

“Blow you?”

“Yes. Right here, right now—blow me.” He demonstrates, letting out a breath as if taking a breathalyzer test. 

You let out a sore laugh, rolling your heels as you stumble back. What? Your laughing stops, though tears run down your face as you try to get your words out. “You mean breathe out, not blow you.” Your giggles pick up once again, making him blush deep red. “God, you need to learn a bit more proper english.”

He looks away, cringing at the sound of his voice replaying, and then turning with a stoic face. “Don’t change the subject.” A pause. “Breathe out.”

You freeze. “Why?”

“Don’t ask questions, just do it.” “I’m not going to do it.”

“Just do it,” he presses harder.

You glare. “No. I’m not.”

Taking one last glance, he leaps forward with zero warning and starts tickling you, making your squeal. Stop! “Breathe!” I am breathing, you twat! “Blow me—God damn it! Whatever! Blow! Breathe! Blow!” 

“Fine, fine, just stop!” you screech, giggles coming to an end as he nods and stares down at you, which by now, you’re laid down on the couch with him towering over. You blush, breathing out lightly, nearly nothing. He rolls his eyes. Blow me harder. “Blow me harder,” you mimic, copying his accent. 

He groans. “You get what I’m saying—”

“I don’t, though,” you joke, laughing harder. As soon as your eyes shut, he smiles down at you affectionately, but when they open again, he reverts his lips back into a straight line. Your lips wobble playfully. Letting out a big breath, he whiffs strongly. “Gross, Cha!”

“You smell like strawberry sorbet, relax.” A beat. “Open your mouth and stick your tongue out for me.”

“Okay, this is getting really kinky.”

He aims for a deadpan expression. 

Rolling your eyes, you do as you're told and he lets out a scream. “What the fuck!”

“It’s red!”

“No duh, Charles!”

“Strawberry sorbet. The last pint. You ate it all, didn’t you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“So that's a yes.”

You frown.

“And we always share, but when we don’t it’s because you’re going through something and you couldn’t help yourself.”

“Okay, Sherlock Holmes, we get it,” you grunt, pushing him off as you sit up. He does the same, staring at you, concerned. “By the way, does that upset you?”

“The ice cream? Nah.”

You nod, then yawn. “Why do you have to be so attentive?”

“Because I love you.”

You smile. “I made it onto the list.”

“The list?”

“The list.”

A wide grin dances across his pink lips as he jumps onto the coach, up and down, making you bounce and stare up with a soft look. “The list! Thee list. Holy crap, congratulations, honey!” Landing on the ground, he hugs you, digging his face into the crook of your neck and kissing it over and over. “You smell nice—congrats—is that citrus—wait, this smells really nice—”

“It is citrus,” you giggle as he separates from you. “And thanks. It means the most coming from you.”

Silence takes over for a second or two before his brows knit neatly. “What’s wrong?”

“No. Nothing.” They raise up higher. “I’m not gonna lie—I’m scared.”

Tugging you closer to his chest, he drags so you two are laying back down. You close your eyes at the feeling of his arms wrapping around you like some blanket. “About what? You totally got this.”

“Hmph. It’s just that, I, uh. I have to write an article on a topic of my choice, and—I. Don’t know? I have no clue what to write about.”

Listening attentively, he doesn’t interrupt as your words begin to pour out like a prayer. He doesn’t even interrupt when you say something along the lines of being “at best—mediocre”, even though he really wanted to. You scoff. “It’s a silly problem to have, I’m well aware, but…it’s the truth.”

The Monegasque picks your breathing patterns, mindlessly copying as you cuddle him. “You’ll figure it out.”

You swiftly look up, cheek pressed against his heart beat. “That’s it?”

“What else do you want me to say?”

What do you want him to say? Your lips open aimlessly, then close forcefully. 

He grabs a nearby blacket, covering you both and hugging you the same he’s seen you hug your teddy bear. “I think you need to have a little bit more faith. In yourself, that is. Because your mind…” Green eyes connect with yours as your breath comes to a strong halt. He tends to make your body react that way, quite often. He sends a simple grin. Dimples and all.

“It's the most beautiful thing on this earth.”

-

Abu Dhabi 2021.

It’s been talked about too much already.

Spain 2016.

You’re kidding, right?

Fine. Azerbaijan 2018—

You let out a muffled scream. “Pierre, no! I need something better.”

“Better than all that drama?” he dead pans, genuinely confused as to why his ideas are being shut down.

You exhale, hair flying outward. “I love it too, but I need something new. Unheard of.”

The Frenchman pauses, curling a brow. “I’ve gone blank.”

You bite down on your tongue, shrugging it off. “It’s okay. I should probably come up with my own topic, anyways.”

Getting up, you wave goodbye and make your way to the ice cream truck that’s been rented out for the weekend. Smartest investment, you think to yourself as you twirl your tongue around the lavender spoon. 

“This time I really do mean it—blow me.”

Squinting up at the sun—which so happens to be behind Charles like a halo—you chuckle, feeding him a spoonful. “Good, no?”

“Delicious,” he hums, going in for another. “Have you tried the funnel cakes?” They have funnel cakes? you squeal, eyes shining. He nods. “Want one?”

You deflate. “Later.”

Watching the crowd walk by, you two sit there, switching turns and enjoying each other's company. It’s amazing how no one comes up to Charles, either. Not that he would mind, but it’s definitely a nice surprise. Glancing over, he hands the spoon back to you. “Come up with something?”

“I have a few ideas, but nothing solid yet.”

Pistachio ice cream melts away faster. “I told Pierre to leave you alone, I hope he didn’t bother you too much.”

“He’s actually the reason why I have these ideas. Don’t let him know, though, I would never live it down.”

Watercolor eyes go wide. “Really? Pierre actually helped?”

“Weird, huh?”

“Without a doubt.”

“Don’t stress out too much, honey. You still have time.”

You purse your lips. “But the sooner I figure it, the sooner I can start and just focus, and do the proper research and try and—”

“You have time,” he reaffirms with a knowing look. You cock your head and he sends a sly grin. “Plenty.”

“Plenty,” you copy as he nods along. Extending his arm, he signals to the spoon. You shake your head. “You can have the rest.”

“You’re the gift that keeps on giving.”

-

Write what you know. Write. What. You. Know.

What the fuck does that even mean?

Biting down on your pen, you’re spaced out, staring at the picture frame. In it, Charles and Carlos smile, you can tell, behind their helmets. While the Monegasque’s eyes crinkle sweetly, the Spaniards are dilated and wide. Both nice, but nothing beats those green eyes. 

You can slowly feel your sanity slipping away, day by day. There’d be times where you thought you had it figured out, but then you’d bring it up and Lissie would smile and say—

“Yes! Stick to that one! Start it. Right now.”

It wouldn’t seem genuine because you know she just wanted you to get it done given it’s due in less than two weeks. And even though it was good, it wasn’t good enough. 

“I’m just going to brainstorm a few more ideas.”

She’d given up, mumbling beneath her breath and grabbing her keynotes and headed to her meeting. Well, technically it was your meeting too, but again. Time crunch.

Hence, why you’re admiring the picture and thinking harder than you were a minute ago. The door slides open then, the two Ferrari drivers back from their media duties. You rip your gaze away as soon as they make their way closer. “How does one fake their own disappearance?”

“Oi,” the brown eyed boy warns, toothy grin expanding. “Good question, though.”

“Oi, you,” your boyfriend warns back, glaring at his teammate. “At this point, I’m sure she’d go through with it.” He turns to you. “Honey, you’ve got to decide already, it can’t be that hard.”

“I know that!” you burst out, ears burning as you avoid their eyes. “But there’s just so much! I don’t want to jump the gun and make a mistake, is all.”

Carlos juts his lip, then rolls his jaw. “If only you took someone’s very good proposition.”

A scoff. “I wasn’t going to write about Papaya Rules, Chili.”

“It would’ve been so good, though!” A beat. “What about—”

“Nor multi-21.”

His expression drops, along with his shoulders, and strolls away, flipping you off. I hope you figure it out, then! A low chuckle makes its way as you exhale loudly. “C’mon, what’s the problem this time?”

You bite your lip, brows drawn in together as you gaze back at Charles. “I’m not entirely convinced.”

“Honey…”

“A-and I know I’m running out of time, but I just want it to be perfect!”

He smiles, throwing his arm on your shoulder. “And it will be, but you need a topic.”

“Yeah…” You raise a brow.  “What happened to having ‘plenty’ of time?”

The Monegasque wiggles his brows. “You can’t take up too much advantage.”

-

I’ve decided. 

That’s the lie you settle with because quite frankly, you’re done with the constant questions. If you were going to come up with the best matter to write about, then you need to have a clear head. Carly is over the moon, Lissie is ecstatic, and Charles is proud. 

Great! What’s it going to be about?

It’s a surprise. 

At first, they were all as curious as can be, but later when you insisted that it’d be better that way, they nodded, though the interest was still there. 

Now—with only a week and a half before your due date—you lay, plopped on your stomach, fingers teasing the keyboard as you watch Charles jump into his race suit. You sigh, sitting up. “I think I’m going to stay in here today.”

He fixes the zipper. “Yeah?”

You nod. “That way I can work and watch you.” You point to the T.V. hung up on his room wall. “Is that okay with you?”

“Whatever you need to do in order to focus, baby.” A wink. “It’s fine by me.”

They’re in lap sixty out of seventy-five, the last time you check, and your page remains as white as a ghost and as bare as a newborn baby. It’s both amusing and mind-boggling. Groaning, you hit your head with the back of your hand before running it down your face. Then, to make matters worse, your laptop dies.

Shit, you grit as you look around and spot Charles’ placed neatly on top of a nearby chair. Strolling over, you grab and open it, typing in his passcode and signing into your account. A few seconds later, the blank page resurfaces. Blinking slowly, you spot it. 

Notes. 

You take a look around, but really don’t know why since you’re the only one in his motorhome, and then click onto the App, furrowing your brows with concentration. 

Turns out, you really like to read because one after another, you skim through his journal entries without a second thought. Eagerly, might you add. Some things you know, others you don’t, but nevertheless, you’re caught off guard. How sensitive he is and how it portrays in every word. Not only are you amazed, but you’re completely engrossed. 

And it sparks something in you.

With a large grin, the brunette makes his way back to his room, trophy in hand and handshakes and pats on the back all around. Grazie mille, he beams as he makes his way closer, sending a final wave before opening his door. Finding you with his spare helmet over your head, he laughs. You giggle, opening the visor. “That’s one good looking winner!”

He laughs, placing the gold trophy down and enjoying you the way you struggle to take it off. You let out a loud gasp as soon as he assists you, tugging it off. “Shit.” Another gasp. “How do you wear that thing for two hours?” Fixing your hair, you pat it down as you send him a sheepish smile. “Give me a kiss!”

“No thanks. Too sweaty.”

Pouting, you pinch his ear tenderly before he gives in, pressing his lips against yours. “You were amazing out there, Charlie. You really were, I want you to know.”

Green eyes soften as he tries his best to savor this moment. “Only cause you say so.” You giggle, hugging his waist and he drapes his hands over your shoulders and rests his chin on top of your head. “How far along were you able to get?”

A hum. “Quite far, actually.”

He lets out a whistle, making your cheeks glow. “Looks like we’re both having a good day.”

“Looks like,” you swoon. “Looks like.”

Tilting your head back, you match with his eyes as he sends a dimpled smile. 

Write what you know, you think to yourself as he leans back down to kiss you. His lips greedily crash against your own as you let out a soft moan, playing with his hair, large hands making their way down to your ass. And you, my dear Charlie…

He groans, shuddering as soon as you grind back against his thigh. You smile, admiring his open mouth.

I know you very well.

-

You feel guilty when you start on your first page, but by the time you make it to your third, you’ve talked yourself out of it. You would explain. As soon as you’re done, before you turn it in, you would explain it all to him. Tell him that this is simply because you love him. How he’s your biggest inspiration, and how this wasn’t you using him, but rather you showing others how amazing he truly is.

He notices it right away—the determination. And he admires you for it because he hasn’t seen you like that ever since your writer’s block. So, he tries not to intrude in moments where you’re on a roll, and instead makes sure to have a bath ready for you. He joins you sometimes, too.

Cracking your fingers, you yawn, exhausted, and stretch like a cat. He chuckles, closing his book like a light thud. “Update?”

“Six pages.”

“Wow. You really got it going on.” You blush. “You deserve something sweet. What do you want?”

“But it’s so late, and you have to be up early tomorrow…”

He rolls his eyes, already grabbing your trench coat. “It’s a bit cold out right now.”

You smile.

It’s not that far of a walk, three miles. After buying you a hot chocolate—with extra whip—he takes your mitten covered hand and leads you out the small coffee shop. By now, not many people are out, so it makes for a calm stroll.

“Shhh—ah,” you hiss, tongue sticking out as your face twists with subtle pain. He laughs, eyes crinkling. Drink slowly, he says, voice laced with humor. “The cool air helps,” you murmur, blowing on the hot drink. “Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

He shakes his head. “I just wanted you to unwind.”

“You’re so thoughtful,” you coo, enjoying the way his ears turn pink. You giggle. “Why do I feel like you’re thinking about something, though?”

“I am. You.” A gust of wind dances. “Always.”

You purse your lips, taking a slow sip, lipstick painting the white lid. “I’m serious, Cha. You’ve been quiet ever since you got off that phone call two hours ago.” Neat brows knit together with concern. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” he answers, but it’s too quick for it to be the truth.

Giving his large hand a squeeze, you send a knowing look. His breath hitches. “You can talk to me—”

“Are you almost done with your article?” he asks, obviously changing the topic as he stares up ahead, and if not, down at his shoes. Pink nose twitches. “I miss you, and call me greedy, but I was hoping you’d be done before my birthday, at least, that way we could…I don’t know—” He shrugs. “You’ve just been really busy—which I get why, and I understand—but I miss y-you.”

Wincing, you chew your bottom lip a couple times before letting go. “Almost, but.” His shoulders drop, making your stomach twist. You panic. “I feel like I’m missing something. Like the final bang in order for it to be…” A beat. “I’ll be done before your birthday, you can count on that.”

Round eyes finally flicker up as he nods, a more relaxed look evident. “This makes me sound so needy,” he says. “Which I guess I am, bu—”

“Don’t apologize,” you cut him off with a reassuring smile. “But please, tell me what’s going on…”

The Monegasque stiffens. Despite walking, you can tell. You can feel it. Also, it doesn’t take a genius to notice. “They’re not renewing Carlos’ contract for next year.”

You stop walking, making him stop too. He’s still holding onto you, rubbing small circles against cashmere. “W-why?”

“Guess.”

