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rambling-robot · 1 month ago

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crazy that gravity falls was like, hey what if we made twin brothers, and one of them is the worse one. he gets bad grades, he likes to punch his problems, everyone thinks of him as “the other one.” he’s engulfed in a shadow that’s shaped like him. he doesn’t even have his own name—it’s derived of his brother’s name, the only one his parents planned on having and using. everything about him is derivative—imitative of another person (his twin brother) (the one everyone likes and wants) and is disapproved of for that reason (he isn’t just “bad at this thing,” he’s “not as good as his brother”). and then he ruins his brother’s science fair project (the one next to his own—no one noticed it because it’s not good, it’s almost stupid next to a “perpetual motion machine” made by a high schooler) (he tried to fix it) (he doesn’t know how; he’s not as smart as the guy who made it) and he gets kicked out. the potential of the money his twin could’ve made is enough to throw him onto the street, and he can’t go home until he makes that money back (the money that was never gained and therefore was never lost. he never had a chance of making enough). he took every job he could (his brother went to school). he got banned from multiple states (his brother bought a house). he traveled internationally and went to prison and had people try to hunt him down and kill him because he couldn’t make enough money (his brother’s house has three basements. he made them himself, as secure as can be). and when his twin finally summons him for help, things go wrong (he messed up this machine like the last one) (he doesn’t know how to fix it. he isn’t as smart as the guy who made it) (he tries to fix it) (he was never any good at reading and these blueprints are impossible, coded and fragmented and in a science that he didn’t know existed) (he tries to fix it). the townspeople ask who he is, and he doesn’t even say his own name (it was hardly his to begin with). and he invites them to a house that isn’t his to show off experiments that aren’t his because he needs to make money that can’t be his. everything he does for the next 30 years is in his twin’s name, for his twin’s sake. he had two funerals for himself and it isn’t even his body in the casket; he had to wear his brother’s name to both of them. if he had died before he fixed the portal, that funeral wouldn’t have been for him. we meet him as a funny and unique character, but in-universe, he’s only ever been defined by someone else.

and then they went, this is entirely in the background btw. most of that is going to be revealed in one episode and won’t be addressed again. he’s a primary comic relief, even. I’m ill about this.

#‘stripped for edible flour in Tijuana’ not even for money. not even cooked food. for FLOUR.#I took a benadryl and wrote this instead of passing out #so if there are any typos or weird leaps in logic lmk. the latter I just hallucinated typing the connection. or accidentally deleted it #gravity falls #stan pines #robot rambles #didn’t know how to put it in the post but he IS the worse one. they’re all right about him (compared to ford)#(because it’s always and only ever in comparison to ford)#he’s derivative. he’s his own man. he loves his family. his family ruined him.#his desire to be rich is so deeply-rooted. it’s always been tied to success and happiness #winning the game show really would’ve been everything.

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jungwnies · 2 months ago

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f1 grid (2/2) | meeting the family

୨ৎ : featuring : kimi antonelli, ollie bearman, yuki tsunoda, isack hadjar, and liam lawson + special feature franco colapinto and lance stroll (click here for part one) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by @holycastles) : your formula one boyfriend meeting your seemingly "normal" family

୨ৎ : genre : comedy ୨ৎ : word count : 2661

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : surprisingly this 10k event isn't overwhelming.. it's such a good downtime from having to study for finals >.<

ʚ・kimi antonelli

kimi stood at your door holding a pie.

a literal pie.

“i didn’t know what to bring,” he mumbled. “my mom said pie is safe.”

you blinked. “you baked?”

“supervised.”

he was already flushed before your family even answered the door. when your dad opened it, kimi stood straighter than you’d ever seen him, like he was back on the karting grid at age twelve.

“hello, sir. thank you for having me. i brought… pastry.”

your dad raised an eyebrow. “pie?”

“yes. that.”

you tried not to laugh.

inside, it was mild chaos. your younger cousins immediately started whispering about “the mercedes kid” like he couldn’t hear them. your aunt hugged him too long. your mom made him a plate before he could even sit down.

kimi’s hands were in his lap the whole time. his posture was so straight it hurt to look at. he said yes sir, no ma’am, thank you very much. and the only time he dared look away from his food was to check if you were still there.

your cousin leaned over halfway through dinner and whispered, “is he always this… robotic?”

you smiled. “he’s just nervous.”

he looked like he was surviving a full-blown press conference. until your uncle asked, “so how serious are you two, huh?”

kimi blinked like the question short-circuited him.

you jumped in quickly. “we’re not getting married, uncle joe.”

