oscarloscarr

Latest Posts by oscarloscarr

joy series on ao3 about fedal got me drawn, and that ending is one of the best ANGST ends. (rafa i hope you will have a good revenge as a GEMIN in that universe).

every yaoi that i like always includes a spanish.

Watched Carlos do his lie detector test and answered with "Lando, Lando and Lando", got thinking Roger and Rafa should never do that I won't survive the damage

yes. i cried while reading this carcar ao3, and my whole family was asking my what the fuck is wronh with me. WELL I THOUGHT THIS FIC WILL BE FUNNY, BUT NO.

if you like carcar, this is one of the best fic.

You'll Just Have To Remind Me by the_e_sea: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62250595

has a fanfiction ever left you sobbing in shambles on a weekday morning? yeah me neither

owh... im happy. im not crying while reading this...

I wrote a little bonus epilogue for You'll Just Have to Remind Me :-) (1K, probably doesn’t make sense if you haven’t read the fic.)

...

Carlos wakes up smiling. He was dreaming of something good—something warm, something right. He tries to hold onto the details, but nothing sticks, everything slipping away like water through his fingertips. All he’s left with is the feeling of sunshine spreading through his body. He wants to bask in it.

But as he rolls over to stretch, that sunny feeling swiftly fades into confusion. Something’s off. The curtains are a deep blue instead of his classic red ones. There’s a leatherbound journal on the bedside table where his copy of Cold Mountain usually sits. The covers are tossed back on the other side of the bed, revealing a well-worn dip in the mattress.

This isn’t his bed. This isn’t his room.

Carlos groans, sitting up. He doesn’t do one-night stands—not anymore. That was something he firmly left in his twenties. And he definitely doesn’t do one-night stands he can’t remember at all. He couldn’t have been blackout drunk last night- there’s not even a wisp of a hangover.

He’s got to be missing something. Closing his eyes, Carlos retraces his steps from the day before. 

He had brunch with Charles at the cafe across from their flat— he had the blueberry pancakes while Charles ordered an omelet. 

He went for a run in the park— his pace was better than usual, but had to end his route prematurely because it started raining. 

He stopped by the video store to pick up a rental in advance for roommate movie night. This week, they’ll be watching Alien 3. Impulsively, he also threw in a pack of Mike & Ikes that he ate on the way home.

When he got back to his flat, he found Charles face-down on the couch, moping that he was about to do a load of laundry but realized they were out of dryer sheets. Carlos had promised him that tomorrow he’d pick some up.

Carlos remembers tucking himself into bed, reading a chapter of Cold Mountain, and turning in at around 11:00 p.m. 

And that’s it. No going out, no meeting anyone, no late-night tryst. He’s thirty- his memory can’t be fading like this yet. There’s got to be something he’s missing here. A crucial piece to the puzzle he’s just… overlooking for some reason.

Before he can spiral too hard, he’s jolted from his thoughts by… is that singing? Yes, it’s barely audible at first, but when Carlos focuses, he can clearly hear muffled, off-key singing from the other side of his door. Lovely, his hookup wants to make him breakfast and Carlos can’t even remember his name.

Creeping out of bed, Carlos spots his old grey sweatshirt draped over the dresser. He pulls it on carefully. It’s definitely his, but it feels more worn than it was the last time he put it on. He’s not sure how it got here either. He wasn’t wearing it when he went to bed last night.

He just needs to get out of here. He’ll slip out, call Charles to come pick him up, and then book an appointment to make sure he hasn’t developed some insane sleepwalking disorder. 

He creeps out of the room, tiptoeing through the space and desperately trying to find the door to get out of here. The flat—no, the house—was beautiful, with high ceilings and effortless room design. It felt lived-in, loved-in.

The mantlepiece in the living room was crowded with keepsakes and trinkets. A golden statue, scented candles, and tons of photos in frames. He’s too far away to clearly see, but some of those photos… looked like they could be of-

The terrible singing starts again and Carlos almost jumps out of his skin. His head snaps towards the source. There’s a man in the kitchen, his head buried in a thick cookbook. Carlos can't see his face, but something in his chest tightens anyway. The front door is straight ahead, away from the kitchen. He could leave. He should leave. Instead, he turns back and moves toward the singing.

The guy’s back is turned to Carlos and he’s now hunching over the stove, grumbling to himself as he tries to light the stovetop burner. Carlos’s heart has launched itself into overdrive, he’s sure it’s beating so loud this guy can hear it.

Because the guy turns around, giving him a warm smile and a soft, “Hey, love.” 

That’s Oscar

And the world goes blurry. Carlos’s breathing shallows. He’s never seen this guy before; he's sure would remember a face like that. But all his mind can think is that’s Oscar, over and over again- more and more insistent. Like this is the most important singular fact that Carlos will ever know.