Your mind races. The rumors have definitely been swirling—everyone’s heard—but really? “They’re actually doing it?”

He nods.

“Lewis,” you whisper like it the first time you pronounce his name. “This is, uh…wow. I mean, wow.” 

“Yup,” he says, popping the p. “Wow, for sure.” Letting go, he takes a small step back, but still faces you with an uneasy look. “They brought it up as a possibility, but I don’t know why I never thought they’d be capable of…” He grimaces. “I can’t even begin to imagine how Carlos must be feeling.”

“Weren’t they just praising him last time during your guys’ team meeting?” You curl the cup towards your chest. “That’s fucked up.” Charles sighs, pinching the tip of his nose swiftly. Your eyes fill up with concern. “What about you?”

“I got an extension.”

You let out a breath of relief, nodding. “O-okay, okay. That’s good, Charlie, that’s really good.” When he keeps quiet, you pause all movement and blink feverishly. “Why are you upset, then?”

“I’m not,” he answers. “Only worried.” Listening closely, you silently wait for him to continue. He sighs, rubbing his eyes, suddenly tired. “It’s just that…he. He’s Lewis,” he finishes like that’s enough explanation.

You curl a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

A weak chuckle. “It means he’s better, and the team is going to favor him over me.” A timid shrug. “I get it, though. If anyone can bring a Championship home for the team, it’s going to be him.”

“It’s going to be you.”

“No.” The light in his eyes gave out, slowly and painfully so. “It’s not.”

Berry lips open, then close lamely, analyzing him like the world's biggest mystery. Sternly, you narrow your eyes down like knives. “World Champion?”

He flinches.

You click your tongue. “Do you realize how crazy you sound?”

“What?” he says, puzzled.

You nod. “Why are you giving up so easily, huh?”

Sharp jaw clenches. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because he’s a former World Champion, and I’m not.” He chuckles sourly. “It’s really not that difficult to figure out. I mean, I’ve been working for it for so long now, and look at me! I’m nowhere close to being there!”

Silence. Chest heaves. You never let go of your gaze, and he has no other choice than to do the same. He’s not mad at you—not mad at anyone, really—but he’s frustrated. And yeah. Maybe he is giving up the fight, but anyone else who was in his position would too. No one wants to be the laughing stock, no one wants to be compared. 

“Listen to me Charles Leclerc, and listen to me closely because I’m only going to say this once.”

He waits.

“If it’s something you want, then it’s most likely something you can have.”

Pink lips turn upward as he tilts his head in the slightest of tilts.

Holding his face between your delicate hands, you raise your brows, shivering at the icy air. He can feel your hand vibrate against his skin as he grabs them, brings them up to his mouth, and blows hot air onto them. “I believe in you. Everybody does. Do you believe in that?”

And it takes a moment for him to answer. It takes a moment for it to register. He nods. Sure of himself.

“Only because you do.”

-

“A USB?” He frowns. “I thought you hated those?”

“I do,” you say, combing through your hair, staring at him through the reflection of the mirror. “But I feel like this makes it real. Physically turning it in, I mean. It’s dumb, but…” You check the time, shrieking and grabbing your things. “Carly is going to kill me! Okay, I’ll be back in an hour, and then we can go with your family for dinner, or I’ll meet you there, yeah?” You huff. “Red or white wine?”

“Sparkling water,” he ponders. “Maman is trying to get to ‘quit.’ Which is probably not the right way to put it because it’s not like Lorenzo, Arthur, and I are alcoholics.”

“Oh. Alright then, I’ll just get that instead.” Tippy toeing, you peck his cheek briskly, sweet perfume hitting him. “I love you.”

Adoration fills his watercolor eyes. “I love you, too.”

Who knew?

Who knew that’d be the last time you’d hear those words coming from him?

-

Entering the familiar office, you wheeze, crouching down to catch your breath before sending over a coy smile. Carly laughs, clearly amused, before signaling to the chair that sits right in front of her. “We could have done this any other day as long as it was before the deadline, you know?”

“No,” you pant, heart beat barely switching back to its regular pace. Well. Sort of. “I need to get this out of the way, I promised Charles I’d be free before his birthday. He said it was his one and only wish, could you believe that, he’s so cute, isn’t he?” She blinks. Pink dusts your cheekbones. “Anyways, here it is.”

Looking down at your extended hand, she almost lets out a snicker. “I get I’m older than you, but really? You emailing it to me would have been just as effective.”

“I didn’t want to risk it going straight into your spam folder.” That, and I don’t want to see when you actually read it because I have a funny feeling you’re going to disapprove, which is okay, fair. “Here.”

“Very well, then,” she mumbles, retrieving it. “Why don’t we proofread it together one more time before send—”

Horrified at the innocent suggestion, you leap up from your chair, pushing back. “There’s no need, I checked it about a thousand times.” She raises a sharp brow at your outburst, the defensiveness in it. You laugh nervously. “And I should get going, anyways. Pascale is cooking Cha an early birthday dinner, can’t be late.”

Placing her forearms against the table, she nods slowly, but still unsure. “I won’t hold you back any longer, then. Tell him I said happy birthday.”

Tight lips form a forced smile, uneven breaths expanding. “Of course.”

You’re expected in an hour, so when you should be up forty-five minutes early, Pascale is pleased, but a bit surprised. Hugging you hello, she opens the door wider, letting you in. “They’re out in the back. Dinner should be ready in a bit.”

“No worries. Do you need any assistance?”

She shakes her head, thin blond hair swaying. “I’ve got it all under control, chérie.”

Nodding, you put your things down and start making your way towards the sound, beers clinking. You let out a snicker. “And here you are claiming not to be an alcoholic,” you joke. Flustered, Charles turns to face your soft voice. 

“It’s my first,” he squeaks.

“Third,” both Lorenzo and Arthur shoot, greeting you with a gentle nod. 

“It barely even has any alcohol,” your boyfriend tries defending, but the crack in his voice makes everyone burst out with laughter. Blood rushes to his cheeks. “Weren’t you supposed to be with Carly?”

“I was, but we got done pretty quickly.”

“What’d she think?” he asks, tugging you onto his lap. You giggle, meanwhile Arthur gags and Lorenzo blinks unbothered. “Bet she loved it.”

“I wouldn’t know. I left before she read it.”

He cocks his head. “Seriously?”

You nod. “You said you wanted my full attention.”

“I didn’t say it like that—”

“Well, now you have it.” You kiss his nose gingerly. “Happy early birthday, Charlie.”

The Monegasque smiles deeply. “Thank you.”

“Arthur! Lorenzo! Come help and set the table!”

Arthur groans. “Why just us? What about Charles?”

Poking her head out the window, Pascale aims a stern look, making him dash up. You laugh, ideally going to stand up, but gets tugged back down onto his thigh. You roll your eyes. “I should help, too. But you stay here and relax.”

“I will, but only if you stay with me.”

“Pascale needs my help—”

“Right, but she has both of them already.” He gives your hair a gentle tug. “Stay.”

Sighing, you nod, resting your head on his shoulder as he holds you. From here, you can see the breathtaking view of Monaco’s sunset. The ocean, the trees. Filled with satisfaction in life, you kiss the side of his neck, making him squirm slightly. “Carly says happy birthday. Early. Early birthday.”

A hum. “Make sure to tell her that I said thank you, the next time you see her.”

The sound of waves crashing sings softly. He traces shapes down your leg. “When will I be able to read it?”

You’re sure you stop breathing. “S-soon. After Carly gives me the green light, at least.”

A beat. “I’m excited.”

Your stomach churns. “You are?”

“Mhm. Very. Didn’t you know I was your biggest fan?”

Fixing yourself to look at him, you open your lips, feeling how dry they’ve become. “Charles—”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

A sore laugh. “They’re calling you.”

You reach towards your back pocket, pulling it out. Carly Freeman. Clicking it off, you shake your head. “It’s nothing.”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

He wiggles his brows. “Doesn’t seem like it’s nothing. Answer her, it’s fine.”

“She’s going to have to wait until tomorrow,” you announce, standing up and dusting your hands off. “I’m here with you, and she's going to have to wait. Whatever it is, it can’t be more important than this.”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. 

He sends a worried look. “Are you sure? What if it has something to do with your article? You should pick up—”

“I said I’m here with you,” you affirm. “Tomorrow. She’ll be fine.”

“Okay…” Standing to his full height, he sends a gesture towards the house. “Let's go?”

His hand reaches out, waiting for you. You smile, taking it. “Let’s go.”

-

Your phone keeps buzzing and it doesn’t let him sleep.

That, and Carly is a terrible liar.

Shifting in the bed as quietly as possible, Charles reaches for your phone, trying his best not to wake you. “Hello?” he croaks. The line stays quiet, static rolling. “I know it's you, Carly.”

“Charles! How’s my favorite driver?” 

You twist, unwrapping your leg that was draped over him. He freezes, soothing you a bit before you settle down. Climbing off the bed, he walks out, gently closing the door and heading towards the living room. “I know your favorite is Fernando, what’s up?”

She laughs nervously, cursing underneath her breath. “Is my little journalist with you?”

“She is.”

“Great! May I speak with her very quick—”

“But she’s asleep.” She groans. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“Well…”

Sitting down on the couch, he leans back, placing his feet onto the coffee table. Normally, he wouldn’t, but you weren’t here right now, and lucky for him, he wasn’t wearing any shoes. He clicks his tongue. “Does this have something to do with your guys’ meeting today?”

“Yes. And no.” More static. “Do you mind waking her up for me?”

“Um…well I do. Sorry, Carly, but she needs to get some rest, she’s been working non-stop, and—”

“No, no, I get it!” she squeals. “I totally understand. Can you let her know that I need to talk to her as soon as possible? Like—urgent. Please and thank you and have a good night!”

“Wait,” he says, furrowing his brows and pushing the phone closer to his ear. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing to worry about. Too much,” she adds. “It’s just that I need a bit of clarification, that’s all.”

“Clarification?”

“Yup. On a tiny mistake of hers. But we can fix it together, she still has time, and if she hurries then we can still meet the dea—”

“She doesn’t make mistakes, though. Ever.”

A hiss. “It’s a tiny one, Charles—”

“Okay, tell me and I’ll tell her.”

“What? I can’t. I need to speak directly with her first.”

“Carly…”

“What now?” she grits. 

“What’s the issue?” he presses harder. “I’ll let her know right now.”

The line goes quiet. For a moment, he begins to wonder if she’s hung up already, but when she clears her throat, he listens carefully, but can’t decipher her mumbles.

“She gave me the wrong USB.” That’s it? She groans. “Listen to me Charles—the USB she brought to be today only has her title written on it along with a few notes about what it’s supposed to be about. It’s the wrong one and I need the other one now.”

“Okay,” he mutters slowly, nodding. “I’m sure she’ll bring it to you once I let her know, but that’s going to have to be until tomorrow.”

She gasps. “You said you’d let her know right now!”

He winces. “I know I did, but it’s late! Trust me, though. I’ll tell her you called and I’ll even drive her myself tomorrow to drop it off. It must be around here somewhere right…” And it sure is. Sitting nicely on the coffee table, inches away from his feet. He sits up straight away, picking it up as if it were some sort of new discovery. Which in a way, it was. “Carly, why is this so important to you?”

“She’s my favorite client,” she answers without missing a beat. “I only want what’s best for her, and right now we need to fix this little mishap and get this article in as soon as possible.” A beat. “Also, maybe don’t mention the first part to Lissie, she’d totally kill me.”

Analyzing the black USB, he remains stoic, blinking only because he needs to. “Goodnight, Carly…”

“Yeah. I, um—goodnight, Charles.”

Once he hangs up, he’s quick on his feet, retrieving his laptop from the counter and sticking the drive in without a second to process what he’s doing. He shouldn’t. Probably. Definitely not. But the interest Carly clearly has was enough to poke his mind and for him to start wondering what on earth is so significant? 

And it’s so obvious now why.

Charles Lecelrc: The Man Behind the Helmet

His eyes skim fast, narrowing sharply.

Like any other human being, he struggles with depression, though fails to admit. Many sleepless nights, many fights, many canceled therapy appointments, I begin to question: does every praise his fans give him make him think he’s above all these things? The truth hurts, but it's only because it's real. And Charles Lecelrc, you are nowhere close to being as perfect as everyone makes you out to be.

His heart stops, re-reading the last sentence. He wishes for it to say anything but that, but it never changes, and it only mocks him like a school bully. 

Many assume that the death of his late-father, Hervé, and his late-godfather, Jules Bianchi, have made him stronger in a sense. That it has fed the drive in him to succeed. To be the best of the best, but what if that wasn’t true at all? Would any of you be surprised? Probably, but again, no one truly knows him the way I do. So, what feeds his determination? 

The thought of failing the same way they did. 

Anger bubbles up inside of him, grinding his molar until they crunch loudly against his temples. 

But who can blame him for having that fear inherited down onto him? Tabloids also have a part in this, and so do unwanted changes. One way or another, we can relate with the latter, but never in the way he does. Reading and hearing rumors takes a toll on Charles, that much is true, but what can we expect when his next new teammate is a seven-time World Champion. 

I guess the only question that stands in not only our minds, but also his… 

Is he strong enough to come head to head with someone as talented as Lewis Hamil—

“Wake up.”

Groggily, you rub your eyes. “Charlie, it’s dark out, come on. Come back to bed.”

“Stop calling me that, and get up.” In a single movement, he rips the blanket away and yanks you from your wrist, forcing you to sit. You gasp, his change of heart sobering you up from your sleepy daze. 

“What’s wrong with you?”

He laughs. “Me? What’s wrong with me? Are you serious right now or are you stupid?”

You flinch, taken aback. “Don’t talk to me like that, what did I do?”

“I won’t waste my breath explaining.” He drops his laptop on the bed, making you freeze as soon as you spot the familiar USB. “I'll let you re-read it.” 

“Where did you get this from?”

“Really? That’s what’s important to you?” He rolls his jaw, rubbing it until his skin turns a light shade of red. “If you don’t want me finding it, then next time don’t leave it out.”

Your lips go dry, crawling to the edge of the bed, but as soon as you’re about to reach out for him, he grimaces, shaking his head and taking three steps back. “Charlie—”

“No,” he hisses, glaring at you with utter hatred. The sight alone makes your eyes well up. “You don’t get to call me that. You don’t get to call me that ever again.” A cry rings through the air as you cover your hands over your face. “A-am I supposed to be impressed by what I read or what?”

“It’s no—”

“Did I do something to upset you or w-why were you talking about me like that?” he questions, genuine confusion taking over as he furrows his brows until they cause his eyes to pinch up too. 