“i didn’t say that,” he grinned. “just wondering if mercedes' the only thing he’s committed to.”

kimi nearly choked on his water. “i mean—yes. no. i mean—yes, i’m committed. not just to mercedes. to her too. but not—like—married committed. just—” he turned bright red. “you know what? i should stop talking.”

the room went silent for half a beat.

then your dad laughed. “relax, kid. you’re alright.”

that night, as you walked him to his car, kimi rubbed the back of his neck.

“they were looking at me like i was about to propose.”

“you did say you’re committed.”

“i panicked.”

you smiled, tugging his sleeve. “you did great.”

he finally smiled back, soft and a little crooked. “your dad said i can come back.”

“you want to?”

he looked at you, more certain than he had been all night. “yeah. i do.”

ʚ・ollie bearman

ollie bounced nervously on his heels at your doorstep, holding a suspiciously lopsided cake he insisted on baking “from scratch.”

“it’s… edible,” he said, side-eyeing it like it might betray him. “i think.”

you grinned. “it’s sweet. they’re gonna love you.”

“they better,” he muttered. “i watched a ten-minute youtube video on ‘how to impress your girlfriend’s father’ for this.”

you stared. “please tell me that’s a joke.”

“it had animations.”

you couldn’t stop laughing.

from the second your family opened the door, ollie was full golden retriever mode. hugged your mom without hesitation. complimented the wallpaper like it was his job. called your grandma “queen” and meant it.

but your dad?

that was his mission.

“sir,” he said, offering his hand with olympic-level intensity. “big fan. of… your house. and your daughter. and your grilling skills. smells amazing out here.”

your dad blinked. “you alright, kid?”

“yep!” ollie said way too fast. “just eager to bond.”

at dinner, he tried to subtly mirror your dad’s posture, which ended with him sitting like a stiff action figure. he laughed at all his jokes. nodded like he understood the economy. agreed to try the spiciest dish on the table and instantly regretted it.

you passed him a glass of water under the table.

“i’m fine,” he whispered hoarsely. “this is fine. i’m proving my worth.”

you nearly choked trying not to laugh.

later, you found him in the backyard with your dad, holding barbecue tongs like a sword, listening to a long story about fishing while nodding very seriously.

“he likes me,” ollie whispered when you came outside.

“he told you that?”

“no, but he handed me the tongs. that means something.”

on the way home, he beamed the whole time. “i think your dad’s my best friend now.”

“bold.”

“he invited me golfing.”

“you don’t play golf.”

“i’ll learn.”

you looked at him, this chaotic, giggling, totally love-struck idiot, and shook your head fondly. “you’re ridiculous.”

“ridiculously winning over your family,” he said proudly.

and honestly? he wasn’t wrong.

ʚ・yuki tsunoda

yuki arrived five minutes early, hands folded neatly in front of him, shirt pressed and hair just slightly too styled. he looked… nervous, but in that perfectly composed way that made you want to pull him into a hug.

“you don’t have to bow,” you whispered, watching him do just that when your mom opened the door.

“i know,” he whispered back, “but i want to be respectful.”

respectful might’ve been an understatement. within ten minutes of entering the house, yuki had complimented the decorations, asked your dad thoughtful questions about his hobbies, and called your grandma’s cooking “the best meal i’ve had all year.”

“you brought flowers?” your mom asked, touched.

“and tea,” he said shyly, holding out the perfectly wrapped box. “from japan. my favorite kind.”

you could physically see your mother melt.

the dinner table conversation started light, a few questions about where he grew up, how he liked traveling, if he missed japan. yuki answered every single one kindly, never cutting anyone off, listening fully before responding.

you were so proud you nearly cried.

but the second your little cousin leaned in and whispered, “do you drive really fast?” something shifted.

yuki grinned.

“only when they let me.”

from there, it spiraled. he told stories about karting crashes and near-misses in the most matter-of-fact tone while your uncles leaned in like it was a campfire tale. when your aunt asked how he handles fear, he just shrugged and said, “i scream on the inside. then i go faster.”

by dessert, your mom was feeding him extra servings and calling him “sweetheart,” your grandma was offering to knit him socks, and your cousin was asking if he’d teach them how to drive.

you found him leaning against the hallway wall later, looking overwhelmed but happy.

