#wiz.askbox

[wisteriagoesvroom]

is this a reverse jinx https://www.instagram.com/grilldburgers/p/DQ8GGvtE11w/

honestly the grill'd marketing team really ate this one thing 😭

the fact that they bought an out-of-home/billboard ad for this is killing meeeeee

edited to add:

[wisteriagoesvroom]

here's a first sentence:

He doesn't even know the guy's name –and while sometimes he is almost grateful for that, thinks it grants him a bit of necessary emotional distance to keep his casual infatuation from turning into a full-on crush–, right about now it would come in really handy.

1.9k of carcar coming right up... also readable on ao3

--🍁🌰🍁🌰🍁🌰🍁--

Oscar doesn't know the guy's name. And while sometimes he's almost grateful for that – with convenience offering emotional distance to keep infatuation from becoming a full-blown crush – right now, it would come in really handy.

Because Oscar kneels on the park path over a man, who's been knocked in the head with the football. Oscar knows this because the incriminatory ball has rolled to the side, into a bush. He'd been walking and humming along to Fleetwood Mac when it happened. So quickly, in the corner of his eye: distant whizzing noise, ball in air, loud bonk noise, and the guy was on the ground. He'd run over immediately, because it's not like he could just stand there – mainly because it would be rude, and also his parents taught him to never be a bystander.

There's no name tag or anything identifiable about the man (why would there be, Oscar chides himself), except that he's wearing slightly muddy Asics, high socks, and a fancy running vest. Judging from the fashionable Oakleys tucked into a pocket and the lack of anything else, there is a high likelihood that the guy lives around here.

The man groans on the ground with his eyes closed. He rubs at the side of his head, at an orange leaf stuck there. The motion makes the foliage zigzag to the ground.

“Are you alright?” Oscar asks.

Runner Guy blinks up at him. Maybe it was a good thing his eyes were closed before. Staring into them's like staring into an obscene mug of chocolate. Not exactly a great thought to be thinking in what could be a life-threatening situation. 

“Are you my husband?” Runner Guy asks.

Oscar’s face flares. He does check the ring finger of the other guy, though. It’s bare. 

“If you are," Runner Guy continues, grinning, "you’re very handsome. I must have made a good choice."

"I'm not–"

In the corner of Oscar's eye, a swan has waddled its way near them. It gives a warning honk and flaps its wings, staking its territory. This won’t do. Oscar refuses to be deported on account of an altercation with one of the King’s scheming birds.

“Mate, it’s very probable that you’re concussed,” Oscar says, in a loud voice so that anyone passing by can hear that he’s not being untoward.

"Oh… is that what happened?"

“I think so. How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Seventeen," Runner Guy says. Then catches Oscar's worried face. "Okay, two."

"That's good. I'm going to help you up now.”

“Okay.” 

They struggle up. The guy is lean, but more densely muscled than he looks, because Oscar has to brace his entire body weight to support him. Runner guy emanates heat through his t-shirt. He must've been on a roll for a PB or something.

At this opportune moment, a bunch of kids burst through the clearing from the nearby field.

“Mister, you alright?” comes a child’s voice to Oscar’s left.

“Sorry 'bout the ball,” says another. “Was just kicking it high, like.”

“Is he DEAD?” says a third.

Oscar has to muffle a snort by coughing into his left elbow. Runner Guy shifts his weight, and Oscar bumps his hip against him in an attempt to keep his balance.

Oscar looks at the concerned kids in an attempt to be reassuring. “He’ll be okay. But I do need to move him,”

“Let's don't move,” the guy says.

The kids look between each other, worried. They can't be more than ten years old, but even at ten, Oscar remembers having a mind of his own, and more importantly, an ability to tattle to his parents. Oscar thinks it's best not to cause a scene lest he end up on the news or somebody's social media. MAN HIT IN HEAD WITH FOOTBALL AND RESCUER BULLIED BY SCHOOLCHILDREN. YOU'LL NEVER BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENS NEXT!

“It's better if you can sit down. Come on,” he says to Runner Guy in a tone that is hopefully low and reassuring.

"Will he be alright?" asks one of the kids with knee pads and a big t-shirt.

Oscar nods. "He'll live."

"Told you not to kick that high, Chester, you're not Ronaldo," one of the girls says.