He’s got pancake batter on his nose. Carlos can’t imagine how he managed to do that. But he’s smiling, at him, warm and genuine and beautiful. “Already done reading your…” he trails off, probably noticing that Carlos is barely holding it together. “Carlos?”

Oscar drinks his hot chocolate with an insane number of marshmallows. 

Oscar hates waking up early but gets up before you every day, just in case.

Oscar can name every player on the Australian national cricket team.

Oscar loves you.

“Oscar” is all he can get out. It feels well-worn on his tongue. His own voice surprises him. It’s raspy, filled with more emotions than he can parse out. He’s overwhelmed by so much new information. No, not new information- but information that has laid dormant, bubbling to the surface like freshly popped champagne. 

“Hey,” Oscar is at his side in an instant—close, but Carlos can tell he’s holding himself back from reaching out. “What do you remember, today?” He says it so softly, so patiently. It makes Carlos feel like he’s still wrapped in his duvet.

“I-I don’t…” He desperately tries to remember. Something happened. Obviously. Flashes of visions whip by in his brain like they’re passing in high speed: Lying on his back on wet pavement, harsh red and blue ambulance lights, Charles crying by his bedside. A small, red box on a countertop, singing along to Mariah Carey songs, kisses that taste like strawberries and sea salt. Any attempt to recollect further makes his head pound. 

“It’s okay,” Oscar says gently. Carlos swears Oscar deflates a bit, but covers it quickly with another soft smile. “It’s been a while since you’ve been back to October fifteenth, is all.”

Oscar moves to turn back toward the stovetop. “Pancakes are almost finished, then we can-”

Carlos doesn’t realize he’s hugging Oscar until his face is buried in his neck, breathing him in. Oscar doesn’t miss a beat, just wraps his arms around him like he’s done it a thousand times. He probably has. Oscar’s touch feels like home. Oscar’s touch is home.

As Carlos clings to him, more champagne bubbles float to the top, revealing sweet and simple truths he’s always known.

You watch Oscar’s video he made for you every morning. When he’s away on a shoot, you watch it to fall asleep, too.

You asked Charles to help you go ring shopping next week. Oscar doesn’t know- it’s a secret.

You love Oscar.

The sunshine is back, wrapping around his skin and flowing through his veins. He’s glowing, he’s sure he is. He wonders if Oscar can see it.

He’ll have pancakes today while he watches his video. He’ll read his journal, he’ll call Charles. Maybe he’ll go for a run in the park. But for now, he holds Oscar a little tighter, just a little while longer.

You love Oscar so much.

yeah, while watching a certain loreal ambassador, no?

“Oscar, you haven’t talked.”

“I was quite happy just standing here.” (from twitter/x)

Click for better quality<3 | Request Rules!

-> please like/reblog/give credits if used in any way!

•Carcar burger themed header requested by this anon<3 I tried to keep it as on theme as possible, so I hope you like it😭 gif creds to @princemick and @455s

WE ARE HERE BECAUSE OF THE INCIDENTS.

Pretty hilarious that carcar haters on Twitter think we don't consider the beef and the incidents as true parts of what the carcar dynamic is 😆😆😆😆 Carcar is both the radio messages and the burger products, both the 6-hour flights and the post-race interviews & tweets, both the magnets and the couch

Carcar tradition is the fluff and the friction, so yeah

In these tiring times I made a little cutesy thing with the help of @arinabay 's amazing ideas

what if... a gala/premier night, and then both of them kind of prepared themselves together because they were the actors, and they fell in love🤧🤧🤧

THE UPDATE IS SO GOOD I CAN'T

if the swelter lingers (8/?) 47.9k

oscar/carlos, omegaverse, rated e

chapter 8: delirium

“Fuck, Carlos, you’re burning up.” Charles then recoils, and puts an entire hand over his face. His other hand comes to grip the couch, indenting it until the cheap leather snaps. “Holy fuck.” He says, his face red and his eyes suddenly clouded by intensity. “Carlos, are you wearing scent blockers ?”

you know, when you read something really good, your body felt the things that were written on it.

we got carcar on the drive to survive poster before GTA 6

why am i thinking that sebastian is standing like shoujo anime characters every time i read an au😭

it hurts so bad, i feel empty🚶‍♀️

written in the margins

Carlos has forgotten the life he’s known for the past 16 years—his championship wins, his kids, and his husband who just so happens to be the guy he swears he hates the most.