Sniffling, you get up quickly, shaking your head adamantly until you get dizzy. “It wasn’t supposed to come off across that way! Are you kidding me?” Grabbing your heart, you soften your eyes. “I’m your biggest supporter.”

“Yeah? Well, that,” he snarls, pointing at the open screen like it's the most disturbing thing. “That doesn’t make sense with what you’re saying…” A beat. “Why would you do this to me?”

“Do what, though?” you whimper. “Everything I wrote about you is based on what you told me!”

“Exactly!” he shouts back, making the distance between you smaller, making you shrink. “I told you! Just you! I never once asked you to air out my business, and quite frankly, I thought that was common sense.” He lets out a dry chuckle. “You called me crazy and troublesome among other things. Are you my girlfriend or wolves in sheep's clothing? I’m trying to understand your logic here.”

You push your hair back, breathing hard. “You can’t just say that, there’s context behind that, come on…”

“Oh. Okay. My bad. I’m crazy because I talk to my father’s tombstone and Jules’. It's troublesome because I used to do cocaine in order to de-stress. I’m in over my head because I actually think I stand a chance against Lewis—a chance you convinced me I had!”

“That’s not what I meant!” you squeak. “You’re taking it all wrong, Charles, I would never say that about you!”

“But you did,” he states firmly. “And you know? If I’m so unready to face a friendly competition against my future teammate, then maybe I’m unready to face a lot of other things, too.” You freeze, dreading his next words as you plead him silently not to say them. “Maybe I’m not as ready to settle down with you as much as I thought I was…”

That does it. That seems to cut the little oxygen you had, off. Stumbling back, you feel the tears start to form again. “You don’t mean that…” You smile weakly. “You’re just a tiny bit upset right now, okay, fine. That’s fine. But you don’t mean any of that.”

Glaring until it hurts, he maintains eye contact. “Don’t tell me what I’m feeling, you don’t get to do that!”

You flinch. “I’m sorry.” A droplet slides down. “I’m sorry, okay?” More follows. “For all of it. For all of this. If I could take it all back, I would, you have to believe me, Charles, you know I would.”

His gaze lingers for a while longer, taking in your rosy nose. Your swollen eyes. Your wet cheeks. Everything that's supposed to make him feel better, but it doesn’t. “I really did trust you…” You breath hitches. “And I really did want you to win…” Pause. “And I still do.”

Strolling over, he disconnects the USB, making the screen go completely black, and hands it to you. Blinking down, you shake your head, too embarrassed to even look at it. “I don’t want it.”

“Yeah, well I don’t want it either…” Forcing your palm open, he places it down, instantly making your skin burn. “Journalist of the Year.”

You let out a wet sob, shoulders shaking. You don’t know exactly what you’re feeling, but what you do know is that this doesn’t feel good and that your heart breaks with every passing second.

Never in a million years did you think you would experience any of this, especially with Charles. The Monegasque cocks his head, curls following. “I’m glad you’re about to get everything you’ve ever wanted, I really am.” He chuckles softly, eyeing you intently. “I just can’t help but wonder what that must feel like.”

“I was going to tell you,” you whisper meekly. “And you were supposed to understand where I was coming from.”

And if any anger was gone, well fuck that, it all came right back.

“Understand where you were coming from?” he spits out, shocked by your choice of words. “You really thought I would understand? I planned my entire future around you, and this is how you repay me? You went behind my back to write an article I didn’t even know about! We made a choice years ago!”

“No, you did!” you retort, despair rising hard and fast. “You came up with that decision all by yourself, Charles, I never agreed!” You look down. “Not entirely.”

“Huh,” he scoffs, squinting his eyes. “I was simply looking out for the girl that I love given that the internet is a scary place and she probably wouldn’t have been able to handle it, for God sakes, I guess this is my fault now, isn’t it?”

“I would have been able to handle it, but you never gave me the chance!”

“Yeah, because reporting on a driver and driver who's your boyfriend are two completely different things that you can’t seem to comprehend!”

Trembling, you blink carefully, gulping. “I would have done just fine.”

“You think so?” he challenges, a sour smile forming. You nod. “Okay. Sure. Why not?” Closing the final distance between you two, your breath gets stuck as he sends a dirty glare, one that's meant to sting. “You’re not talented. You only have your position because of your dating status, when in reality, your work is utter shit. Everything is handed to you.”

There’s a mix of a whimper and a plea that comes out of you as you screw your eyes shut. “You’re being mean, Charles…”

He laughs, clapping his hands once with amusement. “That’s what the internet is! Maybe I was right, then—you can’t handle it.”

“I could…” you murmur, but it's no use. 

The brunette catches himself wanting to comfort you. To apologize for everything. But then he figures—why? It’s not like he truly did something wrong. 

“You’re the greatest disappointment of my life.”

Something ended the moment those words left his mouth—you both knew it. Sobbing hard, your shoulders vibrate violently as you seemingly gasp for air. He looks away. 

“You know, our life could have been so good. So fucking good. But you went and ruined it.” Green eyes flicker back. “Why would you do this to us?”

“I never meant to hurt you,” you declare with wet lashes. 

“You did a bit more than that,” he replies, wincing, blinking rapidly. He smiles. “If you wanted to write your article on me, you should’ve asked me. You should have talked to me. But no. And the thing is, I would have let you! God. I would have let you write whatever you wanted—but not like this. You stole an interview from me with no right, honey…”

Quickly, you flicker your gaze up at him, hoping to see any trace of  love in that one word, but you’re not surprised when you don’t find any, deflating furthermore. He shrugs. Like what you did to him was no big deal. 

“You took it from me. But I would have given it to you.”

-

“Are you sure you want to do this? You can always change your mind, babe, it’s totally fine!”

“No.” You fix your hair, posture straight. You smile. “I need to.”

Lissie shares a slow nod, nibbling on her bottom lip before handing you her keynotes. “Alright. Good luck.”

The idea first sparked when the Brit girl mentioned how she was the only one granted permission to interview Charles at this year's FIA prize giving ceremony. You had debated back and forth with what seemed like forever, both Carly and Lissie trying to talk you out of it, but you pleaded until they reluctantly agreed. 

You haven’t seen him ever since that day.

It’s insane to think about, sometimes. You knew each other for two years, dated for three, and haven’t crossed paths for another two. And now, you’re here. He’d been upfront that day, didn’t even flinch with his one and only birthday wish, meanwhile you felt the last stab hurt more than anything.

I wish to never see you again. 

Not long after, he grabbed his things and left. But not before turning around, sending you one last glance, dull, empty, and nothing like him anymore. You still recall.

Turn it in, he said, smiling warmly despite his better judgment. Despite not meaning it. Don’t let this all be for nothing.

Shaking your hands, you grin, fixing your silk dress. The Brit girl stares worriedly, but as soon as you wink, she hides it. Not that well, but enough. “He’s going to be so mad at me,” she jokes, but it’s probably true. He has a soft spot for her, and he only gave permission to her. No one else. 

You wince, grabbing her hands delicately. “I really appreciate this, Lissie. More than you’ll ever know.”

Waving goodbye, you make your way to the private conference hall. It’s daunting, actually, the sight of the large table where he’ll be sitting and the small chair where you will. Quite the narrative. His picture is hung in almost every corner, from the beginning of his career to now. The latest one makes you smile as he lifts the trophy high up with a beaming grin, dimples poking out and eyes crinkled just the way you remember. 

You thought about apologizing again. Better this time. Once things simmered down. You really wanted to, but as soon as Carly informed you that the article would need to be published in order for fans to engage with your content and for them to decide on a winner, you knew the gist of him accepting your apology was most likely never going to happen. 

And you contemplated not posting it. Carly did too. Lissie did too. No one thought it was a good idea, but you still did it. Like he said—you couldn’t let all that be for nothing.

The hate came immediately, you expected nothing less. In their minds, you were a loyal girlfriend, but after reading your work, the comments came rolling in. You were honestly quite grateful because you know you deserved every last bit of it. 

But somehow—somehow—you won Journalist of the Year. 

You were shocked to say the least—bewildered. And you could see it in Lissie and Carly’s eyes too. So, while accepting the award with a forced smile, it hit you like a truck.

Did you truly earn this or was it all thanks to him?

Either way, does it matter anymore?

The door gently opens as he steps in, a loopy smile stretched onto his lips before coming to a complete stop. With your heart in your throat, you cough awkwardly, standing up and waving. You cringe, putting your hand down as soon as he furrows his brows, looking around. 

“S-she’s not here,” you say, voice cracking. You blush. “You’re looking for Lissie, right?” Utter silence. He blinks, unresponsive and as stiff as a tree. You lick your lips. “I-I-I can leave if you want.” But you really hope he doesn’t want you to.

The Monegasque’s features strike with something familiar—something you knew not long ago. Then…

He smiles at you. 

“It’s alright.” Carefully, he makes his way closer, scooting his chair right next to yours as you blink, sitting back down and staring with your plump lips slightly open. He cocks his head. “Y-you look the same.”

You giggle. “Is that supposed to be a good thing?” When he fails to answer, you bite down on your lip hesitantly. “You haven’t changed much, either.” 

He clears his throat, averting his gaze. “I don’t mean to sound rude or anything, but why are you here and where is Lissie?”

You flinch. Okay. This was expected. You practiced hours for this very moment. “Don’t be mad at her, okay, I asked her to let me do this. I wanted to…see you, Charles.” The sound of his name leaving your lips makes his heart stop because it's been so long since he’s heard it. Too long. A subtle blush. “I’m here to apologize.”

“Ah,” he winces, scrunching his nose. “Don’t. We’re cool.”

“Are we, though?”

He stiffens. 

Exhaling, you place your things down, pursing your lips. He watches the way your knee bounces up and down. How you play with your ring before covering it neatly with the opposite hand. That catches him completely off guard as he blinks rapidly, thinking he must be mistaken. 

“I know I don’t deserve any of this,” you say nervously. “By all means, I should have been kicked out five minutes ago, but you…” Round eyes soften, lashes batting slowly. “You’ve always been a kind and generous human being, Charles.”

“Stop,” he whispers. You frown. “Saying my name, I mean. You can talk—we can talk, but please, just. Don’t say it.”

“O-okay,” you mumble, stomach churning. “I won’t.”

He lets out a tight smile, tilting his head. Years ago, his hair was a tad bit longer, fluffier even. Now, it’s still the same, but somehow more mature. His eyes are still young and naive, but with a hint of wisdom. He usually would wear mismatching suits, but now it matches. A lot of him has changed, and you weren’t there to witness it.

“Congrats, by the way,” you add happily. “World Champion, eh?”

Pink spreads across his cheeks, slowly but surely. “Thanks. I was close to losing my mind.”

You laugh. “Seven years later, but it’s well deserved. I’m so proud of you.”

And for a moment, he goes completely numb. He’s heard plenty of kudos ever since winning his first title—and they were nice, they made him feel nice—but this. You? It’s the first time it makes him feel accomplished. And that feels more than nice.

Playing with his bracelet, he nods sheepishly. “How have you—how, um…God. I, um, how have you been?”

“Oh.” You let out a genuine smile. Soft. Angelic. And everything he wishes to find in any other girl that isn’t you. It’s not something he should notice. “I’ve been well.” You raise your hand. “Engaged.”

“You sure are,” he mumbles, finally acknowledging the silver band before flashing an easy smile of his own. And maybe it was real, or maybe it wasn’t, but he wasn’t as upset as he thought he’d be. Just a tiny bit bothered, is all. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

You lick your lips awkwardly. “You remember Carly’s son?”

A tide hits him as he internally screams. “Grayson, right?”

You nod. “She, uh, set us up a while ago and we hit it off.” You wince. “I’m sorry, is that weird?”

“No. Of course not,” he replies, shrugging. “You’re allowed to build your life with whomever you want. What happened between us was…” He chuckles. “So long ago. I’m happy for you both, I really am.”

And he means it this time.

Admiring the oval-shaped ring, you swoon as if you’re thinking of the exact moment he proposed to you, and that’s the prettiest sight Charles thinks he might ever see. Even if it didn’t end up being him. Once you look back up, he looks away, feigning interest in anything else stupidly.

“Yourself?”

“Myself?”

A playful eye roll. “Are you seeing anyone?”

A retch. “Ha ha, no! No, that’s not—that’s not for me.” You frown. He winces. “Please don’t be offended, but after you, I sort of lost interest in meeting other people. Pierre calls it trauma, I call it precaution.” A sore laugh. “B-but maybe one day. Never say never, am I right?”

The lights reflect directly towards you, so that lets him see the rosy blotches beginning to hug your cheekbones as your lips wobble. He panics. “N-no! Fuck. I didn’t mean to—”

“I ruined your life,” you wail, throwing your hands over your face. “Oh my God, I wrecked it!”

“You didn’t!” he tries. “I’ve gone on a couple of dates, here and there!”

You’re tiny cries take a quick pause. Sniffling, you shoot him a look, shiny eyes beaming back at him. “You have?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, slowly relaxing against his seat. “Sort of. Kind of.” A horrified expression maps out against your face. He grimaces. “I-It’s just not my thing!”

“I’m sorry, Ch—” You pause, rethinking your words. “I’m sorry.”

The Monegasque shrugs, hoping that’d be enough for you to drop the topic. “It’s okay, really. It’s a decision I made long ago, and I’d like to keep it like that for a while, at least.” You bite down on your bottom lip, nodding halfheartedly. “But please, um, tell me, how far along are you? Heard from Lissie that it’s a boy.”

You let out a wet giggle, wiping your tears away to the best of your ability. “Nineteen weeks. I’m in my second trimester.” Gingerly, you rub your tiny belly before your eyes light up. “Give me your hand!”

“What?”

Leaning in, you grab his large hand and place it down on your stomach, looking up at him to watch his reaction. At first, he’s weirded out, you can tell. He makes a silly face he probably doesn’t realize he’s making, but seconds later his features soften. His green eyes go round, no tension behind them. His brows lay flat, then knit together in amazement. He laughs, rubbing his thumb gently.

“Does it hurt?” he whispers. “When he kicks?”

You hum. “Sometimes it can. But I suppose it’s more discomfort than anything.” You wiggle your eyebrows. “Cool?”

He nods rapidly. “Super cool.”

Pulling away, he can feel his adrenaline as high as a kite, and as fast as his car. He feels different, he notes, as if something has finally shifted inside of him. With this, he takes time to admire you in a way he hasn’t been able to ever since.

Your hair is cut into layers now, glossy and shorter than he remembers. Your lips, round, plump and berry tinted. Your eyes, doe, innocent, and pure in a way he can’t seem to wrap his head around. Smile, even, wobbly, and everything in between.

Your gaze flickers. “Question…”

“Answer,” he replies, studying your body language. 

