Woke up to this sweet message and photo from Johan in The Netherlands: "Thank you Barbara for making such beautiful illustrations for such beautiful songs. Finally found something that suits me and that belongs against the wall in my house."
<3
(Illustrations in the image are: 'Lucky' (Radiohead), 'Hoppípolla' (Sigur Rós), 'Re: Stacks' (Bon Iver) and 'Glósóli' (Sigur Rós)).
directors comm for any/all of "found a way to drop the keys where my failures were" pls!!! especially would love some insight into carlos's perspective. sry to keep hounding you about this fic I just love it <3
Professor @restacks - thank you for the ask! I actually wrote about 700 words of this fic in Carlos' POV so I'm delighted to talk about what's going on in his head:
Lando is curled up on the couch when he hears the knock at the door. He’s been in sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt for a while now. The TV is on, but he doesn’t know what the show is – it’s all a blur of color and sound, not enough to drown out the replay in his mind. [[ I feel like this is one of the most descriptively sparse fics I’ve written in a while, and it wasn’t that way at first. I was trying to get at the shocky way Lando is still feeling, the desaturated way he’s experiencing the world right now. ]]
He doesn’t want to move, but it’s probably Charlotte, bringing him something to eat after his non-committal answer about dinner. The thought of food makes him feel nauseous. [[ As with most of the drivers, I worry about Lando’s food consumption even at the best of times. ]]
He pushes to his feet slowly. It’s been almost an hour since he cried last, but he scrubs a hand over his face before he opens the door anyway, pastes on a smile. [[ This sentence gave me FITS and I’m still not in love with it. ]]
“Charlotte, I –” he breaks off, a fist clenching in his chest. It’s not Charlotte. It’s Carlos, gorgeous in jeans and a Ferrari polo. He should be celebrating with his team.
“I am not Charlotte,” Carlos says, offers him a crooked smile. [[ Carlos does not realize yet How Bad it is for Lando (or how Lando is going to interpret his presence) - he leads with a joke to test the waters. ]]
Lando huffs a laugh, crosses an arm over his stomach. They’ve had a bet for a year now – dumb. It started with golf, moved to the grid. Get a podium, get a blowjob. Carlos paid up at Monza. It’s Lando’s turn, obviously. The thought makes him feel panicky, choked. It’s always been fun, not like this.
“No,” he says, “you’re not. I assumed – she’d texted me about dinner.”
Carlos’ smile falters. “You haven’t eaten?” [[ Red flag. Carlos was already concerned about Lando, but he hasn’t eaten? Lando?? ]]
Lando shrugs. “I’m not hungry.” He can’t look at the disapproval on Carlos’ face, the thin line of his lips. “Um. Congratulations, again. You deserved the podium.” [[ It’s not disapproval in the way Lando is interpreting it. Carlos is heartbroken for him here. ]]
“So did you,” Carlos tells him. He nods to the room behind Lando’s shoulder. “Can I come in?” [[ Carlos is not used to having to ask to come in - Lando creates space for him all the time. This is potentially more worrying for him than Lando not eating. ]]
Lando hesitates. He knows what Carlos is expecting, knows he can’t give it tonight. But he wants Carlos there, selfishly. The warmth of his smile and the solid, reassuring weight of his arm around Lando’s body.
He pushes the door open and backs up enough for him to come through. He crosses his arms tight over his chest, fingers digging into opposite ribs as he paces away, creates space. Carlos watches his movement but stays where he is near the door. He’s probably waiting for Lando to offer him a drink or something, like a normal person. [[ I’m not sure the staccato of the sentences works here quite as neatly as I’d like. This little bit felt very easy from Carlos’ POV and took some reworking when I made the switch. ]]
“I’m sorry,” Lando blurts out. Carlos looks amused for a half-second, then confused.
“Sorry for what?” Carlos asks. He takes a step closer and Lando moves back on reflex. “Lando?” Carlos says, gentle. “Do you want me to go?” [[ Lando moving away is SO upsetting to Carlos. He has absolutely not even thought about their stupid “bet” at this point, and is starting to think it’s just him being there that’s bad for Lando. ]]
“I can’t,” Lando says at last. At Carlos’ blank look he forces himself to keep talking. “Pay up, tonight. For the podium,” he finishes, the words tumbling out unevenly. Carlos looks devastated, and Lando’s gaze falls to the ground somewhere near Carlos’ mud-scuffed trainers. Shame like this should be able to swallow him whole. “Can it be…” he falters. Tomorrow feels too soon. “Can it be later?”