📖 prologue | chapter one: hospitals | chapter two: home | chapter three: space | chapter four: family | chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven | chapter eight

💿 playlist

F1 ACC ADMINS???!?!?!?!?!

i drafted a sebson/webbonso/brocedes au, and the background is the Winter Olympics. seb/fer/nico are figure skaters, while jenson+lewis are ice hockey athlete, and mark is a snowboarder. i haven't finished it yet because writers block mehe🤧

Fernando and Mark interview from the 2013 Bahrain gp drivers parade

I randomly came across this and I have to say personal space just isn’t a thing for these two 💕

the carcar fem! arts are so many noww, and i just can't stop thinking that female carlos is blanca and female oscar is hattie😭

re-reading grill the grid, and probably solar flare too

CHAPTER 12 OF RACING HEARTS AND BABY STEPS IS AMAZING😭😭😭 I LOVE ITTT😭😭😭😭

racing hearts and baby steps making my heart ache so badly. i need to know what will happened after😭😭😭

angst is the best

Your dog ~ carcar, angst

Piñon still bites him when he sees him. He's a distrustful dog, Oscar has learned.

He doesn't like it when Oscar sits on the left side of the couch, pushes his nose against his calf until he's shuffling to the right. He doesn't sit on that side either, though, and curls up under his feet.

He doesn't like it when Oscar looks at the coats hanging nearby the entrance, he doesn't like it when Oscar puts his hand in the biscuits jar, he doesn't like it when Oscar uses the body-wash in the shower and smells of musky pinecones.

He doesn't like a whole lot of things that Oscar does, truthfully, and even though he does try to not show it, sometimes it really hits close to home, where it already hurts the most.

And yet, he still gets up at eight sharp in the morning to take him out for a walk.

They stroll on the sidewalk for ten minutes, already with the easiness of a routine that doesn't feel like it belongs to him fully yet, and Oscar can almost say with certainty that it doesn't feel that gross to grab his poop from the ground.

Every morning they walk past a local bakery, just on the right side of the parallel road, and every single morning Piñon starts barking, perhaps out of familiarity, perhaps just out of curiosity, his vision zeroing on the bright yellow of the signs.

Oscar... he would rather not walk in, honestly. It's not even about avoiding falling into temptation, the smell of fresh baked goods always seeming to make his empty stomach grumble like a full engine.

It's more about the way the people around him seem to advert their gaze for a short second before actually meeting his eyes, it's about the way the woman behind the counter sharpens her grimace into a somewhat welcoming smile, as if all of a sudden she's not angry anymore at Oscar for only knowing how to utter a bunch of words in broken Spanish.

Even worse, though, it's the way they always sit on their calves and pat Piñon's head with a familiarity that Oscar is almost jealous of.

He may not understand a lot of the language, but still it's easy to make out the grand scheme of it all, how they sneak treats under the dog's mouth, how they whisper close to his ear.

"Has he been treating you good? How are you doing? How is him?"

Piñon never answers, and maybe that's exactly the reason why Oscar decided to take care of him.

When it came to deciding what should go to whom, he had almost fought tooth and nails to insist he would be the one getting the dog, in ways that he would probably be immensely embarrassed of if he thought about it now, lucid and the wound of it all less open and fresh.

But when Piñon tilts his head there's always the memory of something that tickles the back of Oscar's head, something that he's not exactly ready to let go of completely.

And when Oscar just needs to talk without the feeling of judgment and guilt clouding over him, Piñon just nudges his nose against his calf and sits at his feet and leaves him the benefit of self criticism that sometimes Oscar forgets he still has.

And other times, even, he looks up at Oscar with big brown eyes that hold a distant sentiment that Oscar can't face just yet.

He has read, somewhere in the middle of a late night binge search on how to get rid of it all as fast possible, that dogs are able to talk to spirits.

Oscar doesn't exactly believe it. Though it is true that Oscar doesn't believe in a lot of things that don't lie in the same Venn's diagram of a throttle and a brake.

He still doesn't know if he should believe in God or if it's God who should believe more in them, give them a bit more credit for all the things some people have to go through without even asking for them.

And Oscar also sincerely hopes Carlos has not gone and become a spirit, because that would imply that even the last shred of hope has to quietly die like a burnt candle.

Because that would mean Oscar would have to live the rest of his life looking for a metaphysical appearance that he knows will never come, that he would have to feel haunted, even.

And it's ridiculous to even think about believing in something like that, and yet at two in the morning on a Thursday night Oscar thinks that there can't be any damage to do if he just lets himself be ridiculous for a little while.

The corridor is bathed in moonlight when he walks through it, but Oscar still finds some difficulty in making his way through the rooms, leaning against the wall with a hand as he feels the quiet thrum of an empty house surrounding him.

He is careful with his steps as he reaches Piñon, sleeping soundly at the entrance where he had dragged his own bed a few days ago.

He thinks about it for a second, then two, watches little puff of air heaving Pinon's chest, his head resting on crossed paws, turned towards the door as if it could open from a second to another. Waiting.