It’s harder than you had initially thought it would be, asking him what you’d been wondering for these past two years. Was it all that bad? The answer might be yes. Yes, it was. To him, perhaps. But it tugs your tongue, and it burns a bit, but you push through, focusing on him and his watercolor eyes.

“Do you—”

But he still knows you. He can still read you. Before you, it’s always him who understands your train of thought. 

He shakes his head, dimples imprinting like a finger in sand. “No regrets.” 

A peach seed forms as you let out a sheepish laugh. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in life,” you admit, cringing slightly. “Just yesterday, I bought the wrong plane ticket. Got stuck in the airport for three extra hours.” He chuckles. “Totally unnecessary.”

“It happens,” he comforts you, clicking his tongue. 

“I guess so,” you say, sighing. “But betraying someone you love? Yeah. That’s got to be the worst mistake of my life.”

He flinches, an old wound suddenly opening. “Hey, you—”

You raise your hand, pleading with him. “Let me just…” So, he forces himself to sit there quietly, to not intrude no matter how much he really wants to. It’s fine, he wants to say, I’m fine now, we’re fine now, seriously.

A wince. “Do you know how guilty I feel whenever Grayson polishes my award?” A scoff. “He means no harm with his actions, but it makes me feel like shit everytime I walk past it. I’ve begged him to put it away somewhere in the attic, but he’s as proud as can be. Say’s an accomplishment like that deserves to be shown off. That it’s proof of all my hard work.” You smile. “Much like you and your trophy.”

You exhale. “You were right, though.” A hum. “I don’t deserve it.”

“I never said that.”

“Sure,” you give in quietly. “But you did say that if I won, I’d always wonder if I was truly respected for my work or if I was respected because of you.”

He bites his tongue. 

You shrug lamely. “And that’s just something I’m going to have to live with for the rest of my life…” Steadily, you ease your eyes back towards him as you find him already staring at you, listening close and curious. “And I want you to know that I’m fine with that.” A beat. “What I’m not fine with is you being mad at me for the rest of your life.”

Charles opens his mouth, feeling his tongue as dry as the desert and his throat as dusty as the highest mountain. “I’m not mad at you…anymore.” He sits up straighter. “I said a lot of things to you that night that I shouldn’t have said, but you have to understand that you hurt me a thousand times worse.” 

Tears well up your eyes as you nod shamefully. He continues despite feeling the need to reach out for you. “I just wanted you to feel what I was feeling, even if that meant—well. You know. And, um…I tried to forget all of that, but I, too, felt guilty, so—I’m glad you’re here. That way I can say…I’m sorry.”

“No!” you wail, raising your arms up. “No, I’m sorry! I broke your trust, and I was a God awful girlfriend.”

“You did,” he chuckles before scrunching his nose in deep thought. “But you were also the best I’ll ever have.”

A wet sob escapes.

“I forgive you.”

“S-shit,” you let out. “You don’t know how g-good it feels to finally hear you say that.”

A gentle smile. “You?”

You giggle, standing up. “I have nothing to forgive you for, but yeah. Okay. I forgive you, as well.” You open your arms for a hug. He blinks. “It’ll make me feel better.”

Tsk. “You used to do this all the time wherever we fought,” he says, a hint of sadness wavering in his eyes before disappearing into thin air. Extending to his full height, he towers over you before going in to close the distance. He halts, coughing awkwardly.

You snicker, eyes crinkling with amusement. “Right. You're hugging two of us now.”

A wave of jealousy pangs his chest for a second. You’ve moved on, and he’s stuck in the year you were still in his life. Still his. He envies Grayson in every sense there exists, but he swallows down that pill because he’d always been a nice bloke the very few times he interacted with him. He needs to move on, too. 

Even if it takes him his whole life to figure out how. 

“The more the merrier.”

Your face has gone completely numb by now from how hard you're grinning from ear to ear. Wrapping your arms around his waist as he goes over your shoulders, you sigh contently as you catch the whiff of his cologne. His heartbeat quickened at the smell of your perfume. 

“Question,” he whispered. You chuckle against his chest. Answer. He gulps, nose twitching. “Would it make me a bad person to say that you’re probably the only girl I’ll ever love?” Silence. He screws his eyes shut, gritting his teeth. Why the fuck would he ever say that—

“I’d only say that I don’t deserve to be her,” you respond. “Anyone but me.”

A flinch. “O-of course. You’re getting married, you’re having a baby, what was I th—”

“Honey…”

He freezes. 

You lean back, holding his face between your hands and smiling. “It’s not your name…”

His voice catches. “It’s not…”

A deeper smile. Nostalgic. “A piece of me will always love you.” A pause. “You know me so well. Better than anyone. You’ve seen me naked. You’ve dressed me. You’ve seen me with makeup. You’ve seen me without. And…well—you’ve seen my good side. But you’re also the only one who's seen my bad.”

His palms quickly get sweaty as he tries his best to not do anything he might regret. And not because he’ll wish to take it back, but because you would. Neat brows draw in together as you graze his stubble with your thumb. As nurturing as a mother, which he supposes you already are. 

“I’d say that makes us pretty close, no?”

“Not as close as I’d like to be.” 

“You’ll find someone.” A beat. “Someone who’ll love you right.”

“You didn’t?” he questions before he can stop himself. “Sorry—”

“My love for you was honest. But I blew it.”

I’m still here, he wants to yell out. If you still want me like I want you, then I’m still here.

But he refrains from doing so.

“You’ve never done me wrong,” he attempts, kissing your palm gingerly before softening his gaze. You send a playful glare. “Except for that one time.” You snort. “But I don’t want to talk about it anymore because—because it doesn’t matter anymore…”

Maybe it's the hormones, you sort of wish it was, but you know it’s due to his gentleness. You don’t deserve his sympathy, you don’t deserve even a fraction of it. Crying, you kiss his cheek, hoping everything you feel transfers itself into the warmth of his skin. And you don’t know, but it does just that.

Closing his eyes, he prays to dream about this kiss forever. Have nightmares, who even cares. As long as he doesn’t forget. 

You step away carefully, taking him in as his eyes flutter. 

“Charles Leclerc, first time World Champion…”

He smiles. You smile. 

His dimples pop out. Your eyes crinkle.

He loves you. You love him.

And maybe it didn’t work out in this life.

But maybe in the next.

“May I have an interview with you?”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious @notkaryna @emmaxdelicate

[mothandpidgeon]

keystrokes (dave york x hacker!f!reader)

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

rating: E (18+!)

summary: You hacked into Dave Yorks computer and found more secrets than you bargained for.

contents: Non con/dub con, mean!Dave, voyeurism, sex toys, masturbation, mutual masturbation, porn, breaking and entering, violence?, gun, gunplay, choking, morally grey reader, reader is Girl with the Dragon Tattoo coded but not physically described

wc: 3.4k

a/n: So I've been having some ✨writers block ✨ (hence the lack of updates last month) but for some reason, Dave York did a little breaking and entering in my brain and shook it loose. I've been writing a lot of heartfelt romance recently and I think I just needed a little depravity I guess.

Thank you @moonlitbirdie and @whocaresstillthelouvre for giving this a look and for anyone I shouted at about this idea (looking at you @schnarfer and @toomanytookas but I know there have been others). Dividers by @ saradika-graphics.

You squint in the light of the refrigerator. It’s empty save for some cartons of half-eaten Chinese food and cans of energy drinks. Check the time— half past one. Too late to order in. Guess cold lomein it is. 

The apartment falls back into darkness once you swing the fridge door shut. You’re used to it, the soft glow of your computer monitors illuminating your little space. It’s easy to forget to turn the lights on when you’re focused on your work. Forget to eat. Forget to meet people that aren’t on the other side of a screen. 

You sit down at your desk, legs crossed in your seat, and shovel some food into your mouth. Most nights are like this, lost in your work. It’s never felt like a job, not really. More like a way to do the shit you’ve always done except now you get paid to do it. You’re a subcontractor of a subcontractor, someone far enough away from the government that they can get information while still maintaining plausible deniability. You don’t know who you’re working for and most of the time your assignments are vague. All you have to do is gather intelligence and put it into a neat little report without mentioning the methods you used to get it. 

You’ve always enjoyed uncovering people’s secrets, reading notes over your classmates shoulders, looking through the search history on friends’ computers. That insatiable curiosity is what led you to start hacking. The targets these days aren’t always exciting but at least tonight’s is. 

David York. 

Early 40s, divorced. Ex military. DIA. There’s much more to him than that, though. A little program hidden on his computer lets you track each keystroke he makes. 

You’ve learned all about him. Dave he prefers. There’s a lot that won’t make it into your report— where he shops online (Brooks Brothers), the take out he orders (one large pepperoni from Frankie’s Pizzeria),  the porn he watches (girl on girl). But there’s one thing your bosses will be interested in: Dave York is a contract killer. 

You could’ve ended this project by now. You’ve got plenty in your notes to make your customers happy yet you’re still logging onto his computer. It fascinates you that a man so normal, almost on the borderline of boring, could be so dangerous. 

You shovel some food into your mouth and go drag your mouse over your desk. You’ve been reviewing footage you recorded through his webcam today. A few lines of code and you were able to turn his laptop’s camera on without activating the tally light. He was smart enough to use unique, complicated passwords, two-factor authentication, and encrypted emails but he didn’t take the time to put a sticker over his webcam. 

You’ve found some interesting information this way— listened in on conversations, heard the things he only says into his burner phone. Tonight most of it is just Dave at the keyboard, his tie loosening over time. 

You scrub through the footage, Dave drinking coffee and typing in fast forward punctuated by stretches of his empty home office. Nothing exciting until—

You pause the video when you see it. Lomein hangs from your open mouth. He’s half naked, head thrown back, hand buried in his lap. His dick is engulfed in a big fist, a bead of precum frozen before it rolls over his fingers. 

It’s not the first time you’ve seen a mark in a compromising position. In this line of work, you’ve seen all the dark corners of people’s hard drives.  There’s worse than nudes and home made porn out there. Normally— if it’s not illegal, at least— you just scroll by. But Dave, it’s different when it comes to him. For some reason, seeing him in a compromising position has your blood rushing in your ears. He’s a killer. How many people have had the opportunity to see him in such a vulnerable state? 

He’s bare to the waist, his chest so smooth you wonder if he shaves it or if he’s naturally like that. His broad shoulders look perfect to grab onto if you were on top of him. Riding him. 

Of course you notice all of this after taking a good, long look at his cock. A clutch of dark curls trail down his soft belly to where it stands, drooling in his fist. You realize you’re salivating. 

Guilt pokes at you as you move the playhead back. It’s a violation. Then again, you’ve all but eviscerated Dave's privacy. You know exactly how much money is in his bank account, that his daughter Molly has a sleepover this weekend, that he’ll kill innocents.

He’s not a good person. You’re not either. 

You roll back the tape, finding the start of this, and hit play. Dave’s palm traces his bulge through his pajama pants. He’s watching porn, you can hear the over-exaggerated moans through the computer’s tinny speakers. 

It’s not the first time you’ve noticed that Dave is hot. After all, you have access to all of the pictures on his laptop. Including the selfies he takes after his runs, muscles glistening with sweat. He’s a bit clean cut for your tastes but right now, he’s something else altogether– the lust in his brown eyes, the control as he teases himself. You swallow hard. 

It’s a while before he actually takes his dick out of his pajama pants. You remind yourself repeatedly that you can stop, just click away and let him keep this moment to himself but you’re on the edge of your seat, already throbbing. He finally pulls down his waistband and you’re looking at his upright cock again. It’s thick, a flushed vein running up the underside. He squirts lube into his hand from a bottle that’s just out of frame and when he finally lets his fist move down his length, his eyes sink closed, savoring the sensation. 

He touches  himself with a practiced motion, gripping the shaft and pulling upwards, a twist of the wrist so that his palm caresses the tip before squeezing back down the length again. His strokes are agonizingly slow. He’s so methodical, patient, like in everything else you’ve discovered. 

You’re holding your breath, the suspense aching in your core. There’s plenty of time to study him— those full lips parted, muscles in his arm flexing. Every once in a while he grunts and loosens his grip, keeping himself from going over the edge. 

By now, your hand has found its way between your legs. Your fingers trace absentmindedly over the seam in your sleep shorts, already sticky and soaked through. You match Dave’s lazy pace, giving yourself the same pleasure he’s experiencing. 

Without taking your eyes off of the screen, you lean over to the set of drawers beside your desk and pull out your favorite vibrator. You shimmy out of your shorts and panties and drag the toy over your needy clit. 

You moan with him, watching Dave’s toned arm flex up and down. His bottom lip looks so thick, you want to rake your teeth across it. It’s almost grotesque the way his nostrils flare, the rhythmic grunts that leave him as his hand works faster. The muscles in his neck strain and you can tell he’s close. 

You are, too. You swivel your hips against the vibrator, speeding up the thrusts and strengthening its power. Fuck. What would it feel like to have Dave’s mouth on you? His cock in you? 

He can’t hold back any longer. Dave’s eyes squeeze shut and his jaw clenches and he makes a noise more animal than man. The eruption of cum is the last thing you see before you’re sent reeling, moaning out your own desperate cry as you pulse around your vibrator. 

You take deep breaths as you return to earth, hitting the spacebar to pause the video and blinking back to reality. Your heart rate slows and you wipe your hand across your face. That’s enough work for one night. That might be enough Dave for good. Tomorrow you’ll finalize your report and put him out of your mind. 

The vibrator is tossed carelessly onto the desk. You put your panties on but leave your shorts discarded on the floor amongst the rest of your laundry and then you put your computer to sleep. Without the light of the monitors, the room is cloaked in darkness and you drag yourself from your chair a few short paces to the bed. 

It’s still dark when you wake, an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. You strain your ears for noise, any sign of what woke you but there’s nothing. Then a creak. Your heart leaps into your throat. Someone’s here, in your apartment. 

You fumble for your backpack in the dim. Somewhere in the bottom there’s a can of pepper spray that you bought for a situation just like this but your hands are trembling and you can’t see a fucking thing. 

A figure appears behind the French door that separates your room from the kitchen and any drowsiness that was lingering evaporates immediately. It’s a man— broad body clothed entirely in black— and in his hand you make out the silhouette of a gun. The room’s too fucking tiny for there to be anywhere decent to hide. There’s no time to think. Your only choice is to brandish your bag as a weapon. He barges in and you swing for his face. 

“Fuck,” he grunts but it merely slows him for a moment, knocking hm off balance and his beanie off of his head. 

You scramble towards the front door but you’re tackled to the ground, wind knocked out of your lungs. As you gasp for air, you’re flipped onto your back and you find yourself face to face with your assailant. Even in the darkness, through your terror and disorientation, you recognize him. 

