#rc search

[carwiseindia]

Access RC details quickly with Carwise by entering vehicle number. Access details including owner information, finance and insurance status.

[oscahpitlane]

an rc car forum discusses 9-year-old Oscar Piastri

[zhoras-bitch]

The Cardinal of the Church just happened to adopt the one in a billion time catcher whose power is instantly recognizable since birth because of her unique eye color. Uh-huh.

[ratanslily]

LMAO

[ferrerochase]

you can ask what happened in my head after reading this?

exactly this.

[dark-twist-fairytales]

Avantris has truly consumed my waking thoughts, huh?

This is the second time that I've confused something COMPLETELY unrelated with something from Avantris.

The village of Kakariko from Legends of Zelda? I tried to find the village of Karkinos theme song.

Toad from Mario? I TYPED TOA.

[malbontesmrs]

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but if you put the word ‘fuck’ or ‘fucking’ into your search terms on google, you don’t get the stupid AI answers at the beginning of your search. Look!

Before:

After:

Do with that what you will.

[minjaefreedom]

this literally changed my life and i'm not even kidding

[carwiseindia]

Unlocking the Best Deals: How to Buy and Sell Used Cars in India

Buying or selling a used car in India can be a daunting process, especially with the myriad of choices and platforms available. However, with the right approach and a few smart strategies, you can unlock the best deals. Whether you're a first-time buyer or an experienced seller, this guide will walk you through the key steps to successfully navigate the used car market in India.

1. Research is Key

Before diving into the market, it’s essential to do your homework. For buyers, understanding the type of car you want, its market value, and the potential resale value can save you from making a costly mistake. For sellers, knowing the right price for your vehicle ensures you don't undervalue it.

For Buyers: Platforms like OLX, CarDekho, and Cars24 offer a wide range of options. Compare prices, read reviews, and consider the car's condition, mileage, and service history. Checking the car's value on platforms like the Indian Blue Book can give you a realistic idea of what you should be paying.

For Sellers: Researching similar models and their selling prices helps you set a competitive price. Be honest about your car's condition to avoid any post-sale disputes.

2. Inspection and Test Drive

The condition of a used car can vary widely, so a thorough inspection is crucial. If you're not a car expert, it’s worth bringing along a trusted mechanic.

Buyers: Check for any signs of wear and tear, rust, or repainting that could indicate past accidents. Test all electronics, check fluid levels, and ensure the tires have sufficient tread. Most importantly, take the car for a test drive to evaluate how it handles, brakes, and accelerates. Listen for any unusual noises and feel for vibrations.

Sellers: Before listing your car, ensure it’s in good working condition. Address minor repairs that could increase its value. Having your car detailed can also enhance its appeal to potential buyers.

3. Verification of Documents

The paperwork is as important as the vehicle itself. Proper documentation ensures a smooth transaction and helps avoid future legal issues.

Buyers: Verify the car’s registration certificate (RC), insurance papers, pollution under control (PUC) certificate, and road tax receipts. Check for any outstanding loans on the car by asking for the hypothecation cancellation certificate, if applicable. Also, ensure that the car’s chassis number matches the one mentioned in the RC.

Sellers: Make sure all your documents are in order. Providing a clean title, up-to-date insurance, and a no-objection certificate (NOC) from the financing company (if the car was on loan) can expedite the sale process.

4. Negotiation Skills

Negotiation is an art, and in the used car market, it’s expected. Both buyers and sellers should approach the deal with flexibility.

For Buyers: Start by offering a price lower than the listed price, but reasonable enough to keep the seller interested. Use your research and any issues identified during the inspection as leverage.

For Sellers: Be prepared for buyers to haggle. Set a minimum price in your mind that you’re willing to accept, and don’t hesitate to stand firm if you believe your price is justified. Highlight the car’s positive aspects, such as a recent service or new tires, to justify your asking price.

Carwise is the premier platform for buying and selling cars in India, offering unmatched convenience, reliability, and a seamless user experience. With its vast network of trusted dealers and individual sellers, Carwise ensures that buyers have access to a wide range of vehicles, from budget options to premium models. Sellers benefit from its user-friendly interface, which simplifies the listing process and attracts serious buyers. Additionally, Carwise's transparent pricing, secure transactions, and expert support make it the go-to destination for anyone looking to buy or sell a car in India.