He doesn't think about it more than three seconds, because Oscar has never had the privilege to make decisions in longer than that, so he kneels on the ground, passing a gentle hand through the longer fur on Piñon's back before ducking his head and pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

Piñon doesn't wake up, just scrunches his nose for a second before his breaths even out again, same rhythm as before, as if trying to fall back into a routine that doesn't quite fit right.

The sofa is soft under his legs when he sits on it, careful to not disrupt the untold equilibrium as he presses his feet to the left armrest and leans his chin over his bent knees. He is not going to sleep anytime soon, either way.

"I gave a kiss to your dog." Oscar chuckles, lets himself feel ridiculous for just a second before relaxing against the back of the couch. "I did it when he was asleep. He would've killed him if I had tried to do it when he was awake."

The only answer he gets is the eerily quiet and the muffled sounds of Piñon's breathing.

For the first time since he can remember, Oscar wishes there could be another voice coming from the right side of the couch.

"I think he doesn't like me a lot, you know? Sometimes it's like he wants to blame me and I- I get it, I want to blame myself, too." A knot rises in the middle of his throat, tight and uncomfortable. Oscar still talks past it. "But he is the closest thing to you that I could get, the closest thing that is alive and well. And when he glares at me he- he almost reminds me of you which is ridiculous because I can't even remember the last time you were actually angry at me but I think it's better for me to remember you that way than..."

He rubs a hand under his eyes, pretends like he can't feel the sudden wetness on the sleeves of his hoodie. He doesn't even think it's his own.

He doesn't even remember when the division line started to blur.

"I think that's what you would want me to do, if you could say it."

Lando hadn't been of the same opinion, looking at Oscar warily when he had suggested he would be the one taking Piñon for the first time. Now, he just looks at Oscar with his downturned eyes and tells him he wishes he could do more to help him.

Oscar doesn't think there's more to do, anyway.

"I read somewhere that dogs talk to spirits. I think it's the kind of shit you would yell at Lando for believing in it. You always d- do that." He caresses his own knees, seeking the comfort of a warm touch in his own coldness. "And trust me, I hope you are not a fucking spirit and that you won’t become one anytime soon. But if there is even a small- small possibility, I-" he closes his eyes for a second, lets the knot in his throat dissolve like salt in water, stinging on an open wound, where pulsing blood is still rushing to trail on his skin.

"If there is even a single possibility of it being true I- I gave him a kiss and I hope he can bring it to you. And then he can come back home if- I hope he thinks this is still home, even without-“

The light blue colour of the sleeves has tuned into a darker patch under his eyes, blurry from a lucidity that he can't make himself feel ashamed of.

As if on cue, the silence is broken by the ticking sound of Piñon's paws on the hardened wood floor. When Oscar manages to open his eyes again without wishing to disappear into the dark blue void outside the window, Piñon is looking up at him, curled under his feet with his head close to Oscar's shin.

The dog sighs, a shaky thing that sounds almost like a rumble and Oscar can only answer with a choked sob of his own that doesn't feel like it belongs to him at all, to his vocal cords that always found no use in crying.

Many things can change in the span of a few weeks: Oscar's beliefs and a dog's routine.

"But I- I think," he swallows around nothing, bending down to press a hand to the top of Piñon's head, caressing lightly. "We are not so different, me and Piñon."

The dog sighs again, almost sad. Oscar wonders if he is listening to what he is saying, if he can actually understand it all. Will he bring a kiss from him, then?

"We both miss you the most when the night comes."

—

This little story is heavily inspired by the song “your dog” by Pinguini Tattici Nucleari

For those who don't ship Carcar, I recommend staying far away from the community because we are a very lively group. If I had to compare, I would see the Carcar fandom as a group of old ladies who meet up to drink tea and knit.

has anyone done a pride and prejudice fic for CarCar yet???

brocedes son or carcar daughter?

my take:

"ollie is lestappen son" "ollie is charlos son" wrong. he is charles' son and trying to find out who his other dad is mamma mia (2008) style

THE NEWEST ONE URGGH MY HEART IS ACHING FOR THEM, STOOPIDS

and sofia cutie jsjss

racing hearts and baby steps making my heart ache so badly. i need to know what will happened after😭😭😭

THANK YOU

Congratulations to all the carcar writers, you did the +300 fics possible.

OH THE UPDATE IS SO GOOD BUT CLIFFHANGER 😭😭😭😭 I WANT TO CRY

racing hearts and baby steps making my heart ache so badly. i need to know what will happened after😭😭😭

Happy Halloween from Super Seb & Princess Jenson!!

racing hearts and baby steps making my heart ache so badly. i need to know what will happened after😭😭😭