#I just think!! it’s a waste!! of potential!!!!

[natsaffection]

Redline. pt 1 | N.R

You swore you’d never race again after the crash that nearly killed you. For years, you stayed in the shadows, avoiding the world you once ruled. Then Natasha Romanoff came looking for a driver, and she chose you. You fought her. You refused. But Natasha doesn’t take no for an answer. But coming back means facing everything you ran from: the fame, the pressure, the past. And with the world watching, one question remains: Are you still the driver you once were, or will the past catch up before you can prove it?

Older!Motorsportboss!Natasha x Younger!RacingDriver!Reader

Warnings: Crash Trauma, Car racing

Word count: 7k

A/N: Helloo, I really love this dynamic and hope you will too, so I can continue the story..🙆🏻‍♀️

At the moment Natasha saw the contract, she knew exactly how this would end.

She had years of experience in this business, long enough to see through every trick, every tactic, every maneuver. She had seen drivers come and go, talent wasted, careers ruined by greed. She had watched men with potential destroy themselves before they even had the chance to prove themselves. And Jake? He was about to become one of them.

She sat in the dimly lit conference room, the only light coming from her tablet screen as she scrolled through the details of his betrayal. The agency’s report had been sent to her earlier that day, and now, as she skimmed through the contract details, she pressed her lips into a thin line.

Jake wasn’t leaving the team for a better one. He wasn’t making a strategic decision to secure his position. No, he was leaving for money. A weaker team had offered him a higher salary, and that alone was enough to make him walk away. To leave Romanoff Racing. To leave the team that had made him relevant in the first place.

Natasha leaned back in her chair, rolled her shoulders, and let out a slow breath. If he had left for a real opportunity, for something better, she would have understood. She wouldn’t have liked it, but she would have respected it. But this? This was pathetic.

A quiet rustling on the other side of the room pulled her from her thoughts. Yelena sat lazily in one of the chairs, skimming the same documents Natasha had just read. She popped a piece of gum into her mouth and chewed absentmindedly as she turned the page. “So.” Yelena murmured without looking up, “Walker is an idiot.”

Natasha didn’t respond. Yelena chuckled softly, shaking her head as she tossed the folder onto the table. “Seriously, what was he thinking? That you wouldn’t find out?” She tilted her head slightly, studying her sister. “Or did he really think he could outsmart you?”

Natasha tapped her fingers on the table once before picking up the folder and snapping it shut with a sharp click. Slowly, she stood up, tucking the documents under her arm and adjusting her jacket. Yelena watched her, amusement flickering in her eyes. “You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?”

Natasha didn’t even look at her as she walked toward the door. “Yes.”

The garage was too quiet when Jake Walker walked in. It wasn’t the usual silence after a race, the kind that settled in after a long day on the track. It wasn’t the hum of cooling engines or the distant murmurs of the pit crew. No. This silence meant something was wrong. He slowed his steps, scanning the empty space. Normally, there would be a few mechanics analyzing data, prepping the cars. But tonight?

Only she was there. Natasha stood at the workbench, arms crossed over her chest, waiting. She wasn’t in a suit, not in formal attire. She was still in her racing gear, the sleeves of her fireproof suit tied around her waist, the black tank top hugging her toned frame. This wasn’t business. This was personal. A cold feeling settled in Jake’s stomach, but he forced himself to stay relaxed as he stepped closer. “Hey.” he greeted, his voice calm, controlled. “What’s going on?”

She didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she opened the folder in her hand with practiced ease and then, with a precise flick of her wrist, tossed it onto the table in front of him. Jake frowned and looked down. The moment he saw the contents, his stomach clenched. His contract negotiations. His meetings. His plans. Plans Natasha wasn’t supposed to know about. His mouth went dry. “Listen, I can explai-”

“You thought you could outsmart me.” Her voice was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that was more dangerous than shouting. Jake clenched his jaw. “It’s not what you think-”

Natasha finally looked at him. Really looked at him. And for the first time in his career, Jake felt fear. “You could have left for a better team.” she said calmly, tilting her head slightly, her voice devoid of emotion. “I would have understood.”

A pause. A suffocating pause. “But you didn’t.” Jake swallowed, straightening his posture. “It was just negotiations!” he began. “This is standard practice-”

Natasha stepped closer. Not aggressively. Controlled. Calculated. “Do you think I don’t know how this business works?” Her voice was almost mocking. “I’ve been in this world longer than you’ve been relevant. I know the game. And this?” She gestured toward the folder. “This isn’t a smart move. It’s not strategy.”

Another step. “This is greed.” Jake’s hands twitched at his sides, frustration bubbling up. “It’s money!” he snapped. “And in case you forgot, that’s what keeps this whole place running..”