Conclusion

The used car market in India offers plenty of opportunities, but it also comes with its fair share of challenges. By following the right steps and choosing a trusted platform like Carwise, you can ensure a smooth and successful transaction. Remember, Carwise is the best platform to perform RC search, buy and sell your car, making your journey in the used car market a rewarding one.

[thisghosts-obsessions-again]

Wait omg! There's a new Candy Love???

[occamstfs]

Change Your Tune: Alvaro

Calvin and Eric are thrilled to visit the CYT Music Festival to see their favorite band reunite. After losing each other in the crowd, Calvin's mysteriously drawn to a Latin artist he's never heard of. With each step closer it’s clear there's no turning back.

An exciting collab with Misc TFs! Check out Eric's journey towards country music fandom Here ! For my part, hope you enjoy my first RC/cultural change in a while! Tossed a brief punk TF in this bad boy too ;) Hasta luego! -Occam

One could not ask for a better day to visit a music festival. Calvin isn’t exactly the type of person to attend something as hectic and high-traffic as the Change Your Tune Festival, but when his friend, Eric, heard that North Side was reuniting he knew they had to go. It had been their favorite band back in high school and there was no way they’d miss this one-time reunion performance.

Neither man was quite expecting just how massive the event would be however. They were so focused on their once-favorite band’s reunion that they paid little attention at all to the other artists taking part and were shocked to find out how eclectic the lineup was. From dozens of disparate sections it seems about any genre under the sun could be found. It was a wonder the fairground even had space for all these main stages. 

For a second Calvin is lost as he stares out across the sea of bodies, melodies from every set apart stage demanding his attention. Metal screams, EDM pulses, and R&B beats clash in the air, leaving Calvin wondering what a bizarre experience they’re going to endure until North Side’s set is set to start. Not as enthralled by the din of contrasting music, Eric bumps Calvin’s arm and shouts to be heard over the crowd, “You wanna head to North Side’s stage right now and sit through whatever’s there to make sure we get in the pit?”

Calvin nods and the pair take their first steps into the fairground proper before realizing they have no idea which stage North Side is actually set to perform at. Cogs turning in their minds, both men decide on different courses of action to find it. Nerves at missing the band superseding common sense, they head off in different directions in search of answers. Calvin wanders over to a map while Eric sees a crowd of festival-goers clearly dressed for North Side and approaches.

Only when he makes it to the map standee does he turn around to see if Eric’s still with him. Calvin finds nothing but the crowd. “Shit.” Looking from cowboy hats to mohawks he adds finding his friend to the to do list before turning to easily find the stage on the map. Mystery one solved with more than enough time to spare, he then sets to finding Eric.Checking his phone he finds that his phone has absolutely no service from the sheer volume of people at the festival.

Gritting his teeth he guesses he’ll just find Eric the old fashioned way and wades into the crowd. Assuming they went in completely opposite directions he feels confident that he can stumble across his friend fairly easily, and if not he’s sure they’ll bump into each other in the crowd for North Side. There’s certainly no real danger here as there seems to be a surplus of security wandering around, he thinks about asking one of the burly men if they could help find Eric though he promptly reconsiders as the sheer presence of the men spooks him away.

No he’ll just brute force it. Worming his way through the crowd, he notices that as he nears one of the stages that the crowds are far more homogenous than in the thoroughfares, perhaps unsurprising given fans are likely to congregate near their chosen bands, but something about it seems odd. Given the CYT Festival’s whole multi-genre vibe you’d think there would be some crossover. Thinking on that matter for a few moments as he pauses his search he realizes that he’s overthinking as immediately in front of him there’s a punk who seems to be quite taken with some real squeaky-clean indie pop.

Calvin almost laughs seeing the man’s liberty spikes sticking out above the crowd of bleached lengthy shags and shoddy perms. Swaying with the crowd, Calvin pauses to appreciate the idea of finding something you enjoy where you’d never expect it. Suddenly he’s bumped from behind by another presumed punk, far more nervous than his smiling cohort enjoying the sanitized tunes. The leather jacketed man clutches Calvin’s shoulders, “Hey! You- Have you seen my friend?” 