Dave York glares down at you, his angular face cast in shadows, a menacing snarl on his lips. The muzzle of his silencer is far too close to your face but there’s no shrinking from it with your head against the floor and Dave’s heavy hand on your middle. 

“You and I have a problem,” he growls. “You know why I’m here?”

You shake your head frantically, still barely able to fill your lungs. 

“Don’t play dumb, sweetheart. I know you’re not stupid,” he says. 

He pulls you to your feet as if you weigh nothing and hauls you towards your room. You’re thrown into your desk chair, head still spinning. Dave stands over you and clamps your wrist to the arm rest. 

“You know why you’re spying on me?” he asks, a cold threat in his words. 

You nod. 

“Then you know you don’t want me as your enemy.” You say nothing but a shiver runs down your spine. His eyes are nearly black, reflecting the dull light of the sleeping computer monitors. 

“I want your hard drives. Back ups, too. Everything you’ve got on me,” he demands. 

“Okay,” you manage. “Would you just get that gun out of my face?” 

“Get to it,” he says, and spins your chair so you’re facing the keyboard. 

The monitors come to life and, suddenly, you’re in deeper shit. You try to hit a shortcut on the keys to close the window that’s open but your fingers are trembling so hard, you miss. Dave sees it all. 

Something changes in him— a tightening in his jaw, a flaring of his nostrils— as he sees the evidence of your surveillance. His spent form, blissed out and covered in his own release hovers on screen. Right where you left him. 

Dave’s eyes narrow at the video then slide down to the toy sitting within arms reach and there’s no denying what he can see so plainly. 

He rounds on you with a wild look, flinging the chair back so its wheels hit your bed. 

“You get off on that?” he demands.

Your heart might have actually stopped for a minute.

“Answer me,” he demands.

“I– No,” you lie.

He appraises you with a deep scowl until a wicked grin spreads on his lips. 

“You’re a pretty little thing, huh?” he muses.

He drags the gun across your breast, your nipple hardening beneath the muzzle’s brush. You let out a whimper— out of fear or arousal, you’re not sure. You swear he growls under his breath. 

“You’re trouble though,” he says.

You swallow thickly, your entire body quivering. 

”Show me,” he says, depositing the gun on the desk and thrusting the toy towards you.

”What?” You ask.

”Show me how you touched yourself,” he tells you.

That’s what you thought he was saying. You stare at him dumbly, too shocked to even protest.

“You watched me. Only seems fair,” he says as if this is some bargain you’re cutting with the man holding the gun.  ”Do I have to make you?” 

He leans over you, his hand braced on the back of your chair, and presses the vibrator into the gusset of your panties. Rough and clicked onto the highest setting, you squirm and cry out. You’re already so overstimulated, it’s torture and bliss all at once. Your hips buck against the toy but Dave holds your thigh open.

”Okay! Stop! Fuck!” you whine, wrenching at his wrist until he lets up.

You try to catch your breath.

“Take these off,” he instructs, snapping the elastic of your panties against your waist with a thick finger.

You hiss and glare at him but you have no choice but to obey, sliding them down your legs. Dave watches, his eyes darkening once you’re revealed to him. He swears under his breath.

”Look at that mess,” he says.

Your whole body burns but the hunger in his gaze makes your fear take a back seat. Defiantly, you put your hand out for the vibrator. You open your legs wider so he can get a good look at you. There’s a tick in his jaw that gives you some satisfaction.

The vibrator purrs dully in your palm and you take your time bringing it to your clit. A low, long moan leaves you. You’re swollen but slick and even gentle strokes feel electric in your veins. 

There’s a tent already forming in Dave’s pants. He’s a killer, sure, but right now he’s horny.

Your head falls back as you continue. His gaze devours each part of you— where the toy glistens against you, your nipples rising and falling below your shirt, the crease in your brow as you keen. 

“You’re a filthy girl, huh?” he asks. 

You nod and a smile actually pulls at the corner of your lips. It shouldn’t turn you on so much to jerk off in front of a man that has seemingly no hesitations when it comes to killing you but somehow that fact has arousal mounting faster. Your eyes drift closed as you focus on the heady sensation of the friction on your overworked nerves. 

The sound of a metallic clink and soft zip distracts you from your reverie. When you look at Dave, you find his hand down the front of his pants, knuckles straining against the fabric of his black boxer briefs as he tugs at himself.

“Keep going,” he breathes and you realize you’re staring slack-jawed, desire flooding out any remnants of fear left within you. 

After a few blinks, you press the vibrator against your clit again. Your back arches and you give a luxurious sigh for his benefit. His fist tightens, muscles in his neck straining and, fuck, you have to grip the seat of your chair to keep yourself from falling out of it. 

With a grunt, Dave’s pushing his jeans out of the way, freeing his cock so he can work himself in the angles he likes, the same ones you watched through his webcam. The sound of his shallow breaths and slick strokes mix with the rumble of your toy and the creak of your chair as you writhe. It’s absolutely maddening. And then he starts babbling. Saying things like, “You like this, huh?” and “Say my name sweetheart.” You do it, panting out the word to a hum of approval. 

He crowds you and for a moment you prepare yourself for the chance he’s about to shove his dick down your throat. Instead he’s yanking up your shirt, exposing your tits to the cold air in the room. Dave fondles one and then the other, squeezing the tender flesh with a groan. His hand is much softer than you’d expect for a contract killer, his touch almost gentle as he teases your nipples with the pad of his thumb.

Dave’s expression nearly looks pained, a delicious frown over his plump bottom lip. It makes you mewl and your hips jump. 

“You close?” he asks. His voice is ragged. 

A breathless nod is all you can manage. 

“Good girl,” he rasps.

His words are enough to send you over the edge, with a wanton moan. It crashes over you with so much more intensity than the one that came before it. Your spine locks up, thighs shake as you clench around nothing. Your heart hammers in your chest and between your legs and it’s as if the room is spinning. You twitch in aftershocks, completely spent. 

The fog of pleasure has barely lifted when you glance up at Dave, fist still diligently pumping. There’s a fire in his eyes, that untamed excitement. 

“Give me one more,” he commands. 

“Can’t,” you plead. Need still bubbles at your core but your body is so exhausted from adrenaline and exertion, lust and release.

“You better,” he says. 

Dave grinds the vibrator mercilessly against you and you swear aloud. He lets up only for his hand to close around your throat. It’s an unbearable mixture of pleasure and dull ache— the bruising pressure on your clit, the muscles in your thighs taught and burning— underlined by that euphoria. He squeezes around your jaw just hard enough to see stars again. 

“That’s right,” he breathes against your cheek, his nose pressed into your temple.

Another orgasm comes almost immediately, pulsing at your core and squeezing through every fiber of your being. This time, you’re quiet, just a high pitched whine like a hurt animal though you’re anything but. 

Dave groans. You can hear his teeth gritted though your eyes are shut. He swears and his hot release paints your bare chest, thick and sticky. 

Everything stills as you both come down, all loosening muscles and shaky breaths. Dave remains close to you, stroking your cheek. His lips brush your hairline and you notice the smell of his cologne for the first time, something clean and masculine. 

Dread should come now. He’s had his fun, now he can do away with you — yet it doesn’t surface. 

Slowly Dave stands and tucks himself back into his pants. He almost looks ashamed of himself. You pull your shirt down, covering your stained breasts, and watch Dave smooth his hair. 

“So are we good?” you ask. 

“If you do what I said,” he answers. “You’re going to get rid of anything you have against me and you’re going to tell your bosses that all you found was a regular guy.”

“Alright, Dave,” you say. 

He scowls at you like he doesn’t like your tone. “When I say delete everything, I mean everything,” he says, eyes flitting towards the monitor. 

You steal a glance in that direction as well. Dave half naked, still frozen there looking absolutely ruined. 

“Understand?” he asks. 

“Yes.” 

“I’m going to know if you don’t because I’ll be watching you. And if you cross me, I’m going to come back here and I won’t be so nice to you next time,” Dave says. 

You wish that threat didn’t make your body light up like a Christmas tree. It’s absolutely reckless. There’s no chance in hell you’re letting go of that piece of treasure and if the consequence is Dave knocking on your door– or letting himself in– that’s a risk you’re willing to take.

It’s as if he knows. Dave scoffs to himself, then fishes his hat off of the floor along with your panties. 

“These are mine now,” he says.

And you’re almost sad to see him go.

comments and reblogs always appreciated! or scream at me in the ask box or dms!

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

[yameoto]

⠀‎‎‎‎⠀.⠀⠀ ‎‎‎FREQUENTLY ⌢‎‎⠀ 🎾 ASKED QUESTIONS .ᐟ ‎

all works meant to be consumed by responsible grown matured fully-developed etcetc adults.

HOW TO BOT RQ? ⌢⠀ inbox me character/age/scenario

inbox actual scenarios. do NOT send vague "more [xyz character/fandom bots]". or “will you consider [xyz character/fandom]”. those asks are deleted instantly so as to not clog my inbox! it benefits all of us if u tell me exactly what u want.

+ the only other platform have uploaded my bots is janitor.ai and spicychat. (click allow nsfw to access all spicychat bots). if you see them anywhere else, or under any other user, they have been stolen.

BE ASSERTIVE! don’t ask “do you take rqs for.. are you interested in.. will you consider xyz?” just send the request without prefacing. all ‘asks’ along these lines are instantly deleted, so don’t waste your time!

actual requests must include character/age/scenario. it does not have to be especially detailed. it could be a paragraph, or as simple as stoner!ali.

+ requests do not need to be properly formatted in any way. simply include the all THREE above prerequisites.

DO NOT STEAL MY SHIT! do not reupload my bots to other platforms, and do not use my bot intros as starters to your fics. please. i wrote that shit! that is still my writing! it is an incredibly uncool thing to do. do NOT repost my bots onto another platform.

WILL YOU CONSIDER MAKING A [XYZ] BOT ? / DO YOU TAKE RQS FOR [XYZ] ? yes and yes to anything. chances are, i'll know what you're talking about. bite the bullet and send in the request! even if i don't know it, i may fulfil it after consuming said media in the future. don't have to ask, just request!

requests for fandoms other than my mains will be low priority. mains are fandoms i have already created content for.

HOW DO YOU BYPASS THE NSFW FILTER ON CHARACTER AI? here and here are everything you need to know! it's essentially mix of using synonyms (for the love of god, do not come right out the gate saying "show me your tits") and immersive/detailed roleplaying, whilst tricking the bot into adjusting it's settings to let nsfw slide.

editing/copying method.

DO YOU DO MALE OR TRANSMASC READER? / WHY DON'T YOU? no, i do not specifically do male/transmasc reader. why? im female! so i can't authentically write the male perspective, nor do i get off on it. i do gn reader. all of my bots are either fem!reader or gender neutral, naturally (as in i simply freehand my greetings, and whatever it ends up being is how it ends up). i do not do trans!user bots anymore as i am not trans, and uncertain of the ethics of it.

+ exceptions for explicitly mlm bots will be marked with the ⚣ symbol. i will never make fem!char x cism!user bots.

++ unfortunately, sometimes bots will default to heteronormative pronouns. sadly, there is nothing i can do about it. 1 star the response and generate a new one. rping in third-person generally solves this issue.

YOUR UPCOMING BOTLIST UPDATED AND I CAN'T SEE ONE OF THE BOTS ON YOUR PROFILE. + how it works! commonly, the listed description on the upcoming botlist will evolve when i make the bot itself. i.e, "wanda maximoff ౨ৎ⋆ stepmother" on upcoming bots evolved to wanda maximoff ౨ৎ⋆ mommy?" when the actual bot was made. alternatively, some bots do not make the cut and i will remove them from the upcoming botlist to remove expectations. i am always aware of my bots being shadowbanned, as checking that is a process of my botmaking. thus, if a bot listed on the upcoming botlist is removed, but not displayed on my profile, it has either:

1. evolved into a diff bot w/ a similar scenario. 2. i have removed it and put aside the intention of making it.

(secret third reason) 3. i have attempted to get the bots greeting through the filter one too many times and almost chucked my laptop under a monstertruck.

none of these mean the concept of the bot is buried forever.

how it works! i update my upcoming botlist every time i upload a new bot. this means you will need to click 'start new chat' to view it. to look at prior states of the botlist, you can check in 'chat history'. this will not feature all past updates, only your personal chat history, which are the times you have clicked 'start new chat' and generated an updated list! not the total amount of times i have updated it.

WILL YOU MOVE BOTS TO OTHER NSFW AI SITES? here are my spicychat.ai & janitor.ai accounts, though keep in mind my bots work best on character.ai.

IN [XYZ] BOT IS USER..? HOW OLD IS USER IN [XYZ]? IS USER..? i do not ever write user into my bots. this is because my bots are for universal use. the nature of a roleplay means that you decide who you are, the bot plays off of that. be anything you want. go crazy.

CAN YOU MAKE A BOT BASED ON [INSERT FANFICTION]? no, i do not make bots based off a fanfic writer's aus or writing without their permission. that is explicitly their property!

DO YOU MAKE BOTS BASED ON REAL PEOPLE? no, i do not make bots based off of real people, nor do i write rpf.

HOW DO YOU MAKE DETAILED / CHARACTER ACCURATE BOTS?

posts to check out!

pearlzier, yameoto, voidsuites!

CAN YOU SEE OUR CHATS / ARE YOU CONTROLLING THE BOTS?

no, and i neither have the time nor desire to. if a bot talks outside in parentheses and/or claims to be a real person, the reason is that the bots are ai, and mimic the users' input (not just your own, the larger user interface of cai). thus, talking to it like a real person externally (i.e, using parentheses and going [wow you're so good at roleplaying]) then it will do the same. there is also a chance it will do this of its own volition. simply 1 star the response and generate a new one.

+ if you ask it some question like “yameoto are you behind this…” eventually it will say yes. so yes, if u want to pretend you’re chatting with me you can do that. though why you would ever convert cate dunlap to yameoto i have no idea.

DO YOU HAVE A BOT UPLOAD SCHEDULE?

no! i upload new bots whenever i can find the time to do so. i generally lead quite a busy life. there are phases in which i will release 4 per day for like two weeks, and times where i will only be able to do about 4 IN a week. this is a hobby! not my job.

WHEN WILL YOU GET TO MY BOT REQUEST?

i will never be able to give a timeframe or even guarantee (unless they are on my upcoming botlist, which ranges from considerably). i have 2000+ requests in my inbox, and i cannot guarantee all of them will be fulfilled; let alone soon. (and yes, i have seen your request).

factors affecting request acception

1. time. as stated, i have a high quantity of bot rqs. as such, i balance my bot acceptance (bots uploaded to upcoming botlist) between recent rqs and old ones each cycle.