[[ “Shame like this should be able to swallow him whole” is a line I am *terribly* pleased with. Credit to Brene Brown for injecting some high-key nuance into my concept of shame and self-identity. Also, Carlos wants to DIE here. Lando is of course not thinking of any of this in terms of sexual coercion, but Carlos feels like it would be. He’s upset that Lando thinks that of him, he’s shocked by the suggestion. Lando is so insular in his experience here - that one-track-mind of shock - that he’s interpreting Carlos’ expressions as further condemnation. ]]
Carlos is quiet, long enough Lando feels his eyes welling up again. He’s let his team down, let himself down. Now he’s letting Carlos down. Maybe he could try. Maybe if he started with his hand. Maybe.
“Don’t worry about it,” Carlos says. He’s clearly upset.
Lando’s stomach flips as he blinks away tears. “I will, you know,” he says. “I am happy for you.”
“Shut up,” Carlos says, roughly. [[ Carlos is about to start crying. He snuck out of the party with Ferrari because he couldn’t stop thinking about how badly Lando must be hurting and now he’s here, hurting him even worse. ]]
Lando isn’t expecting Carlos’ arms closing around him, crushing him against his chest.
“That’s not what I’m here for,” Carlos says, close to his ear. “I wasn’t even thinking about it.”
Lando’s arms are trapped between them, and he keeps waiting for the anger to come, the frustration. It doesn’t. Carlos inhales against his shoulder, exhales, and then Lando finally relaxes, slumping forward into Carlos’ chest and working his arms free so he can wrap them around Carlos’ back. [[ Lando doesn’t really expect physical (or even emotional) violence from Carlos, but he’s so in his head that he hasn’t thought through what reaction is reasonable or normal. I wanted to give Lando this moment, the exhalation, the physical touch. It re-grounds him with Carlos and the easy, affectionate dynamic they normally have with each other. They’re still touch and go in moments but this is really the turning point in terms of what Lando is able to accept and how he interprets what Carlos is offering. ]]
“I feel like a jerk,” he says, snuffling. “You paid up at Monza.” [[ Carlos did - Monza was a good day ]]
“Monza was a different race,” Carlos replies. “You should have been up there today.”
Lando can’t help the little laugh-sob that escapes, shaking his head against Carlos’ shoulder. Carlos brings a hand up around behind him, slides it over his back and up to squeeze the back of his neck.
“Let’s go to bed,” Carlos says.
Lando tenses again, even though he knows – what Carlos said. [[ I debated on this. Lando obviously trusts Carlos - I think he’s resisting being told what to do as much as any sexual implication. That is not how Carlos takes it. ]]
“Hey hey hey,” Carlos soothes. “Sleep, yeah? Just to sleep.”
“You don’t have to baby me,” Lando says, twisting out of his grip. “I fucked up, okay? I ruined my own race – it’s my fault.” [[ Now that the emotional floodgates have opened a little he’s lashing out, trying to recalibrate. I think I could have done more giving people insight to his thought process here. ]]
“So?” Carlos says, sharp. “You had a bad day and I want to be here with you. Do you want me to go?” [[ Carlos generally knows how to handle Lando. He’s pretty sure Lando doesn’t want him to go, but he needs to hear it. He’s wrongfooted from Lando’s misread of the situation at the start and through the rest of the fic he does more checking in than he usually would. ]]
Lando looks away again, shoves a hand through his hair. He doesn’t want Carlos to go, but he doesn’t want him to have to sit around while he mopes.
“Lando?” Carlos asks.
“No,” Lando says, shaking his head. “No. But I’m a shitty person when I’m upset and you shouldn’t have to put up with me.” [[ I DO think Lando is self-aware. Even when he can’t quite get to the “don’t be an asshole” part, he knows when he’s being an asshole. I will talk Lando characterization for days (just ask @des-iderate lol). ]]
“Yeah, well. Sometimes we deserve to be shitty people.” Carlos shrugs when Lando looks back to him. “I would like to stay, unless you rather I go.” [[ Carlos doesn’t think Lando is being particularly out of line here, actually. He would be happier if Lando was ragy and yelling. He’s easier to handle when he’s like that. ]]
“I don’t want you to go,” Lando says. He hates how small his voice sounds.
“Okay,” Carlos says, gives him a careful smile. “Good. I can cook for you, if you want?” [[ Now we’re in troubleshooting mode. And Carlos really wants to address the life/health/safety concerns as a top priority. ]]
Lando shakes his head. Normally he loves it when Carlos cooks for him, but he’s not going to put him to work if he can’t even put out. [[ Lando still isn’t hungry, but if he didn’t feel so shitty he might agree to let Carlos cook for him just so he can sit on the counter and watch him sautee garlic. ]]
“Want to play games?”
Lando laughs weakly, shakes his head again. Carlos isn’t much of a gamer, though he tries. [[ This may not be a fair assessment of Carlos but all I knew going in was that video of him calling Lando over to help him set up his iracing sim. ]]
“Bed sounds nice,” Lando admits. “I was probably going to fall asleep on the couch before you knocked.”