At first Calvin stares at him with a dumb look knowing how easy it is to see the punk in the crowd, “Sure dude? He’s right over, uhm?” Upon turning back to point, Calvin hesitates as he sees where the liberty spikes were once held high is an inconspicuous brown flop of hair, bobbing to the music. Stumbling over his words he turns back to the man who has now let go of his arms where he sees something even stranger. The man who was seconds ago possessed with anxiety at losing his friend is staring blankly ahead, Calvin would’ve sworn his shaky eyes were brown. 

Put off by the strange punk, Calvin awkwardly smiles and walks away, unaware as the man’s leather jacket shifts into a half-opened beachy button up as its sleeves fall off. Exposed to the open air his thin body begins packing on weight as his mohawk droops before cascading down his shoulders into a breezy curtain, as unassuming as every other aspect of his new personality.

 Uncomfortable in the strange crowd of this droll artist, Calvin spills back into the walkway and hopes Eric did not have the misfortune of talking with those bleary eyed, must-be stoned pop fans. Fingers crossed his friend is at the next venue, Calvin begins to scan the flow of festival goers once more before he’s distracted by a song he’s never heard calling for him over the throng, wholly demanding his attention.

Everything in the world suddenly feels muted besides this far off melody. His waking mind attempts to steer him back on track, to try and get him to return to the task of finding Eric so they can get to their concert, but suddenly that seems a distraction from discovering whatever delightful melody is pulling at him. He stumbles forward, the crowd almost totally parting to allow him to drift onward. In no time at all he finds himself outside the stage for some Reggaeton artist, Alvaro Altuve.

The young man shakes off the surreal pull the music has on him as he realizes he has never heard of the artist. While not the most worldly man, Calvin is incredibly online and prides himself on having at least a passing knowledge of just about anything he can scroll across. 

On top of that, he has friends who are absolutely into the genre and yet he’s somehow never even seen the name before. Clearly everyone around him has] as a large swath of the crowd behind him begins filing towards his stage. All the while, as Calvin continues to wonder how he’s not heard of this man, even pulling out his phone to frustratingly fail to search him, does his music continue to worm its way into and through his head.

Eventually he’s accidentally pushed by the surge of apparent Alvaro fans and stumbles with them, closer to the stage. Irritated at being manhandled, Calvin huffs to himself before letting curiosity get the better of him and opts to go with the flow. Arriving, he finds the stage empty, the Alvaro in question apparently isn’t set to take the stage for about half an hour, and yet the crowd is ecstatic for the instrumental recording blaring from the stage. Calvin tells himself he doesn’t get the hype, he tells himself he isn’t really enjoying the beat pumping through him. And yet-

He dances, he slams and grinds into the people nearby, he is moving like he never has done before. With speed and strength he shouldn’t be able to summon. Seconds lost to the unsung melodies trail into minutes as he experiences ecstasy from the looping track of an artist he doesn’t know a single thing about. The only thing breaking him out of the ecstasy is when he realizes the tunes begin to feel familiar. When he finally notices that his mind is slowly adding the lyrics. Starting like the buzz of a mosquito, soon enough his mind fills in lyrics in a language he can scarcely understand.

As real as the beats bumping in his chest, Calvir’s mind begins to ache as líricas begin to flow freely through him. He has to concentrate to still his lips from mouthing along. Words that fit perfectly with the ebb and flow, with the drumming pumping bass that lights his chest on fire. His vision flickers with the beat as he clutches at his chest, worried he’s experiencing some form of psychosis. There he finds that it’s not in his mind, something has begun to change. His outfit is entirely different.

Calvir feels bare sweaty skin where his flannel once hung, where it should still be. His hands grasp at a chest like they’ve never been able to before, bouncing with the increasingly familiar beats his body has begun to grow and new pecs are not left out. He feels the scratch of curls pricking against his palm as he tries to tune out his mind’s automatic addition of lyrics.

His mind returns to the two punks he saw not long ago, pupils flickering to the crowd around him; he can’t help but recall how concern left the man’s eyes as he too began to listen to that swill. Looking back he remembers an eyebrow piercing falling away as notched eyebrows filled in. How he could see the man's hair begin to restyle itself. Looking down at his own new chest he sees how around each of the new hairs lancing out of his heavier chest his skin almost looks patchy. As if it were splattered with a light brown paint.