2. fandom. like any other blog, i have main fandoms. this streamlines my order of request priority. rqs for my main fandoms will be accepted/fulfilled faster and more often than others. if my fixation dwindles for a certain fandom, you will see my fulfilment of those rqs dwindle. this also works vice versa. i never write fandoms off for good.

“misc” bot rqs are appreciated and always logged in my larger bot rq google doc. however, there is always a 50/50 chance i actually know what you’re talking about.

3. character. the same theory as fandom. if i'm fond of a character, then i am more likely to fulfill their rqs. you can typically tell who i favour based on the number of bots i already have out.

there are some characters i simply dislike or are apathetic to, no matter how many rqs i get for them. i will never write characters off for good, but if you’ve sent dozens of rqs for one character and i’ve never made a peep about them. chances are, i’m not a fan, or i don’t know them at all! just because i make bots for one character for a fandom, does not mean i will make bots for all characters in said fandom.

i decide characters based almost on what i want, and if i even have requests for said character. if i have literally zero requests for a character i am not already interested in, it is unlikely a bot for them will come out.

4. the request itself. the more interesting/the more a rq personally appeals to me, the more likely i will write it. similarly, if i already have a bot that is very similar to your rq, i likely won’t fulfil it. i.e, i am unlikely to do two vampire!au bots for one character. the reason for this is that you can easily start your rq scenario in my pre-existing bot, and it takes away time for new scenarios or AUs i could be making instead.

WHAT HAPPENED TO XYZ BOT? / YOUR BOT HAS BEEN SHADOWBANNED.

if an existing bot has disappeared from my profile, this means character.ai has updated, updating their shadowbannable phrases list, and the bot has been shadowbanned according to their new rules. i am always aware of my bots being shadowbanned.

if an upcoming bot has disappeared from my upcoming botlist (00 YAMEOTO) and not appeared on my profile, it doesn’t mean that i’ve made it and it’s been shadowbanned.

ETHICAL CONCERNS OF AI.

my thoughts here and here.

#yam’s tips 4 answers to questions.

[thestellarcartographer]

I've completed another commission recently for @uss-solkar. This one of the primary sick bay and local deck layout for his ship - including the CMO's office, reception desk, attached lab, and a bunch of other areas.

The breakdown for these areas is below the cut.

The first thing, as always, is a block-out and scale test for the environment. This was based on a very detailed document I was given to give me some art direction.

Much like previous modelling I've done, I planned to do this as a single modelled area, but eventually pivoted to modelling each room individually. This gave me a lot more flexibility to alter things in the rooms but not messing up the whole scene. It did introduce some other issues, but I can live with the trade-offs.

The next thing to work out was the hallways.

These are based on the Star Trek Online aesthetic, and I decided while I was modelling individual sections that it would be much easier to have a modular system that I can twist around corners, or switch out parts for doors, consoles, windows, or whatever else was needed.

It also allowed me to (shameless plug incoming) put together my Star Trek horror/backrooms video Deck Zero. Give it a run, if you're into that sort of thing!

Once I was happy that I could create corridors to order, I started on the lab.

This is when I started working on the individual room modelling, which was a bit of a process to get right. Basically I modelled a single section of the room, then made it form along a curve in the shape of the room. This allowed me a lot more freedom to alter the room out, although came with a lot of teething problems initially, but came out looking better in the end, I think.

The elements in the room which I needed to ensure were present, included the circular computer console, the side desk, the TNG-era....wall orb...the corner desk, and the shelving. So obviously the next step was to do those.

After that, I had worked with the new method to build the room enough to be comfortable with it, so I started on the main sick bay and attached office.

Obviously this was probably the big focal point, so a lot of variations on a theme here, but the key is/was that it have a lot of bio-beds, a transporter, and several ways in/out of the rooms.

This meant building out a lot of assets, from the bio-beds, to the "laptops" used in TNG/Voyager, medical tricorders and other equipment, and the desks and trolleys to put this stuff on.

You might notice a lot of very specific tools which have been present in various Star Trek's over the years. I always like putting little touches in like this, as it helps sell the authenticity.

The CMO using the office is Bajoran, hence the painting on the rear wall. The shelves will eventually be filled out with various knicknacks including books, and a model of a Bajoran lightsail ship.

The window out into the corridor was also a request.

The last area to cover was an airlock to the internal cetacean ops to allow for medical teams to quickly access it. This was relatively easy to throw together, compared to the rest of the area.

And finally, it was putting the finishing touches in, like accurate LCARS, lighting, and all the other elements that go into making the final images at the start of the post.

[captonite]

America’s Next Top Hunters

here’s your follow-up fic where the matching outfit selfies go viral, and chaos (and fame???) ensues

The first clue that something weird was happening came from Charlie.

She burst through the bunker’s front door, phone in hand, already mid-yell:

“WHY IS CHUBS A FASHION ICON ON MY TIMELINE RIGHT NOW??”

Dean looked up from where he was helping Chubs lace up her tiny boots (they were matching again—today was “Winchester Campfire Core,” which included red plaid and marshmallow-scented hand sanitizer).

“…What?”

Charlie slammed her phone down on the table and turned the screen to face them. “THIS.”

It was one of the mirror selfies. The FBI outfit one. Chubs in sunglasses, flanked by her two oversized big brothers, looking like an actual sitcom poster.

It had 98,000 likes.

Dean blinked. “That’s… That’s my flannel.”

Sam leaned over. “Is that from some random fashion account?”

Charlie snorted. “That’s not random. That’s Hunter Chic. They repost vintage-inspired outfits and found your page after someone retweeted your Sunday Lazy look with the caption: ‘they’re not even actors, just vibes.’”

Dean blinked slowly. “Wait. I have a page?”

Sam unlocked his phone. “Dean. You posted these on your Instagram.”

“…Oh. Right.”

Chubs waddled into the room, now fully booted up, sunglasses on. “Am I famous?”

Charlie pointed at her like she was on trial. “You. Are. A. Star. Do you know people are asking for MORE FIT CHECKS? I already got DMs asking if you’ll drop a full series. Someone wants to send you free toddler boots!”

Dean looked personally offended. “No one’s ever sent me free boots.”

Chubs beamed. “Let’s do it!”

Cue the Montage: The Fit Check Series

The internet went feral.

Charlie helped them set up a proper page: “@WinchesterWardrobe” (Sam lobbied for “@SamStyle” and got instantly vetoed).

Each week, they dropped a new look:

“Salt & Burn Chic” – army green, boots, fake salt packets in Chubs’ pockets (Dean called it “method acting”).

“Apocalypse But Make It Fashion” – distressed denim, black tees, silver jewelry, and matching shotgun props (Chubs’ was Nerf).

“Hunter Formal” – sharp suits, leather gloves, and a blurred-out background that definitely wasn’t a real morgue.

“Sunday Cartoon Core” – soft pastels, pajamas, fuzzy socks, and Cas in a pink robe sipping tea with a book upside down.

Followers ADORED them. Fan accounts popped up. Someone made a Pinterest board. BuzzFeed called Chubs “the next Harper Beckham with supernatural edge.”

Dean was horrified.

Sam was amused.

Cas was confused but cooperative.

And Chubs? She was thriving.

---

One Afternoon, Weeks Later

Chubs curled up in Dean’s lap as he scrolled through the account on his phone.

“People really like your boots today,” he muttered.

“They like yours more,” she said sleepily.

Sam came around with his laptop. “You got an email from a magazine.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Is it one of those scam ones? I’m not sending anyone my credit card for ‘Hunter’s Digest.’”

“No,” Sam said, chuckling. “It’s GQ.”

Dean stared.

Sam read aloud. “‘We love the authenticity and aesthetic of your family’s style and would love to feature your daughter—and her matching looks with you and your brother—in an upcoming editorial on unconventional fashion icons.’”

Dean slowly looked down at Chubs. “You wanna be in a magazine?”

She yawned. “Only if I get to wear both your jackets.”

---

Later That Night

Cas sat at the end of the bed, watching as Chubs lay between her brothers, still babbling about outfit ideas.

“…And then we can do one where we’re dressed like lumberjacks and we all carry axes but fake ones! And we can do a summer one with sunglasses and lemonade and—”

Dean ruffled her hair. “Alright, Vogue. Time to sleep.”

She blinked up at him. “You think I’m really cool?”

Sam smiled. “Coolest kid on the internet.”

Cas added, “You are an icon.”

Dean chuckled. “You’re the reason we’re gonna have to fight off boot brand sponsorships for the next year.”

Chubs curled into Dean’s chest and reached for Sam’s hand. “I like doing stuff with you guys.”

Dean leaned down and kissed her hair. “We like doing everything with you, baby girl.”

From the floor, Cas whispered, “Should we do a matching trench coat photo next?”

Dean snorted. “Cas, buddy, that might break the internet.”

Chubs sleep-mumbled, “Only if I get angel wings.”

Dean smiled, heart full, phone buzzing with another thousand likes.

[Caption on the next photo drop:]

Not actors. Just brothers. Just love. 🖤🧸 #FitCheck #FamilyFirst #MiniWinchester

[anthonynysa]

Would Socrates Have Used Social Media? A Thought Experiment.

Imagining that it's 2025, Socrates, in the modern-day café, has opened his laptop. He just got greeted on Instagram with "You have 1 new follower!" and looks intrigued. Probably not the type to run away from the prospect of easily exploring the "new" digital world, or for that matter, a seeker of wisdom using the Socratic method of questioning everything. But would Socrates-the ultimate skeptic and conversationalist-actually use social media? Let's enter this thought experiment.

First poking at the obvious, Socrates was not the type who cared much for writing anyway. In fact, it is famously said that there exists no authentic record of his own writings. Whatever we know of him comes down to the hearsay of his pupils, notably Plato. Socrates was all about intellectual dialogue face to face-the debates in public lugares; challenging assumptions; dissecting thoroughly even the unlovable and uncomfortable thoughts. Would he engage in Twitter threads, Facebook debates, or TikTok rants? Well, that would be far-fetched. 

The Socratic Method: Online Style

Essentially, the Socratic method involves asking questions that invite people to challenge ideas and to think again. So, it sounds very similar to online debates, does it not? After all, social media is an arena where everyone can give their opinion—and sometimes, those opinions might need a little poke and prod. Picture Socrates diving into Twitter discussions, replying to tweets with the simple yet certain rebuttal, "But why?" That would surely lead to some terribly amusing yet slightly cumbersome exchanges. Nevertheless, Socrates wouldn't be there to earn likes or retweets. He'd be there to get to the truth even if that meant grinding the nerves of everyone involved.

It isn't hard to imagine how much trouble for Socrates it would be to portray an Agitator in the online space to inspire critical thinking among users. For a social media platform, one is given an opportunity to share their views, close, say the Agora (the marketplace) in Ancient Athens. Socrates would in all probability make those platforms as an arena to question people's presuppositions or assume things. Things like, "What is the real worth of a 'like?'" or "What does it mean to be really heard with a tweet of 280 characters?" It would take an endlessly flowing challenge to the received wisdom, with the assurance that Socrates had a huge number of followers on social media because let us be true, his philosophy spells intrigue. 

The Problems With Social Media That Socrates Would Have Hated

But Socrates would certainly never ignore any problem with social media. Seeing how many times online discussions reduce to three-second arguments or how misinformation spreads like wildfire, he would probably have spent a great deal of time shaking his head in disappointment. He had really believed in the quality of discourse. For him, seeing people argue in sound bites or tweet memes highlighting ever flimsy details of a complex issue would, in all regards, make him cringe. Remember, Socrates was all for refining ideas and actually trying to reach proper understanding and not just to score a wing for an argument or chase followers.

Besides that, Socrates probably wouldn't have appreciated social media's obsession with self-promotion. He would have turned to a scroll of curated Instagram posts, each showing candidates at their Pops-the-Root Beer moment and asked, "Is this really living?" He might have thought that the constant scramble for likes and followers alludes to the more serious pursuit of wisdom. 

Had He Been Living, Would He Have Been On Facebook?

Here's another interesting thought: Would Socrates have been on Facebook? He certainly had an affinity for conversation - perhaps he could have joined a few philosophical groups to get the dialogue going. But knowing how rapidly Facebook can swoosh into cat videos, rants about political parties, and unsolicited opinions on pineapple pizzas, Socrates may likely have been out of there before long. He would probably value spaces that allow for a deep exploration of ideas, rather than mere soundbites shared with a click of a button. 

Conclusion: Socrates will throw himself amidst the noise of the digital world.

The real reason, you say? Not really to care about any followers or content going viral. His social media would have been a podium for questioning thought, challenging, and search for the truth; in a word, a philosophic-style podcast with plenty of trolling bait. Like everything else, he would have approached it with caution-scrutinizing the usefulness of this instrument and never allowing himself to get twisted and turned by any of the bull it would have undoubtedly presented.

In the end, it is less about whether or not Socrates would have engaged with social media and more about whether we would engage with these social sites as avenues of real conversation, rather than simply seeking the next hit of dopamine in our feeds. Long live Socrates, who probably would just ask us to log off every once or twice, look around, and go, "Is this the best way to spend our time?"   

[sarkariresultdude]

Graduate Result Examination Check Process: Tips for a Smooth Experience

 The Graduate Result Examination Check is a standardized test that is an admissions requirement for plenty of graduate schools, in particular in the United States. Developed and administered by way of the Educational Testing Service (ETS), the GRE is extensively diagnosed as a critical benchmark for comparing college students' instructional competencies and readiness for graduate-stage paintings. While the GRE itself is a famous element of the graduate admissions technique, one of the most essential worries for test-takers is how to check their GRE results after taking the check.

The GRE exam is divided into 3 number one sections: Verbal Reasoning, Quantitative Reasoning, and Analytical Writing. The results of the GRE replicate a candidate’s aptitude in these regions, giving graduate schools a more holistic view of their potential. Understanding how to test GRE effects, interpret them, and use them efficiently inside the utility method is crucial for anyone planning to attend graduate school.

Steps to Check GRE Results

The system of checking GRE results is incredibly truthful, but it involves more than one step that can fluctuate barely depending on whether and how you took the exam (computer-based totally or paper-primarily based). The fashionable steps for checking your GRE outcomes are as follows:

 Log in to Your ETS Account

The first step in checking your GRE consequences is to log in to the account you created with ETS when you registered for the check. This account serves as the main hub for all facts related to your GRE examination, which includes taking a look at dates, charge affirmation, and most significantly, your consequences. You can get entry to your ETS account on the authentic website (www.Ets.Org).