"He's not even good anyway," another kid says. This seems a bit of a discredit to Chester, who must have sent that football flying at least fifty metres.

But as entertaining as they are, it's time to leave the gaggle of kids behind. Oscar gives a polite nod at their chorus of "good luck" and "maybe you should call his mum" and "that was proper stupid mate", and the kids drift back to their game.

"Good luck, Mister, with your husband!" the girl with the knee pads cries out.

"Notmyhusband," Oscar mumbles, under his breath.

To his credit, Runner Guy just laughs it off.

They find a bench at a quieter spot, and manoeuvre to sit without either collapsing into an embarrassing heap. Pigeons run aimless circles near their feet.

“You must be a guardian angel,” Runner Guy says.

“I’m just on my way to the office.”

“Ah. And where's that?"

“I work at the zoo,” Oscar volunteers, making conversation. It’s good to keep the guy talking until he can find a park warden or maybe call an ambulance, whichever happens first. He scans the area for anybody who might be able to help, but it's quiet at this time of day, with only the burble of fountains and whispering leaves to keep them company.

“I like the penguins. They are hardier than they seem,” the guy declares. Oscar doesn’t think this is up for debate, plus it is rude to correct someone who may have a concussion, so he just nods. 

“That's true. Adélie Penguins, in Antarctica, like picking the rocks out of retreating glaciers to build their nests. They're the only ones who do that. They also toboggan across the ice sheet on their bellies if there's enough snow. Sorry, I tend to go on about penguin fun facts. That are mostly fun. To me."

Runner Guy may be concussed, but a smile still breaks open on his face, as if Oscar's offered him a genuine gift. “You have enlightened me. Thank you, Doctor…”

“Oscar. Just Oscar. I’m a grad vet, so we’re not called doctors. Technically.”

“But you are still saving animals. And me.”

Runner Guy catches his eye for a moment, and some pigeons coo behind them. He's hot, a part of his brain registers. He blinks in surprise and makes a show of checking the other man's forehead for scrapes or scratches.

(Maybe it'd be good if a football bonked him in the head right now.)

At this opportune moment, the swan from earlier chooses to make an reappearance. It stares at them with beady eyes, and fluffs its feathers.

"Hey," Oscar says, in a warning tone. Runner Guy follows his eyeline to the big bird.

"Doc, aren't you supposed to be nice to the animals?"

Oscar narrows his eyes at the bird. "I am being nice. By setting appropriate behavioural boundaries."

Runner Guy snorts, and pulls out a gel from a hidden pocket, and sucks on it. Oscar tries very hard not to stare at his mouth, working on the shiny packet. Or the way his tongue darts out to suck.

“Your pupils seem fine, and you're talking steady, which is good. Though, we should probably get you to a human doctor,” Oscar says, keeping his tone even. He focuses on opening his maps app. His arm jostles Runner Guy's, and he tries to put the spark of contact at the back of his mind, focusing on his task. University Hospital isn't far from here, so maybe they could walk over there? He's got a couple of checks to make on the animals at the zoo health centre, but with more grads around now to pick up shifts, he should have a bit of wriggle room. Besides, it's technically a medical emergency. For a human. A good-looking, if confused, human.

"I should be fine," Runner Guy says.

"I'd really feel better if you got that checked out."

"Okay. I trust you. You are a doctor."

He's not, but okay.

“Doctor Oscar," Runner Guy says, rolling the rs in his mouth. "Y mi nombre es Carlos.”

Runner Guy – no – Carlos, says it like he hadn’t realised he’d switched output channels for a minute. Oscar wonders where the lyrical accent is from.

"You should probably drink something too," Oscar says, digging into his backpack for his water bottle. He can't remember if he already swigged out of it this morning, which means they would trade spit, which in another context might not be a bad thing, but he tells himself there are more pressing matters to be dealing with. Carlos accepts the bottle, staring at the stickers.

"Gracias. Is that…a turtle?"

Oscar elects to spare him the lecture about the evolutionary importance of the Galapagos Giant Tortoise. His middle sister had said that one was enthralling, in a tone that implied it was anything but.

"Just sit tight. You'll be alright."

Carlos just shrugs and drinks. Oscar watches carefully, to make sure he's sufficiently hydrated. Under his gaze, the heartbeat on Carlos's smartwatch climbs gently up.