Empowered by a new rising fear, Calvir fights back and begins to push his way out of the crowd. Gritting his teeth he’s unaware that his face has begun its own metamorphosis. His paltry blonde excuse for facial hair that has long been cut back to hide his inability to truly grow a beard returns with a vengeance. His upper lip twitches as the few thin hairs decorating it begin to lengthen, darken, and multiply. With each ambling step towards the edge of the crowd a new mustache thickens before it is similarly joined by a small goatee poking out of his chin. 

In no time at all his jaw and mouth are decorated with a facial hair combo that he has long admired. Wiping sweat from his face he feels them scratch against his arm and is stunned as he realizes he has continued to change even after blocking out the music that had him in its grasp. Looking at his arms it’s clear that the changes haven’t slowed in the slightest. 

The patchy spots of tanned skin have continued to expand, his arms too are similarly being enveloped as they join his chest in bulking larger. His hands shake as he sees veins trailing down biceps bulging heavy with muscle, he feels sweat drip down the side of his chest as his garden of pit hair spreads and thickens into an onyx dark jungle of curls.

Finally escaping the horde of Alvaro fans, Calvar stumbles over the barrier and stands to his feet. Grasping at the flimsy barricade he takes stock of his changed body, how muscle moves under his tight brown skin with the slightest movement. He rubs a scratch on his waist from the fall and feels his rough pubes crest into a treasure trail launching upwards towards his powerful chest. He doesn’t need to see his reflection to know his hair has likewise changed. 

“Qwhat es-” Calvar clutches at his thicker throat as he hears a deeper voice rumble from his chest. Eyes wide with fear, he tries again, hoping against anything that it was a fluke, a frog in his throat, “No, I’m not- No soy-” His eyes flicker across the crowd to find that, just like himself, they have begun to change. Their clothes and bodies continue to morph into whatever the music commands, the perfect audience for Alvaro Altuve to perform for. 

Something in Calvar’s chest flutters as the idea is more than alluring to him. He feels himself longing to give into the music once more as it rises in volume. Beyond that, he feels a burning desire to perform. When his subconscious begins to populate the beat with words once more his mouth can’t help but vocalize. It just feels right. He feels a burning urge to move, not the aimless ecstatic ambling dance of a fan however. No, he feels choreography ingrained into his bones yearning to burst free. 

Calvaro can scarcely stop himself as his legs and arms move to enact it. With an iron grip still on the stage’s barricade however he manages to stay strong. “I have- Teng- ohhh” Tanned hands fly to his face as in his mind the line between languages blurs, while still fluent in English quickly his native tongue is usurped, replaced by español.

As each thought twists and alters into his new tongue, so too does the content begin to shift. Fingers scratch down his face as his hands fall in confusion, rushing past thick dark eyebrows before rubbing a jaw sharper and increasingly covered by stubble as his goatee expands to cover his whole face rapidly connecting with sideburns inching down from his newly black hair.

“¿Tenía que- I had to find? Encontrarlo?” Try as he might, as the hair on his chest thickens and expands to cover his built chest, glistening under the sun. Blearily looking around as he tries to remember who or what he was looking for as his back cracks taller, Calvaro is distracted by the swell of the crowd. He feels the bass of the speakers bumping through their bodies, pulsing through his skill. Pushing its way to the front of his mind as his figure continues filling out is the realization that they are all cheering for him. They are all waiting for him.

His lips twist into a smile and he whispers to himself in his sultry, rough new voice, “para mí…” Suddenly members of the crowd begin pointing in his direction and their shouts begin to rise even higher. Alavarooo- Clicking his tongue his shy smile turns into a smirk as he watches the fans, his adoring fans lose their minds at nothing more than his sheer presence. 

Using his wide hand, he sensually rubs down the whole of his body with a wink and watches them shudder. Suddenly feeling a bulky mic in his back pocket, Alvaro knows what he must do. Memories of Eric totally fall to the wayside, buried deep alongside every other memory of being Calvin Dalton. No. There’s only one reason he’s here, and that’s to give his fans the performance de sus vidas.

He sprints alongside the barrier running to the stage, longer legs carrying his star-powered self to the stage. He shouts into the microphone and even then it’s difficult to be heard over the adoring cheers of the crowd, “Ayay- ¿Todos listos, mis all stars?” the little pet name is accented, as all his English is despite his fluency, though he knows that only makes him all the more alluring to his audience estadounidense. 