Natasha actually smiled. A small, cold, deadly smile. “No.” she said simply. “I keep this running.”

Jake’s breath hitched for a moment, but he held his ground. “This is a big mistake..” he growled. “You fire me, and I lose everything. My sponsors, my place in the season- you know damn well no one will sign me now! You’re destroying me!”

Natasha tilted her head, as if considering it. Then she shrugged. “Yes.” Jake’s fists clenched, his frustration shifting into pure, bitter anger. “Do you really think you can just replace me?”

Natasha’s smile widened. “I don’t need to replace you.” she said softly, razor-sharp. “I need someone better.” Jake inhaled sharply, his jaw tightening so hard his teeth ached. His hands twitched, as if he wanted to hit something, do something.

But he didn’t. Because even he wasn’t that stupid. Instead, he stepped back. His chest rose and fell heavily, his career crumbling before his eyes. And Natasha? She didn’t care. Jake exhaled sharply through his nose, straightened his posture, and forced his face into a neutral expression. “You’ll regret this.” he muttered.

Natasha smiled. “No, Walker.” she said quietly. “I won’t.” Jake’s jaw clenched. Then he turned and stormed out. The door slammed behind him. Yelena let out a low whistle. “Well..” she murmured, still chewing her gum, “that was dramatic.”

Natasha exhaled slowly, shaking off the last traces of irritation before turning back to the workbench. Yelena stretched and tilted her head. “You do realize you just fired your only driver, right? The championship is in three months, and we now have exactly zero people for that seat.” She popped her gum. “Even for you, that’s a bold move.”

Natasha didn’t respond right away. Instead, she reached for her gloves and pulled them on with a quiet certainty. “I don’t need just anyone.” she finally said. “I need someone who’s willing to risk everything.”

Yelena chuckled softly. “Right. And where exactly do you plan on finding someone that crazy?” Natasha’s lips barely twitched. “Where no one else is looking.”

——

You were crouched beside the open hood of a sleek, jet-black race car, your fingers gliding gently along the edge of the exposed engine. The scent of oil and gasoline clung to your skin, mixing with the fabric of your grease-stained overalls.

“You’re stubborn today..” you murmured, tightening a bolt with a practiced twist of your wrist. A quiet laugh sounded behind you. “She’s talking to them again?”

“Like they’re her children.” another mechanic chuckled. You didn’t look up. “First of all..” You called back, your voice playful but firm, “He prefers to be addressed with respect. And second unlike you idiots, he actually listens to me.”

More laughter. Because that was the thing about you. Everyone here liked you. You weren’t just any mechanic. You weren’t just someone who knew these cars inside and out, someone who could tell what was wrong just by the sound of an engine.

You were one of them.. A racer, a mechanic, an engineer, everyone in the garage respected you. You pulled the final bolt tight, exhaled, and slid out from under the car. “Hey..” a voice called. You turned. One of the engineers, a burly man with a permanent oil stain on his shirt, waved you over.

“She’s ready for a test run.” he said, nodding toward the car you’d been working on. “You up for it?” You hesitated. You always hesitated. One lap. Just to check the steering, the brakes, the feel of the engine. It wasn’t about speed. It wasn’t about pushing limits. It never felt like just a test. “Yeah.” you said firmly. “I’ll do it.”

The grandstands were full. A restless sea of bodies leaning forward, voices rising in a chaotic mix of cheers and curses as the race unfolded before them. But Natasha didn’t see the race like they did. She studied it. Arms crossed, weight balanced perfectly, she stood at the edge of the pit lane, eyes locked onto the track as the cars tore through the corners like bullets.

The floodlights cast sharp shadows over her face, making her expression even colder. Beside her, Yelena leaned casually against the railing, popping a piece of gum into her mouth, watching the race with far less intensity. “This is a waste of time..” Yelena muttered, chewing. “Same game, different track. You’re not going to find what you’re looking for here.”

Natasha didn’t respond. Because for the past few weeks, Yelena had been right. Driver after driver. Race after race. And nothing. No fire. No hunger. No one who understood the difference between fast and fearless. She inhaled slowly, concealing her frustration. She didn’t need an arrogant, hot-headed rookie. She didn’t need someone who thought they were great.

And then..she saw something. A blue car. It moved differently. Not with the reckless aggression of the others, not with the desperate hunger to overtake. No..it was precise. Every corner was a conversation, a fine-tuned balance between speed and control. The driver wasn’t fighting the car. They were one with it.