"What?" Carlos says. His upper lip is wet.

"Keep talking. What do you do for work?"

"Ah. I'm a lawyer. I am a senior associate on the Partner track at–"

He's got the guy yapping, so now he tries to multitask and figure out the fastest way to A&E from where they are, and whether it's walkable or they should Uber or something. He vaguely makes out bits about how Carlos once wanted to play football for Real Madrid, but school became more important, so now he works at a law firm, but he's lately not sure if he really likes it, was thinking of changing teams or maybe industries, and he was also trying to figure out his work-life balance but it seems like a never-ending debate with himself, and also maybe he should get a dog?

"I'm really sorry, I didn't catch all of that. But I'm glad you're talking," Oscar says.

"Oh," Carlos says, sounding disappointed. Oscar has been told in the past that his patient manner, even with animals, could be more expressive. Less clinical. Softer. The last thing he wants to do is cause hurt when the football has already done that. An impulse sparks in Oscar, loud and simple: make the other man's sadness go away– damned be the consequences.

So in the middle of the park, amongst the prams and the peonies and the intrepid pigeons, Oscar shoves his phone in his pocket and says the thing that he was least expecting to say all day.

"Let's get you sorted out with medical. And maybe we can talk more over coffee sometime?"

Carlos stares back at him with big, brown eyes. His mouth opens slightly in surprise, as if Oscar's read his mind, and he might have been on the way to saying the exact same thing, too. Funny how that works.

"I mean– I don't drink coffee," Oscar adds. "But there's a café on Cleveland that does a great hot chocolate. I assume you drink, what, a cortado?"

Miraculously, Carlos smiles. Soft, and devastating, in a magazine cover way that works in real life. Oscar finds himself wondering what it'd be like to get the full power of that smile, sans head injury. "You assumed correctly, Doctor Oscar.

Carlos nudges Oscar's arm with his elbow. The spark of contact there travels up Oscar's arm. Possibly into his left ventricle. Who's to say.

"And yes, I would like that," Carlos says. "I would like that very much."

--🍁🌰🍁🌰🍁🌰🍁--

big thank you to @seaplease and @georgiasbrainstuff for helping me talk through some stuff as i worked on this! the whole thing got a lot longer than i anticipated at the start, and they were very patient with me <3

from: send me a first line of a story and i'll write something for it (tho i have a backlog atm)

[wisteriagoesvroom]

Wow Oscar was actually such a cute baby! His expressions now and then are identical truly

the more things change, the more they stay the same

[wisteriagoesvroom]

no stylist just a grown man who still needs his mum to dress him (per her own admission via ig comment)

but the mystery was so fun. anyway carcar moment where oscar texts carlos what to wear cus he canonically has no fucking clue

[wisteriagoesvroom]

Question for you, how do you like, characterize Carlos? Cause I really like your characterization and I'm trying to write carcar and just can't get a hold of him specifically.

hi! gosh. first of all, thank you. i'll try and answer this to the best of my ability, and bear in mind it's highly subjective anyway because it's *checks notes* rpf! rule number one of rpf is always: do what you like with these blorbos for whatever narrative or imaginative purposes you need!!

so. i confess my handle on carlos isn't probably the greatest? in case it wasn't abundantly clear from the pfp, i'm an oscarina first and foremost, but what i love about carlos and oscar in a rpf setting is that you can play with their contrasts quite a lot. on paper they share more than you'd think, for example. what direction can you stretch them in your story and emphasise contrast? i find carlos confident and almost brash in ways that oscar isn't (at first glance). because if folks have followed 81 a while or heard his soundbites with media in particular, it's actually really obvious that he's got the same arrogance, but he just wears it differently. also in the 2023/24 season they irritated each other so bad for reasons people still can't explain, and i love imagining a million and one reasons for why that would be. at least, that's where i jumped in.

i feel like that got sidelined into carcar as a duo real quick, and idk if it actually answers your question but i'll try again hahaha. how i personally like to "characterise" carlos is also by--

using him almost as an archetype for a conventional romance genre lead? and that affects the action he tends to take in my writing, because that's how he reads to me? like, the most fun i have with carlos in a story is thinking, he's doing all these Obviously Romantic Gestures, and oscar is either too stupid or stubborn or not yet ready in his arc to accept it.