And with that he stands on stage, allowing the cheering of the crowd propel him into his final form, who he is, who he has always been. Suddenly joined by his banda and a crew of dancers, Alvaro Altuve begins his performance. With each new song his identity is sealed. With each flex and provocative, thrusting move the crowds wail and fuel his transformation even more. Even his time at the festival this very day is wiped away, replaced by warming up in his dressing room, flirting with other performers at this festival to end all festivals.

On the way to this very performance he passed some American band arguing. Dressed in some early 2000’s get up, something at the edge of his mind cried out to go get an autograph but he couldn’t say what. Why would he after all, he’s not in any state to ask for an autograph from some emos gringos. He’s Alvaro Altuve, and he’s got a show to put on.

Epilogue written with Misc TFs:

Rick sighed as he walked up to the bar, quickly ordering another shot of whisky and a beer. He glanced over at the group of good ol’ boys he’d been shooting the shit with all night - Jeb, Cletus, and Earl. They were all decked out in checkered shirts, faded jeans, and ball caps. Just like him now. It still felt so natural, even if some part of him couldn’t quite put his finger on what exactly seemed…off about the whole situation.

“Why do I feel like I’m just actin’ a part?" he wondered to himself, frowning slightly, "Like I’m wearing someone else’s skin." 

Shaking his head, he tried to push the strange thoughts aside. Where were these thoughts coming from? Where else would he want to be? He was just a good ol’ boy enjoying a cold one with the boys after a kick-ass country concert. His thoughts were interrupted as a new song started playing in the bar. Rick knew this song… knew this band… a small smile gracing his lips.

"North Side.” He muttered, his foot tapping to the beat of the music, “Well I’ll be…”

He felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him- a yearning for something he couldn’t quite understand in his slower mind. And as the music continued to strum at some past memory, the redneck couldn’t help but notice the striking Latino man with soulful eyes and a captivating smile, clearly enjoying the song as much as he was. 

“Well, would ya look at that." Rick muttered under his breath, "Seems like that fella’s got good taste in tunes, at least.”

Compelled by a force he couldn’t explain, Rick walked over to the man. His thoughts, once focused on music, instead shifted as he drank in the sight of the handsome Latino. The way he smiled, the way his dark hair was styled, the way his shirt hugged his muscles. Rick felt his dick stir.

“Howdy there, friend," Rick drawled, tipping his hat politely, "Name’s Rick. Can’t help but notice you seem mighty fond of this here tune, same as me.”

Alvaro looks up at the man, “Buenas noches. The name’s Alvaro.”

Rick’s eyes flash with recognition, “You mean the Alvaro? Like Alvaro Altuve? I reckon I recognized you from somewhere!”

Alvaro grinned, “Always happy to meet a fan.”

Rick paused for a second, captivated by the singer’s smile. The two stared at one another before Alvaro beckoned him to take a seat at the bar. Rick happily accepted the two chatting it up, their conversation flowing naturally- like two old friends. Their knowledge about North Side and their interest in the band not fitting with their outward appearance.

“I would’ve never expected you to like North Side.” Alvaro laughed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He chuckled, throwing an arm around the man’s shoulder. They both blushed at the mere touch, and Rick pulled his arm away, “Well, I reckon I was always a fan, I think.” Rick shrugged and Alvaro grinned.

“Makes sense! You were the one who introduced me to them after all.” Those words hung in the air, the two became silent and stared at one another- their expressions shifting, their eyes conveying a faint recognition.

Rick, Alvaro knows Rick. He doesn’t know how he does but something deep within him pangs with familiarity or deja vu. Judging by the expression on the cowboy’s face it seems as if there’s some pang of memory behind his eyes as well. Alvaro stares at the fan wondering if he just saw the man at his concert or something but knows that dressed like he is, that cannot be the case, and then he sees his lips struggle to say, “C- Calv- Calvin?”

At once both men flash back. They were having lunch together, as they have done countless times throughout the years. Eric sees his friend who could scarcely put two Spanish words together, Calvin sees his bestie that would never be caught dead in a cowboy hat. They’re just talking shit as friends do when Eric gasps at a notification on his phone, “Dude- North Side is back!”

Before they left the table, the pair had bought tickets to the CYT festival and had begun planning what they were going to wear. Not for a moment wondering what else they’d care to see at the festival, why should they? They were going to see their favorite band of all time and they were going to do so together. 

Together. 