“are you okay?” you asked, sliding next to him.

“your family is amazing,” he whispered. “but your mom keeps feeding me. i might explode.”

you laughed and rubbed his arm.

he looked at you, soft and a little wide-eyed. “your grandma just kissed my cheek.”

“she does that.”

“she also told me i have husband eyes.”

you blinked. “what?”

“i panicked and bowed again.”

you nearly doubled over with laughter.

“you’re a hit,” you said.

he smiled quietly, cheeks pink. “good. i wanted them to like me.”

you kissed his cheek. “they love you.”

ʚ・isack hadjar

isack strolled up to your parents’ door like he wasn’t dying inside. hands in his pockets, shirt wrinkled just slightly, like he got ready too fast after overthinking what to wear for thirty minutes.

“i’m calm,” he said.

“you’re not.”

“i’m french. i’m composed.”

you snorted. “you’re sweating through your shirt.”

he knocked anyway.

your mom greeted him with a warm smile and your dad stood behind her with his arms crossed, silently evaluating him like a pit crew chief sizing up a suspicious front wing.

“hi, uh… bonjour? i mean, hello. thank you for having me.” isack blinked. “sorry. language overload.”

he was polite — genuinely trying. sat upright. complimented the dinner. called your dad sir at least three times. but then someone — your cousin, of course — brought up the one thing guaranteed to send him straight into a tailspin.

“wait. you’re the no no no i destroyed ze carrr guy, right?”

isack’s soul left his body.

“no,” he said too quickly. “that wasn’t me.”

you cackled. “yes it was.”

“do you say it like that in real life?” your uncle asked, grinning.

“no!” isack groaned. “only once. under stress. high emotion.”

your cousin pulled up the clip on their phone. isack covered his face in both hands.

you leaned over, whispering in his ear. “you okay?”

“i’m being haunted by my own voice.”

he recovered eventually. teased your cousins back. made your dad laugh with a sarcastic “i promise i drive better than i talk.” won over your mom when he offered to help clean up and ended up drying dishes while telling her about how he got into racing.

later, in the car, he leaned his head back against the seat and sighed.

“that was brutal.”

“you were great.”

“they all mocked me. quoted me. in multiple accents.”

you grinned. “they do that to everyone.”

he turned to look at you, eyes still wide. “your grandma said i look skinnier in person.”

“she says that to celebrities. you’re famous now.”

he groaned. “i hate this family.”

you kissed his cheek. “no you don’t, you love us.”

he smiled, soft and red-faced. “okay… maybe i do love you guys.”

ʚ・liam lawson

liam showed up with a six-pack of your dad’s favorite beer and a bag of dog treats.

you blinked at him on the doorstep. “you brought what?”

“strategic bribes,” he said. “i’m trying to secure my position.”

he got both feet in the door and immediately crouched down to greet your golden retriever like it was his dog.

“look at this face,” he said, ruffling the fur behind her ears. “you’re a unit, aren’t you?”

your mom smiled warmly. “she usually doesn’t like new people.”

liam grinned. “i speak fluent dog.”

the dog rolled onto her back like she’d known him her whole life. you watched from the hallway, slack-jawed.

dinner started off simple. liam was friendly, relaxed, throwing in “ma’am” and “sir” when needed but still being his usual cheeky self.

“you’re from new zealand, right?” your uncle asked.

liam nodded. “we have sheep, rugby, and now… somehow, me.”

your dad actually laughed, and you nearly choked on your drink.

he slid into conversation so naturally it was almost unfair. talking rugby with your dad. asking your grandma how long she’s been crocheting and then actually caring. helping carry dishes to the sink without being asked.

you caught your mom whispering to your aunt, “he’s got good manners. the funny kind.”

and then, mid-dessert, it happened.

your dog jumped into liam’s lap.

“she doesn’t even do that for me,” you said.

“she’s in love with me. sorry, babe.”

“she’s my dog.”

liam scratched behind her ears. “she’s chosen.”

later, while everyone was chatting, you found him near the coat rack, dog curled up at his feet, both looking suspicious.

you raised an eyebrow. “you better not be planning a dog heist.”

“me?” he blinked, mock offended. “never.”

“liam.”

“okay, listen,” he whispered. “if i took her, it’s because we share a soul. not because i’m a thief.”

you laughed and reached down to ruffle her fur. “you’re ridiculous.”