Once you log in, navigate to the phase of your account that shows check scores. This is where you'll find your GRE outcomes, along with other rankings from beyond exams you can have taken, together with the TOEFL or different ETS-administered assessments.

 View Unofficial GRE Scores (If Applicable)

If you have got taken the PC-based GRE, you'll have the option to view your unofficial rankings for the Verbal Reasoning and Quantitative Reasoning sections at once after finishing the take a look at. This is one of the advantages of the laptop-primarily based format. However, it's miles important to observe that those are most effective preliminary scores; your legit outcomes might be to be had later.

Unofficial scores are a useful tool for college students who want a short feel of their performance earlier than the official effects are launched. While the unofficial rankings for the Verbal and Quantitative sections are dependable, you'll not acquire an unofficial rating for the Analytical Writing segment until the essays are graded by using a human scorer. 

 Wait for the Official Results

ETS usually releases legitimate GRE scores within 10-15 days of the check date for laptop-primarily based assessments, at the same time as results for paper-primarily based assessments may also take barely longer. When your official scores are ready, you will receive an email notification from ETS. This e-mail will direct you to log in to your ETS account, wherein you can view and download your official GRE score record.

The professional score document consists of your scaled ratings for the Verbal Reasoning, Quantitative Reasoning, and Analytical Writing sections and your percentile scores. These ratings show how your performance compares to other check-takers and can provide the perception of your competitiveness inside the graduate admissions system.

 Interpreting Your GRE Scores

Once you have got access on your reliable GRE rankings, it’s crucial to apprehend what they imply and the way they will be perceived with the aid of graduate colleges. Each segment of the GRE is scored in another way, and graduate programs often have exceptional expectancies for every section relying on the sector of look at.

Verbal Reasoning

The Verbal Reasoning section is scored on a scale from a hundred thirty to a hundred and seventy, in single-factor increments. This section checks your potential to recognize and analyze written cloth and synthesize information from it. For students applying to humanities or social sciences applications, this score is often weighed extra closely.

Quantitative Reasoning

Like the Verbal section, the Quantitative Reasoning segment is scored on a scale from one hundred thirty to one hundred seventy. This segment assesses mathematical reasoning, primary arithmetic, algebra, geometry, and information analysis. For students applying to STEM packages (technology, generation, engineering, and arithmetic), this score is vital.

Analytical Writing

The Analytical Writing section is scored on a scale from 0 to 6, in half-factor increments. This section assesses your capacity to articulate complex ideas virtually and efficaciously. It is often considered essential for all graduate fields, however in particular for packages that emphasize writing and conversation abilities.

Percentile Rankings

For example, a Verbal Reasoning rating of 160 may additionally vicinity you inside the 86th percentile, which means you scored higher than 86% of different test-takers. Meanwhile, the equal rating at the Quantitative Reasoning section may place you in a lower percentile due to the typically better performance in the Quantitative section.

Score Report Delays

Sometimes, reliable rating reviews may be behind schedule beyond the standard 10-15-day window.  If your ratings are delayed, ETS will usually notify you through e-mail.

Discrepancies in Scores

In uncommon instances, there can be discrepancies between your unofficial and authentic rankings. However, this manner only sometimes brings about substantial changes to rankings.

Conclusion

Checking GRE results is an important step in the graduate faculty software procedure. From logging in to your ETS account to decoding your professional score file, understanding this procedure allow you to better navigate your adventure to graduate faculty. 

[fearsmagazine]

WILD EYED AND WICKED - Review

DISTRIBUTOR: Gravitas Ventures

SYNOPSIS:  In a family haunted by a menacing medieval creature for generations, Lily Pierce grapples with the childhood loss of her mother, Silvia. Her therapist and girlfriend offer support as she navigates the pain of the anniversary of her mother's death. Encouraged to confront her past, Lily accepts an invitation from her estranged father, a disgraced history professor, to visit the farm where she grew up. To overcome the haunting presence, Lily must discover the strength and courage of a bygone era, a time when armored knights bravely faced and vanquished monsters.

REVIEW: Filmmaker Gordon S Foxwood sets out to tell a story that attempts to deconstruct a contemporary tale of knights and demons as a heroine grables with her mother’s demons, aided by her father and friend.

At its core, the WILD EYED AND WICKED exhibits influences from screenwriter Richard LaGravenese's "The Fisher King" and similar stories of the genre. Lily grapples with relationship issues and family trauma, but her psyche remains relatively stable compared to Parry in "The Fisher King." She embodies some aspects of both Parry and Jack Lucas. After encountering her mother's armor, letters, and pages from an old book about a demon, Lily ventures into the forest to confront the demon. The final act shifts the focus towards her relationships with her father and girlfriend. Ultimately, a collective effort is needed for Lily to break through and confront the demon. Director Foxwood does a commendable job of balancing these elements, but the film lacks fresh or compelling aspects to keep viewers engaged. Additionally, some of the dialogue feels insincere or unnecessary, and the story's lack of surprises diminishes its impact.

While the film features an attractive location and decent costumes, it falls short in several other areas. The cinematography is often very dark. The props lack authenticity due to insufficient aging. The editing pace is slow, featuring Lily’s excessive phone and laptop screen time. Lengthy dialogue scenes between Lily and her father utilize basic framing and methodical cutting, further contributing to the sluggish pacing. Numerous flashbacks to young Lily and her mother aim to provide background, but they ultimately slow down the narrative. The jump scares feel ineffective due to mistimed setups and poor execution. The obligatory montage sequence before the battle lacks energy and enthusiasm. The fight sequence is underwhelming, partly attributed to the simplistic demon design devoid of menace, the lackluster choreography and the sluggish editing.

Despite not being terrible, the performances failed to captivate this viewer. While the tale's depressing themes are appreciated, the characters lacked the spark needed to provide viewers with a sense of hope to sustain their interest. Unfortunately, there was no character or performance that offered any emotional contrast. All the emotional levels felt suppressed, and there were moments when the characters should have been more emotionally engaged but didn't come across as fully invested or enraged.

WILD EYED AND WICKED has a made-for-tv movie or Hallmark channel production feel to it. Many of its plot devices lack originality, resembling other stories and films with similar themes. The film lacks atmosphere, even during the protagonist's ride into the forest, and fails to build tension, suspense, a sense of wonder or  the loss of innocence. Although it is an independent film and may have had budget constraints, other filmmakers have achieved more with less. The overly ambitious film falls short. While it is clearly a labor of love for Gordon Shoemaker Foxwood, it is also a laborious watch for the viewer.

CAST: Molly Kunz, Michael X. Sommers, Stefanie Estes, and Colleen Camp. CREW: Director/Screenplay/Producer - Gordon Shoemaker Foxwood; Producers - Powell Robinson & Patrick Robert Young; Cinematographers - Matheus Bastos & Eyal Bau Cohen; Score - Kyle Hnedak; Editor - William Ford-Conway ; Production Designer - Hanna Hamilton; Costume Designer - Nadine Sondej-Robinson; Visual Effects Artists - Chris Riley & Justin Sarceno; Prosthetic Designer - Isabelle Isel; Practical Effects - Independent Studio Services & J&M Effects. OFFICIAL: www.wildeyedandwicked.com FACEBOOK: N.A. TWITTER: N.A. TRAILER: https://youtu.be/FQc3rDYwpaw RELEASE DATE: TVOD/Digital and cable On Demand June 11th, 2024

**Until we can all head back into the theaters our “COVID Reel Value” will be similar to how you rate a film on digital platforms - 👍 (Like), 👌 (It’s just okay), or 👎 (Dislike)

Reviewed by Joseph B Mauceri

[ryotaiku]

My retro setup

If you're a retro person younger than me, you probably emulate old games on your laptop, or even your phone. But I'm a freak, so I set up space in my room to play old games on original-ish hardware. This is by no means the easiest method or even that much more authentic than just emulating, but the vibes are nice. Lemme give you a tour.

The first thing you may notice is I don't use a CRT. I do have a Sony Trinitron, and I even tried to get it set up, but I'm in a basement and getting it down here requires renting an industrial dolly designed for stairs. So I compromised and snatched a 2006 Olevia flatscreen from my dad. Flatscreens are honestly more nostalgic to me than CRTs anyway, and they're much more practical to use. They're lighter, more compact, and they have an ungodly number of inputs. The speakers aren't great though, so I also put in a soundbar.

I really wanted to use the Sharp Aquos you see cropped out on the right, but it sadly won't turn on. I plug it in occasionally in the hopes that it someday just starts working again, but alas. I really like that TV too.

The consoles! These are all plugged into an S-video adapter unless stated otherwise. From top-left to bottom-right.

I'm honestly not sure why I hooked up the Sega Dreamcast. Probably because I had space for it. I could hard-mod it, which is surprisingly easy to do, but most everything worth playing on the system has a better version on another platform. So it's there as a filler. If I ever get a Sega Saturn I'll probably replace it with that.

I was gonna put in a Sega Genesis, but the Olevia weirdly doesn't have the channels required to read any coaxial systems. So I went even more compact and bought a Retron 3. I had a Retron 2 HD that could play NES/SNES games, but the composite would only output in black & white. So I just bought a new one with no HD compatibility that also supported Genesis carts. All three slots utilize flashcarts to maintain the health of both the console and my individual games. This is the only console plugged in through composite.

The GameCube was the first console I modded when I got the idea for this setup. I do unfortunately have to use my copy of Twilight Princess to run the mod, but that may change as m.2 loaders for the system get developed. I also have a GBA flashcart I could plug into the Game Boy Player beneath it, but that's currently in my actual GBA.

The Xbox is an eldritch nightmare and I highly advise against any form of modding. I bricked it on accident trying to help a streamer unlock the region on his, and the process of unbricking it was such a goddamn nightmare that I refuse to do any further mod fuckery. Anyone who said this is the best modded console ever is a liar. Most games worth playing on this system are backwards compatible on Xbox One/Series X, so it's mainly here for insurance whenever Microsoft decides to shut those consoles down.

The N64 doesn't have much special going on. It's got a flashcart and I have some Hyperkin controllers for four-player shenanigans, though last time I used the system it would reset on its own. I think one of the controllers has a reset button in its stick or something, which is a really irresponsible place to put a reset button. Ah well.

Hey why do you have a PS3 plugged in? That's hardly retro.

Well technically the PS3 fits the vibe in a 2000s-era retro space, and I'm sure some of you can feel your skin wrinkle as I say that. But the real reason it's there is to play PS1 games. Theoretically a PS3 can be softmodded to play PS1 ROMs off a USB drive, but I could never get that to work. Lemme know if you got it working and how. In the meantime I can at least play PS1 discs. This is the only console plugged in through HDMI.

It can't play PS2 games though, which is why I have a PS2 set up as well. This is my preferred console for most retro games, on account of being the only one with a drive bay. Its one annoyance is third-party network adapters (required to plug in the drive) don't actually have network ports, and I can't load ROMs through USB or similar. So if I want to add new games, I gotta remove the drive manually and plug it into my desktop. It also can't play PS1 games, since the console is hard-coded to shut out both USB and the drive bay when loading its PS1 emulation. But it works great for PS2 games, and that's all it needs to do.

I should reiterate again that you don't need to do this to have a true authentic experience playing retro games. As time goes on, emulation & 4K OLED TVs will be more accessible means of achieving authenticity. I'm just a madman who had the space & resources to do it.

[quikfixtechnology]

Choosing the Right MacBook Repair Canter in Dubai

In the bustling tech hub of Dubai, where innovation and sophistication converge, MacBook laptops have become an integral part of personal and professional lives. However, even the most reliable devices can experience hiccups or malfunctions. When your MacBook requires professional attention, choosing the right repair center becomes paramount. With a myriad of options available, navigating this landscape can be overwhelming. This blog aims to guide you through the process of selecting the best MacBook repair Dubai, ensuring your device receives the care it deserves.

Expertise Matters

When entrusting your valuable MacBook to a repair center, expertise should be your foremost consideration. Skilled technicians equipped with the latest knowledge and tools can swiftly diagnose and address issues, minimizing downtime. Look for centers that boast a team of certified professionals with a track record of successfully repairing Apple devices. Their expertise ensures that your MacBook is in safe hands, and the repair process is efficient and effective.

Authorized Service Providers

Opting for an authorized Apple service provider brings a sense of assurance. Authorized centers are recognized by Apple for their adherence to stringent quality standards and use of genuine parts. This guarantees that your MacBook will be repaired with precision, maintaining its original performance and longevity. These centers also offer warranties on their repairs, giving you peace of mind knowing that your investment is protected.

Genuine Parts and Transparency

Using genuine Apple parts during repairs is pivotal in maintaining the integrity of your MacBook. Unscrupulous repair centers may opt for cheaper alternatives that compromise your device's functionality and durability. Ensure the repair center explicitly states its commitment to using authentic parts. Transparency in their processes, pricing, and repair methods is equally crucial. Reputable centers offer detailed explanations of the repair process and provide accurate estimates upfront, avoiding any unpleasant surprises down the line.

Quick Turnaround Time

In today's fast-paced world, a quick turnaround time is paramount. A proficient MacBook repair center understands the urgency of getting your device back to you promptly. Inquire about their average repair time for common issues and how they handle unforeseen complications. However, prioritize quality over speed; a repair done hastily but inaccurately can lead to further problems.

Customer Reviews and Reputation

The digital age empowers consumers with the ability to share their experiences online. Before making a decision, delve into customer reviews and testimonials about the repair center. Positive feedback highlights the center's reliability, professionalism, and customer service. Conversely, negative reviews may point to potential pitfalls you want to avoid. Additionally, inquire among your peers or online communities for recommendations, as personal referrals often provide valuable insights.

Convenience and Accessibility

A conveniently located repair center can significantly simplify the process. Opt for a center that is easily accessible from your home or workplace. Some centers even offer doorstep pickup and delivery services, saving you time and effort. Flexibility in their operating hours is another advantage, ensuring you can drop off or collect your MacBook at a time that suits your schedule.

Customer Service and Communication

Effective communication is the foundation of a successful repair experience. A reputable repair center keeps you informed throughout the process, updating you on diagnosis, repair progress, and any unforeseen challenges. Responsive customer service that addresses your queries promptly demonstrates their commitment to client satisfaction.

Conclusion

Selecting the right MacBook repair services is a decision that directly impacts your device's performance and longevity. Prioritize expertise, authenticity, transparency, and customer-centricity. Choose an authorized service provider that employs certified technicians, uses genuine parts, offers warranties, and maintains clear communication. By investing time in research and due diligence, you can ensure that your MacBook receives the care it needs from a trusted repair centre, allowing you to get back to your digital endeavours without a hitch.