Back in the present as they look at each other in their new forms. Alvaro sees the sweaty, hairy chest of the good old southern man in front of him. Rick sees the effortlessly alluring manicured body of a latin rock star staring back at him. Together has a different spot in both their minds as they hear a grindr notification go off somewhere in the distance. Might as well see what their new bodies can do.

As quick as their feet can travel they’re in Alvaro’s trailer. Attempts to trawl out memories from who they were are fruitless or painful, so instead they delight in the present. The artist cannot believe how enticed he is by the smell of cheap whiskey and cheaper beer on the man’s breath. Rick is less discerning as he hungrily delights in the sweaty musk of the man who was on stage not all that long ago. 

Rick’s rough beard scratches against Alvaro’s neck as he takes a deep breath, he hears a deep whisper from the performer, “volve loco, vaquero.” He growls and his arms shake as he sees no reason to not obey man. Music playing in the background rapidly shifts from Alvaro’s own album, to the b-sides of the Blue Sky Dreamers, to the music that brought them into these new lives, North Side. Before fading altogether and leaving them alone with the sound of their bodies.

With each passing moment in the heady enjoyment of their new selves they feel their identities cemented. Rick’s clean-pressed closet wiped away for life on a farm, his pen-pushing 9-to-5 is nothing compared to the outdoor lifestyle he far prefers. Alvaro’s whole country of origin irrevocably changed, while he loves the life he’s found in the states they will never be where he’s from.

With each thrust they bury their past lives. Rick is and always has been a rough and tumble, rugged man. The rockstar life may be new to Alvaro, but he has always been a musician, even when he was just a small-town artist playing in cantinas. Despite their pasts being erased and their new lives becoming the only reality they know, they remain together. 

Sweatily making out in a trailer as Alvaro struggles to stop the cowboy from leaving cum stains on his stage outfit, when they are together something just feels right. While everything in the world around them may point otherwise, when they are in each other’s arms, everything just seems to make more sense. Even after they’re done having their fun, something remains between them, pulling them together. 

Sheepishly eying the cowboy as he pulls up his Levi’s, Alvaro doesn’t want to let him go, “Oi, vaquero?” The cowboy looks up thankfully, he’d never say as much but even life on the ranch doesn’t hold a match to the past hour with Alvaro, “Queiro- Do you wanna have lunch?” 

“Thought chu’d never ask-”

Neither would’ve guessed what their relationship would evolve into. Initially, it was the talk of the town. The Latin heartthrob and the rough-and-tumble country boy seemed like a totally unlikely couple. Some called it a publicity stunt, others whispered that it would never last. But through it all, Alvaro and Rick stood strong, their bond growing deeper with each passing day.

Alvaro strummed a guitar softly, while Rick leaned back in his chair, a contented smile on his face. The radio playing softly in the background- the familiar beat of North Side’s music playing.

“Ya know," Rick said, breaking the comfortable silence, "I still can’t believe we went from two strangers at a bar to…”

“To this," Alvaro finished, setting down his guitar and taking Rick’s hand in his own, "And I wouldn’t have it any other way, mi amor.”

The two held each other closely, while North Side continued to play in the background.

Find Eric’s side of the story here !

[ratanslily]

I miss Ratan Vaish🌙

that's it, that's the post <3

[hearts4hughes]

DUE DILIGENCE ~ CHAPTER FIVE

wallstreet!rafe x assistant!reader | no warnings

you can’t stop thinking about the blood. not the kiss, not his hands or the way your name sounded caught between his teeth. not the lilies wilting on your desk, still pristine despite everything. just the blood—a pinprick smear near the toe of his shoe. you try to unsee it, but you can’t.

you search for explanations that don’t make your stomach turn. maybe he cut himself shaving. maybe the car service hit a dog. maybe it’s nothing and it’s just your brain filling in blanks with worst case headlines. but still, your hands tremble when you type. you google things like death in financial district garage and read the articles like an internet sleuth. still, nothing sticks out.

he’s different at work. it’s not all at once, but in the ways that matter. he calls you by your first name during a meeting and doesn’t take it back; he leaves his office door shut when you’re inside; his fingers graze yours a second too long when you pass him paperwork.