other words i'd associate him with are

confident

pretty smooth, but also kind of lame (to oscar, because lame recognises lame)

high-achieving and competent at his specialty, no matter what universe. he knows it, owns it, shows it

stubborn and persistent

proud!!

comes from privilege and never bothers to hide it

also kind of a snob? definitely upper class and i associate him with old money circles

very very close with his family (also. daddy issues. whatever you want to do with that)

and also kind of old-fashioned for the above two reasons

to me, carlos is also someone who desires, and knows he is desired, and again he doesn't shy away from this. where he's different from oscar is knowing how to leverage this to his advantage

these are definitely qualities that apply to other drivers on the grid... so maybe the magic for me is how all that comes together based on my impression + perception of him.

which brings me back to square one: the world's your oyster and this is rpf. so the best thing, if you're in doubt, is to write what you want!

i'd also say, that understanding of characterisation will naturally develop over attempts and over time, so i wouldn't sweat it too much. how i wrote carlos from my first 1-3 fics (including a few charlos ones i never finished) is probably v different to now. and the fun of rpf is seeing "canon" constantly evolve in real time too, i guess.

tagging some other folks who i think write the carlos side of the carcar equation very well: @powerful-owl, @testarossa, @lealu @antimonyandthyme @brushedbymelancholy @magnificentbirb etc, in case they have more to add!

also, anon, you didn't ask, but the other thing i'm still figuring out is carlos's specific speaking cadence. but i think that just takes time to absorb from his interviews and such. ones that i enjoyed watching are things like the torque talk with alex and lia block, and rally with carlos snr. and other snips here and there from his post-race interviews. i'm honestly less familiar because, like i say, he's not my blorbo. but i appreciate you being so nice about my attempts to convey the carlosisms thru the beautiful vehicle that is carcar!!

[wisteriagoesvroom]

corporate coworkers carcar where Carlos doesn't realise Oscar is his favorite asmrtist he listens to every night before sleep

question one: how horny is this fic

question two: surely this fic soundtrack must feature careless whisper by george michael… but that isn’t really a question that’s a statement of fact from me

tell me more pls anon 🫵 loving the idea of oscar in data analysis or smth not saying a word at work / the absolute bare minimum in social engagement w carlos who deals w the other side of the same spreadsheet, but they have never ever spoken irl cus they only really talk in the comments section of excel in missives that are like. “missing data in the cell” or “did you do this cleanup. or did your dog”. until they cross paths at a mandatory work social event and some random word like “bucket” or “glove” gives oscar away and carlos is staring like, “what. whaaaaaat”

(carlos deals with insomnia obviously and oscar’s mystery ASMR channel called bruceybanters is the only thing that helps him sleep etc etc)

[wisteriagoesvroom]

Tell us an idea for a longfic you want to write in the future.

i've thought about a carcar future fic where oscar goes to ferrari 10+ years from now (his last gig before retirement), and is so capital-c Confused by it all that he ends up needing advice from someone... and carlos ends up being that someone. i'm intrigued by the idea of what happens to them and how they find each other again after all that time and missed connections. + how the sport might've changed by then but that kind of worldbuilding is a bit of a Task and secondary to the carcarism..!

also the idea of oscar trying to learn italian is hilarious to me. i maintain that the entirety of his new garage gives him the stink eye because he doesn't drink coffee, and maybe he ends up having to at the ripe old age of 36/37 because he needs it to function now HA. carlos may or may not also make fun of his bad italian. it is possible that oscar tries to recycle grammar from french but it doesn't quite work (don't look too closely at this, i have no idea if it's actually true, it's just a vibe)...

not to give too much away too cus sometimes an idea gets away from you if you spend too long thinking rather than putting fingers to keyboard (if you get what i mean), but i believe carlos in this fic would also be supervising some young girl!karters or promising rising talent atp

from: asks game

[wisteriagoesvroom]

re: your post about oscar following the academic track: as someone who went to oxford uni, i can absolutely tell you that oscar's swagless dancing and nerd tendencies would fit RIGHT in with the engineering course (+ other sciences) here. he'd have been a fucking HIT.

now how do i make this carcar. old money sports art history guy vs new money nonchalant engineer. they fight over the same spot at the library until there's some end of year party and they have a torrid makeout behind a statue of some geezer