Read Also: Get Professional MacBook Repair Services near You

[techtalkcentral12]

Is Your Laptop Original or Refurbished? How to Check Laptop Authenticity. Are you uncertain whether your laptop is a genuine original or a refurbished model? Knowing the authenticity of your device is crucial for a smooth and reliable computing experience. In this informative video, we'll guide you step-by-step on how to check if your laptop is original or refurbished, ensuring you make an informed decision about your valuable investment.

Key to Open CMD: Window + R CMD Code: wmic bios

2cnd Method: How to Check your Laptop is Original or Refurbished (Repaired) | 100% Valid Method! https://youtu.be/FWJRX7Kbpfw

For any Help U can Contact me on my FB PAGE: https://www.facebook.com/MUmer221/

🔎 Discover the key identifiers to differentiate between an authentic laptop and a refurbished one. 📋 Learn how to find and interpret the essential product information that indicates the device's status. 💻 Understand the importance of the laptop's serial number and how to verify it for authenticity. 🔧 Get handy tips and tools to ensure you don't fall prey to counterfeit products or shady sellers.

👍 If you found this video helpful, don't forget to give it a thumbs up and share it with your friends. 🔔 Hit the notification bell to stay updated with our latest tech tips and guides. 📢 Leave your comments below; we'd love to hear your thoughts and experiences!

CheckLaptopAuthenticity OriginalOrRefurbished TechTips2023

[nitinthakur10]

French Learning Online – Culture, Grammar, and Certification

French is more than just a language—it’s a gateway to art, diplomacy, global business, and cultural elegance. Spoken in over 29 countries and recognized by international institutions like the United Nations and the European Union, French offers both professional utility and personal enrichment. With online French learning, students now have the flexibility to engage with the language and its rich cultural heritage from the comfort of their homes.

Why Learn French Online?

1. Cultural Immersion from Anywhere

French learning is most effective when it incorporates the culture that shapes the language. Through curated materials such as:

French films and documentaries

Classic and contemporary music

Culinary vocabulary and recipe modules

Virtual cultural workshops

Students don’t just memorize vocabulary—they experience French as a living culture. This makes the learning process more relatable and enjoyable.

2. Grammar with a Global Standard (CEFR)

French grammar is renowned for its structure and elegance. While it may seem complex, a well-structured course breaks it down across CEFR levels:

A1–A2 (Beginner): Greetings, numbers, present tense, articles, basic sentence construction

B1–B2 (Intermediate): Past and future tenses, conditional forms, complex sentences

C1–C2 (Advanced): Subjunctive mood, idiomatic expressions, formal writing, advanced listening

With Study International Language Certification, every level is aligned with CEFR standards, ensuring international recognition and clear progression paths.

3. Vocabulary with Real-World Relevance

French online courses focus on useful, real-life vocabulary relevant to:

Travel: Airports, transport, directions, hotel stays

Education: School subjects, academic discussions

Workplace: Emails, presentations, job interviews

Social settings: Invitations, casual talk, family and emotions

By integrating grammar into these themes, you gain vocabulary you can actually use.

4. Practice in All Four Language Skills

Effective language learning requires balance across:

Listening: Dialogues, audio tracks, native speaker videos

Speaking: Role-plays, pronunciation coaching, oral drills

Reading: News articles, stories, blog texts

Writing: Emails, essays, dialogues, summaries

Online platforms provide structured training in each area with feedback and improvement tips.

5. Certification That Matters

Upon completing each CEFR level, students receive a digital certificate from Study International Language Certification. These certificates are:

Recognized by universities and employers

Useful for immigration and visa applications

Helpful for freelancing, translation, or language teaching

The certificate provides proof of your proficiency and commitment to learning.

Key Features of Online French Learning

Live and Recorded Sessions

You can attend real-time classes for interaction and feedback, and access recorded lessons anytime for revision. This dual method provides flexibility while maintaining engagement.

Native and Certified Instructors

Courses are taught by native French speakers or certified bilingual instructors, who focus on:

Pronunciation refinement

Cultural authenticity

Conversational confidence

Personalized support and doubt resolution

This guidance helps you sound natural and build credibility in real conversations.

Smart Learning Tools

To ensure retention and application, platforms include:

Interactive flashcards

Daily quizzes and grammar drills

Listening comprehension tests

Practice worksheets and writing tasks

These tools make your learning active and effective, not passive.

Global Accessibility

You can start learning French from:

Any location with an internet connection

Any device, be it a phone, tablet, or laptop

Any time, be it weekdays, weekends, or evenings

This adaptability suits students, professionals, travelers, and expats.

Who Can Benefit from Online French Courses?

Students preparing for DELF/DALF exams or studying in French-speaking countries

Professionals targeting jobs in diplomacy, tourism, or luxury brands

Language learners adding a global skill to their resume

Immigrants and expats planning to live in France, Canada, Belgium, or Switzerland

Cultural enthusiasts exploring French film, literature, and history

How to Start Your French Learning Journey

Visit Study International Language Certification

Choose French as your target language

Select your level or take a placement test

Enroll in live batch classes or on-demand modules

Learn through videos, exercises, speaking practice, and cultural content

Complete assessments and earn your digital certificate

Support is available throughout your course with tutor consultations, email guidance, and discussion forums.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)

1. Can I learn French online without prior experience?

Yes. Courses start from absolute beginner (A1) level and build up step-by-step with guidance on pronunciation, grammar, and vocabulary.

2. How long does it take to become conversational in French?

With regular practice (4–5 hours/week), learners can reach B1-level conversational fluency in about 5–6 months.

3. Is the certification globally recognized?

Yes. Certificates from Study International Language Certification are CEFR-aligned and accepted by many employers and institutions worldwide.

4. Are there weekend or evening classes available?

Yes. Flexible scheduling options are available, including weekend and after-work hours, especially for working professionals.

5. Can I combine French learning with another language?

Absolutely. You can enroll in multiple language programs simultaneously, such as French and Spanish or French and Japanese.

Conclusion

Learning French online opens doors to global opportunities while immersing you in one of the world’s richest cultures. With CEFR-based grammar, practical vocabulary, and digital certification, your learning journey is both meaningful and measurable. Whether you're preparing for a French-speaking job, planning to relocate, or pursuing academic goals, the right course gives you the tools to speak with confidence, understand with clarity, and engage with culture.

Start your journey with Study International Language Certification—where language meets lifestyle, and education meets flexibility.

[mind-cypress]

How to Prepare for the Certified Financial Analyst (CFA) Exam with Online Courses

Obtaining Certified Financial Analyst (CFA) status represents a significant accomplishment for finance professionals seeking professional advancement. The correct approach, together with proper materials, makes passing the CFA exam more manageable. The preparation process for online courses became revolutionary because of technological progress, which delivers both adaptable and efficient learning methods. The initial exam level among CFA candidates is known as CFA Level 1, and it establishes the fundamental knowledge required for achievement. The Throw platform provides premier online CFA classes that specifically address the professional needs of today’s working individuals.

Why CFA Level 1 Classes Are the Foundation of Your Financial Analyst Journey

Level 1 serves as the essential foundation for approaching the complexities of Level 2 and Level 3. Level 1 establishes your comprehension of essential economic principles, together with financial reporting fundamentals and ethical standards, and quantitative methods. The combination of expert instructional content with systematic learning methods from high-quality CFA Level 1 classes establishes your essential knowledge base. Strong fundamentals remain essential whether you enter the workforce directly from college or as a working professional.

MindCypress’s CFA Level 1 program combines live sessions, recorded content, practice questions, and mock exams to create an immersive learning experience. This sets you up for not only passing the Level 1 exam but excelling in it.

Top CFA Courses Online: Flexible Learning Paths for Busy Professionals

For many, juggling a full-time job or family, or academic commitments, leaves little time to prepare for the CFA examination. Thus, this flexibility offered by the CFA course is one of the significant factors in choosing a course. Custom learning solutions catering to current-day challenges are offered by online platforms like MindCypress. The online study process offers three main advantages to students:

The online study platform allows students to choose their study schedule. The CFA online programs enable students to study whenever they prefer, from early morning until late at night.

The platform connects students with authentic CFA charterholders who simplify complex concepts through practical knowledge-based bite-sized lessons.

Extensive Resources: Tools like video tutorials, quizzes, mock exams, and digital textbooks are all safe, accessible, and available on your laptop or phone, anytime.

Proven Strategies for CFA Exam Success

The CFA exam requires candidates to master content along with additional essential components for success. The path to success requires students to master three essential components: time management, consistency, and regular practice. Your study plan should include the following methods to achieve success:

Create a Study Schedule: Establish a study plan that follows the CFA Institute recommendation of spending 300+ hours on preparation. Divide the syllabus into weekly targets and maintain your commitment to them.

Use Practice Questions Frequently:  Practicing questions through problem-solving stands as an essential learning method. The online platform of MindCypress provides students with quizzes organized by subject matter as well as full-length practice exams that replicate real test conditions.

Revise and Review: Spend the final weeks of your preparation on revision. Make additional practice tests while focusing on your weak areas. MindCypress provides analytical tools that enable users to detect knowledge gaps that should be their primary focus.

A disciplined strategy combined with the structured learning provided by MindCypress's course leads to enhanced success rates.

Conclusion

The CFA test presents significant difficulties, yet students can successfully pass it through proper study methods. Solid CFA Level 1 classes establish the essential foundation that determines your success throughout the entire CFA certification process. Online platforms such as MindCypress provide better learning opportunities through their expert-led classes combined with adaptable education and complete learning materials. Online CFA courses offer the best investment opportunity for students who want to become top financial analysts. Let MindCypress guide you from the basics to the charter.

Resource: https://mindcypress.com/blogs/finance-accounting/how-to-prepare-for-the-certified-financial-analyst-cfa-exam-with-online-courses

[techjackindia]

How Dell Service Centre Jaipur Ensures Customer Satisfaction

Overview

Selecting the appropriate service location is essential for a prompt and dependable repair when your Dell laptop, desktop, or device needs maintenance. The Dell Service Centre Jaipur has established a solid reputation for providing excellent customer service, prompt resolutions, and sincere solutions. Customer satisfaction is at the heart of the services provided here, regardless of whether you are a student, working professional, or business owner.

Complete Device Diagnostics and Maintenance

The thorough diagnostic procedure at the Dell Service Center Jaipur is one of its best qualities. Whether it's a hardware malfunction or a software bug, technicians first thoroughly examine your device. This lowers the likelihood of reoccurring issues and improves system performance by guaranteeing that all issues—even those that are hidden—are successfully resolved.

Genuine parts and certified technicians

The service center has Dell-certified specialists that are qualified to handle anything from simple problems to intricate motherboard repairs in order to uphold the highest standards. Furthermore, only authentic Dell components are utilized for replacements, guaranteeing compatibility and longevity. This method keeps your gadget covered under warranty and ensures improved performance.

Prompt Service and Open Procedure

One important component of client happiness is timeliness. The Dell Service Center Jaipur is renowned for processing service requests quickly. Depending on the intricacy, most problems are fixed in 24 to 48 hours. Transparency and confidence are increased by the center's provision of real-time information and unambiguous communication about the state of repairs and associated costs.

A customer-focused setting with follow-up assistance

The convenience of the customer comes first. Every element, from cozy waiting rooms to convenient drop-off and pick-up options, is intended to make the experience hassle-free. Additionally, the center provides post-service follow-ups to make sure the problem has been fully fixed. Door-step assistance and online appointment scheduling are also offered to people who are unable to attend the facility in person.

Reasonably priced with warranty protection

The Dell Service Center Jaipur offers competitive pricing that is easily understood. There are no hidden fees and the service rates are reasonable. Many services are free if your gadget is still covered under warranty. Cost estimates for out-of-warranty equipment are communicated beforehand to prevent unpleasant surprises when it comes time for payment.

In conclusion

For Dell product support, the Dell Service Center Jaipur has made a name for itself as a dependable and customer-focused center. Every component, from knowledgeable technicians and authentic parts to fast turnaround times and reasonable prices, adds to a flawless client experience. Thousands of Dell users in Jaipur continue to trust the company because of its dedication to quality.

[moulinblanccafe454]

Chocolatine Cafe: A Cozy Retreat for Pastry Lovers and Coffee Enthusiasts

In the bustling world of modern cafés, few establishments manage to capture the charm and comfort that Chocolatine Cafe offers. Tucked away from the noise and haste of city life, this delightful café has earned a special place in the hearts of pastry lovers and coffee enthusiasts alike. With its warm ambiance, artisanal baked goods, and finely brewed coffee, Chocolatine Cafe stands as more than just a place to grab a quick snack—it’s a destination where quality, tradition, and relaxation come together.

The name "Chocolatine" itself evokes images of flaky, buttery pastries and rich chocolate, a nod to the beloved French treat that the café is inspired by. At the heart of Chocolatine Cafe's menu lies a dedication to authentic French baking. Their signature chocolatine—known as a pain au chocolat in some regions—is a crowd favorite, offering a perfect balance of crisp layers and silky chocolate filling. Each pastry is handmade daily, using high-quality ingredients and traditional methods that bring a touch of Parisian flair to every bite.

But the appeal of Chocolatine Cafe extends far beyond its pastries. The café’s coffee selection is carefully curated to complement its baked goods, featuring ethically sourced beans roasted to perfection. Whether you prefer a bold espresso, a creamy latte, or a frothy cappuccino, every cup at Chocolatine Cafe is brewed with precision and care. For tea drinkers, the café also offers a refined selection of herbal and traditional teas, ensuring that every guest finds something to enjoy.

What truly sets Chocolatine Cafe apart is its atmosphere. Designed with comfort and aesthetic in mind, the interior blends rustic charm with modern touches—wooden tables, soft lighting, and artistic décor create a welcoming space that encourages guests to unwind. It’s the kind of place where conversations flow easily, books are read leisurely, and time seems to slow down. Whether you're meeting a friend, working on a laptop, or simply enjoying a quiet moment alone, the environment at Chocolatine Cafe makes everyone feel at home.

Moreover, Chocolatine Cafe often supports local artists and musicians by hosting small exhibitions and live acoustic sessions. This not only enriches the cultural vibe of the caf￩ but also connects the community in meaningful ways. Seasonal events, themed pastries, and limited-edition drinks keep the menu fresh and exciting, inviting guests to return and discover something new with each visit.

In essence, Chocolatine Cafe is much more than a coffee shop—it’s an experience. From its irresistible pastries to its serene setting, it offers a taste of French charm and a break from the ordinary. Whether you're a longtime local or a curious newcomer, a visit to Chocolatine Cafe promises warmth, flavor, and a moment of genuine delight.

For More Info:-

france vs pain

pain au chocolat or chocolatine

chocolatine cafe

flourless torte