“thank you, sweetheart,” he murmurs. he doesn’t say it to make you squirm, he says it like an instinct. like you’ve always been his. your throat tightens and you nod. but you say nothing. you don’t trust your voice to hold up.

you don’t ask about anything and he doesn’t tell you. because that would break it—whatever this delicate, doomed thing is between you. you don’t want to know what he did, not really, not if it means it’s real.

on thursday, he calls you into his office and says he’s taking you to dinner. “for all the extra hours,” he says. “you’ve earned it.”

he sends a car to your apartment to pick you up, like always. the driver, dressed in all black and everything expensive, hands you a note that was filled with rafe’s handwriting.

‘sorry i couldn’t pick you up myself. hope i can make it up to you ~ RC’

you chuckle at how he signed the note like it was a business deal and not an apology. he was always in work mode, no matter what time of the day.

the restaurant is on the sixty-fifth floor of a building that sways when the wind hits right. your shoes echo across marble floors. you feel expensive and out of place. when you round the corner to the hostess stand, the girl stands up straighter.

“miss. y/l/n, welcome.” she braces her perfectly white teeth. “mr. cameron has been awaiting your arrival.” she flutters her eyelashes at you and leads the way to the private room.

rafe is sitting there in his nicest suit looking like a model straight from a catalogue. you’d always passed this restaurant on you commute around the city. you’d close your eyes and imagine what the food tasted like and how hard it would be to get a reservation. and now you’re sitting at the nicest table in the entire building.

he stands up immediately, walking around the table and pulling your chair out. you can’t help but blush at the sight—your boss, the terrifying rafe cameron, pulling out your chair and avoiding eye contact.

“thank you,” you murmur as you sit, smoothing your hands down the front of your dress like it’s the fabric that’s making you nervous, not him.

rafe rounds the table again, returning to his seat like nothing about this is unusual. like he takes all his assistants to michelin-starred restaurants in glass towers with white tablecloths and crystal stemware. his cufflinks glint under the chandelier. his jaw tightens once when you don’t meet his eyes.

you pick up the menu to give your hands something to do. “i ordered already,” he says. his voice is lower than usual. maybe it’s the room. maybe it’s guilt.

you look up. “you didn’t even ask what i wanted.”

he shrugs, one shoulder. “i know what you like.”

you roll your eyes but your pulse trips anyway. “arrogant.”

“accurate.” he tilts his head down and looks into your eyes. your stomach erupts with butterflies.

when the wine arrives, it’s red, full-bodied, already breathing. he doesn’t toast, doesn’t clink glasses or make some flirtatious comment about how pretty you look in low light. he just watches you over the rim of his glass like he’s trying to memorize the taste of something he’ll never get to drink again.

the food is ridiculous—hand-rolled pasta and truffle everything, a dessert menu that reads like a poem. the waiter speaks in hushed tones, like you’re royalty or famous.

rafe doesn’t say much, he lets you talk. and you talk alright. you vent about the latest quarterly projection headache or how the intern called you “ma’am” like you were someone’s aunt. he listens, really listens. like he’s filing it all away in some locked part of himself only you’re allowed to access.

and just when the quiet starts to feel like a weight, he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “you’ve been quiet this week,” he says. “more than usual.”

your fork pauses midair. “you’ve been nice this week. more than usual.” his mouth curves. not a smile, but a ghost of one. as if he wants to laugh but thinks better of it. you lower your gaze back to your plate. “i didn’t know you could be soft.”

“i’m not,” he says, like it’s a warning or an insult. “not really.”

you look up at him then. he’s watching you with something hungry behind his eyes. something that doesn’t belong here, in this room, in this city. something ancient and ruinous. something you’ve never seen before. “why did you bring me here?” you ask.

he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink. he sighs and just says, “because you deserved something beautiful.”

your breath catches. you don’t say much for the rest of the meal. not because you’re shy, not because you’re flattered, but because your brain is still trying to unscramble what he just said. because you deserved something beautiful. it echoes, taunting, like maybe it wasn’t meant for you at all. like maybe he’s said it before to someone else who cracked him open in the same sharp, accidental way.

you try not to look too hard at the way his voice had gone soft. how the words didn’t sound right coming out of his mouth, not the rafe cameron who rips people apart in conference rooms and carves power from silence. it sounded…like grief or guilt or the first chapter of a lie he tells to girls who blink twice at him and pretend not to know better.

and maybe that’s what stings the most—how much you want to believe he meant it. how much of you is already folding around the hope like it’s something holy.

when you leave the restaurant, you don’t kiss at the door. you don’t ask him to meet you back at your place. and he doesn’t push, he just brushes your hair back behind your ear and lets his knuckles trail the length of your jaw. the car is already waiting at the curb.