Carlos smiles. “Okay. Do you mind if I sleep in my boxers?”
Lando rolls his eyes. “I’m not afraid you’ll do anything to me,” he says. They’ve slept together nude before, he doesn’t see the big deal. [[ I originally had Lando say something crass in the vein of, “I’m not afraid you’re going to rape me,” but I felt like it would be too jarring and emotionally dissonant. ]]
Carlos holds his gaze, bites his lower lip. “I want you to be comfortable, Lando,” he says, hands twisted in the hem of his shirt. [[ Carlos is still checking in here. They do sleep together regularly, but he’s feeling very on the edge with Lando at this point, wants to make sure he doesn’t make any more assumptions about what Lando has going on in his mind. ]]
“Sure,” Lando says, cheeks flaming. “I don’t mind.” He goes into the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water, drains it. When he goes into the bedroom, Carlos has stripped down to his boxers and is in the process of neatly folding his clothes. [[ Lando is a little ashamed. He knows Carlos is being a good guy, he appreciates it. He doesn’t want to sound like a dick. He’s got to take a moment here to recenter himself. ]]
Lando comes over to him and wraps his arms around Carlos from behind, presses his cheek to Carlos' warm back, between his shoulder blades. [[ It feels safer to have this moment from behind rather than face to face. It gives Lando a small emotional buffer. ]]
“Thank you,” he says quietly.
“For what?” Carlos asks. His hands fit over Lando’s against his stomach. [[ This visual delighted me. ]]
Lando shrugs. For being here, he wants to say, for thinking about me.
“Nothing to thank me for,” Carlos says. He brings Lando’s right hand to his lips and kisses across his knuckles. “Bed, yeah?” [[ Lando initiating the hug here was a big thing for Carlos in re-establishing the ease of their relationship. He feels like they’re back in a good place (relative to circumstances). ]]
Lando lets him go, and they settle into bed together, Lando the little spoon like always. He’s never even tried to pretend he doesn’t like it, Carlos warm behind him, arm draped over his side. [[ I do think Lando would be a brat about a LOT of things re: sex and relationships but he also knows what he wants. ]]
It’s quiet for a minute as they settle in, and then Carlos starts talking softly in Spanish. It’s been a while since Lando took Spanish, but he knows the word for “beautiful,” knows “fast.” A smile twitches at his lips. [[ This was the idea that sparked the fic. Carlos is giving Lando (and himself?) some plausible deniability here, again, a touch of distance. But Lando knows enough Spanish (and Carlos knows he does) that he can get the general idea. ]]
“What are you saying?” he asks.
“What a shit driver you are,” Carlos replies easily, kissing his shoulder.
Lando laughs at that. “No, you’re not,” he says.
“No, I’m not,” Carlos tells him. Lando can hear his smile. “Do you want me to stop?” [[ I apparently have very strong feelings about Carlos and Lando and boundaries, but I liked this as an endcap to all the different ways Carlos has checked in with Lando throughout the fic ]]
Lando shakes his head. “No. It’s nice.”
Carlos hums, and then he resumes talking, a quiet litany against Lando’s back. Lando doesn’t know most of the words but he can feel the praise washing over him, the affectionate curl of Carlos’ voice. It’s the last thing he hears before he falls asleep. [[ I debated including a bit where Carlos cooks for him in the morning but decided to leave that to the imagination (or to another fic?) - but I enjoyed the concept of the first question being about food and the last sequence being about food. It felt more correct to end it on this note though, this comforting moment in bed. ]]
i will always always always love your writing because that's how i was first introduced to you and of course like so many others transmotion holds a very special place in my heart!! i think through re-reads of that fic and generally seeing some of your posts i'm actively trying to become a better and more critical reader so thank u! love u for that lmao! i love that u make me laugh with your posts but especially every meme you have ever posted. i LOVE your art i think you are talented beyond words i love your brush and pencil strokes
i associate you with being a fellow survivor of the highs and lows of hockey rpf, the kids these days just dont understand! joanna newsom ofc, your try a little tenderness tag truly soul healing. cats and various small cat like creatures. love !
mutuals send me a 💌 and i'll tell u one thing i love about u and one thing i associate with u!
miss restacks .... okay one thing i have to say immediately is that you are so so fucking funny. hilarious actually. i love seeing some random thing you reblogged it'll be like 'need some gamer boy pussy in my life' and you'll tag it carlos sainz of scuderia ferrari and i'll DIEEEE. underrated how funny you are. i think we have similar humour because we come from the traumatic experiences of hockey rpf fandom. i definitely followed you because of your genius writing that i go back and reread all the time by the way. also i love the way you talk about cats and dogs i don't know how to describe it, you're so sweet when you talk about animals it makes my heart full!!!!