“she likes me more than your dad does.”

“he invited you to the barbecue next week.”

liam grinned. “then i win.”

as you both walked to the car later that night, the dog followed you to the door. liam looked back at her with genuine heartbreak.

“i’ll miss you,” he said dramatically. “stay strong, my fluffy queen.”

you rolled your eyes. “don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

ʚ・franco colapinto

you warned him.

you said, “they’re loud. there’s like twenty of them. someone’s always grilling something. someone else will be dancing. my grandma will try to kiss your face.”

franco just grinned. “sounds fun.”

you were thirty seconds into the front yard when he got his first “how handsome” from one of your aunts. he hadn't even taken off his jacket yet.

your uncle hugged him like they were long-lost friends. your younger cousin offered him a soda and then immediately asked how fast his car went. your mom kissed his cheek, told him he was “very handsome,” and franco smiled like he'd just been handed a trophy.

you were watching it unfold in real time: the colapinto effect.

inside, it was pure chaos. laughter in one room, music in another, someone shouting over a blender.

franco thrived.

he complimented the rice, hugged the grandma, took his shoes off without being asked, and said “gracias señora” every chance he got. your aunt actually clutched her chest when he called her food “incredible” in spanish.

at some point, he ended up dancing with two of your little cousins in the living room, one on each foot, spinning them around like a movie montage. your dad watched from the couch, sipped his drink, and nodded slowly.

“alright. i like him.”

meanwhile, franco reappeared beside you in the kitchen, slightly out of breath, hair a little messy, a soft grin on his face.

“i think your grandma just winked at me,” he whispered.

“she probably did.”

“she also offered me food to go and told me i looked too skinny.”

“she’s adopted you now. sorry.”

he laughed quietly, then leaned in. “your family is… everything.”

you tilted your head. “too much?”

he shook his head. “perfect.”

later, after hours of being pulled into photos and interrogated about his star sign and whether or not he could cook eggs, franco finally exhaled next to you on the porch.

“i met, like, thirty people.”

“thirty-five.”

“i flirted with at least ten of them.”

“they flirted first.”

“i know. it was incredible.”

you laughed and rested your head on his shoulder. “they really liked you.”

he smiled. “i really liked them.”

pause.

“…but i’m never leaving without food again. that’s non-negotiable.”

ʚ・lance stroll

lance wasn’t nervous. not exactly. but as he stepped into your parents’ house and was immediately hit with overlapping conversations, two toddlers racing down the hallway, and music playing from a speaker that no one seemed to be in charge of.

you slipped your hand into his.

“too much?”

he blinked once, then shook his head. “no. just… new.”

you’d expected that. lance came from quiet homes and structured dinners and rooms with expensive things that didn’t get touched. your house had mismatched chairs, finger smudges on the windows, and someone yelling “who took the good plate?” from the kitchen.

he took a deep breath and followed you in.

your dad greeted him first. solid handshake. “lance, right?”

“yes, sir. thank you for having me.” he said it so politely your mom actually looked impressed.

he made it through the first hour like a champ — sat on the couch between your cousins and didn’t flinch when your aunt hugged him like they were old friends. he accepted food every time it was offered. he complimented the casserole. he nodded when your uncle asked about his car, even though he clearly had no idea which one he meant.

you found him standing near the kitchen later, hands in his pockets, watching your family like he was trying to piece together a hundred different storylines at once.

“you okay?” you asked, bumping your shoulder into his.

“i don’t think i’ve ever heard this many people talk at once.”

you laughed. “we don’t really do quiet.”

“i noticed.” he looked at you then, eyes soft. “but it’s kind of… nice.”

you tilted your head. “really?”

“it’s real,” he said simply. “everyone’s just themselves. no performance. no pretending.”

he stayed close the rest of the evening, quietly letting the chaos swirl around him. at one point, your grandma made him a plate and told him he looked tired and “too rich to be eating this little.” he smiled and thanked her and finished every bite.

when it was time to go, he lingered at the door. your little cousin hugged his leg.

“you coming back?”

lance knelt down, smiling. “only if there’s more casserole.”

the kid beamed. “there’s always more.”

on the drive home, he reached for your hand.

“i really liked them,” he said.

“i know. they really liked you too.”

he paused. “do you think next time, i could bring something? like dessert?”

you looked over at him and smiled.

“yeah. i think that’d be perfect.”

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