“mine,” he says, but not to you, to the air; to the wind. it’s a vow he’s making to himself. you get in the car and you don’t look back.

~

you’re halfway through brushing your teeth when your phone buzzes on the bathroom counter. you scroll without thinking.

death in financial district garage now suspected to be foul play.

you freeze. toothbrush still in your mouth. you click the article. it’s short, clipped, a few sentences that mean almost nothing—except for one.

the victim, connor lloyd, was employed as an analyst at cameron capital partners.

your stomach turns.

police are currently reviewing all communication leading up to his death. the last recorded email in his inbox was from a fellow employee.

you don’t have to scroll to know it was you. you drop the toothbrush in the sink. the water keeps running. outside, the city glows like nothing’s wrong. like men don’t die for making the wrong woman look bad. and you? you squeeze your eyes shut and pretend not to feel the monster you might already be loving.

taglist ~ @sweetstrawberrianne @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @mojitrvo @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @bibissparkles @brennanyay @grungefck @kravinoffswife @wishfairies @kieeslove @jacklesluvr @futuremrscameron @rafesdaintyfawn @winterbarnesblog @starkeyszn @drphilssoulmate @xobimbobunnyxo @foolishseven @starsluvrr @luvonstyles @k4yr14 @sultryg0dess @restinpaece @leather-n-velvet @rafestoothbrush @katecokeed @her30910 @rafeeekam @rafesdearest @donaldsonsgirl @l0vest1les @bungurus @bambi-bvnny @strawberrymilk99 @bethslameblog @mak1777 @nightchanges777 @sdfghyuiopyeji @lulllabunni @wovenribbons @pearlypnk @mialuvsrafe

[eisforeidolon]

Do I wish Jensen would blatantly shut down any and all heller nonsense? Of course. We've seen for over a decade now that if you even give them something they generously interpret as an inch, they'll take five miles and keep on going.

The problem is with the cringe-worthy intentionally ambiguous queerbaiting goodbye scene being part of the canon now, where Misha and the hellers are desperately trying to sell it as some kind of revolutionary coming out story (FFS LOL)? Well, they were already screaming about Jensen being a homophobe when there was literally nothing in the show. So when Misha tries to talk up how totally onboard Jensen was to do it [X]? Like, they're talking about Misha's shitty character assassination of Castiel while Dean stares blankly into the void. Is Jensen supposed to jump in and be like, "No, I thought it was fucking stupid?" No, for the same reason he didn't demand it be removed in the first place back when Misha was making a point of telling fans he thought Jensen would shut it down but didn't. It's not even really about his character and the nutballs would (have) start(ed) another sock-fueled spam campaign calling him a homophobe. And right now? That'd be happening just as he's about to start doing publicity for a new show and does not need that showing up in the search results.

Likewise, when a fan asks about the bizarro conspiracy over that one RC song [X], he weasel-words around the question and says that sure there was some vague inspiration in some parts in there about "that story". Now the question did reportedly directly refer to Dean and Castiel, but neither said nor directly implied D/C [X]. Literally every time Jensen has ever talked about Dean and Castiel's relationship it has been about what the canon told (not showed) us it was - allies/friends/brothers/family. He just didn't add any pointed disclaimers this time. But of course hellers hear literally anything that isn't go fuck yourself as OMG DETESTIEL IS REAL, JENSEN CONFIRMS!!! (Also naturally nevermind that Steve writes most of the lyrics and this actually fits very neatly in with his description of an angel you don't actually want watching over you like an invasive creepily obsessed stalker.)

Like, Jensen has said he realized there was no point in getting upset like he used to when people interpret what they want instead of seeing what he thought was important [X]. He really doesn't need one of their tantrums being visible online right now particularly. I can understand it from that point of view, and I actually think jumping in on the first question would have been an actively bad idea instead of just blank staring into space aggressively chewing and waiting for Misha to STFU. Still, waffling so vaguely on the song question seems like exactly the way you buy yourself into having to navigate more minefield questions by crazies, convinced if they just ask one more time... But maybe when you've seen they're inevitable anyway, you figure heading off the tantrum for a while is worth it. IDK.

[miwkstowp]

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