But something was wrong. Natasha’s eyes narrowed. The movements were too careful, too calculated. Held back, as if the driver was testing the limits, but refusing to cross them. She had seen this before. This wasn’t a driver racing for the win. This was someone racing against ghosts. Yelena noticed the shift in Natasha’s posture and followed her gaze. “Huh..” she murmured. “That’s..different.”

Natasha didn’t look away from the track. “Who is that?” Yelena waved over an official, a man who looked both honored and terrified to be standing so close to the Romanoff sisters. “The blue car!” Yelena said, nodding toward the track. “Who’s behind the wheel?”

The official hesitated. “That’s..Y/n Y/l/n.” Natasha’s jaw tightened slightly. She knew that name. Yelena let out a low whistle, her usual amusement fading into something more serious. “Damn..” she muttered. She turned to Natasha. “You remember her, don’t you?”

Natasha didn’t answer. Of course, she remembered. For years, you had been untouchable. A legend before you had even reached your prime. You raced like you had nothing to lose, like fear was a concept you had never learned. Till you crashed. Not just any crash. A nightmare. An accident so brutal, so catastrophic, that no one thought you would survive.

For weeks, the footage had played on every sports channel. The final lap of the championship race. You were in the lead, seconds from victory, until it happened. A clipped rear wing. A high-speed spin at 320 km/h. The impact was monstrous. Metal crumpled like paper, the car flipping multiple times, sent flying across the track, disintegrating in a cascade of sparks and fire. When the wreck finally came to a stop, it was nothing more than a charred, mangled cage of steel.

And inside? You. Broken, bleeding and unconscious. Two minutes. No pulse. Natasha pieced the details together in her head, the puzzle clicking into place. She knew what an accident like that did to a driver. It rooted itself deep inside them. It changed instincts. It turned the greatest passion into the greatest fear.

Yet despite everything, despite the hesitation in your movements, there was still something in your driving. A familiarity. A certainty in your instincts that no one ever truly lost. Yelena watched the race with new intensity. “This isn’t just a clean lap..” she murmured. “This is art.”

Natasha gave the smallest nod, never taking her eyes off the track. This wasn’t just a test run. This was someone who wasn’t just testing a car. This was someone who understood it. A corner. One that any test driver would take cautiously, just to gather data. But you? You took it like you were still a racer.

Perfectly timed. Perfectly felt. For the briefest second, for a heartbeat you forgot yourself. Natasha saw it in real-time. The moment you drove on instinct alone. The moment you let go. Natasha recognized the exact moment it happened. The way the car suddenly slowed down, the way the caution returned to your movements.

You stopped yourself. Natasha exhaled slowly. “She’s not just testing.” she murmured. “She’s driving like the car still belongs to her.” The man standing beside her sighed heavily. “Yeah,..” he said quietly. “She still does.”

Yelena frowned, watching as you pulled into the pit lane. “That’s not a driver who doesn’t want to race.” Natasha already knew that. She just didn’t say it out loud. Because she had already figured it out. That hesitation, the moment you held yourself back, told her everything she needed to know.

You weren’t here to test cars. You were here because you couldn’t stay away. And yet, the moment you stepped out of the car, the moment your feet hit the asphalt, you buried it again. The helmet stayed on. Your posture remained closed off, controlled. You handed over the keys, exchanged barely a word, and walked straight back into the garage.

Natasha moved. But before she could take another step, she felt a firm hand on her arm. Slowly, she turned her head and met the calm, knowing gaze of the man beside her. His grip wasn’t hard, but it was definitive. The kind that said: Don’t do it. He knew exactly what she was about to do. And he knew it wouldn’t work.

“She’s not looking for a comeback, Romanoff.” he said. His voice was quiet, but heavy. Natasha didn’t pull away, but she didn’t back down either. “She’s already back.” she countered softly. “She’s on the track.”

The man exhaled slowly through his nose. “Not the way you think.” Yelena folded her arms, glancing toward the garage. “Then why is she here?” The man was silent for a long time. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he sighed, rubbing a tired hand over his face. “Because this is the only place that still makes sense to her.”

Natasha remained still. That was an answer she understood all too well. “She disappeared after the crash..” the man continued. “Not just from racing. From everything. No press. No statements. No farewell speech. She just…vanished. And you know what? I think she really wanted to. I think she wanted to convince herself she was done.”

Yelena let out a quiet scoff. “I remember the crash.” she muttered. “Everyone does.” Yeah. Everyone did. Before the accident, your name had been spoken with reverence. A rising legend. A driver who had seemed untouchable. Then, in a single moment. The fall.

Not just any loss. A wreck so violent people had looked away from their screens. A crash that had silenced entire stadiums. “She was dead.” Yelena murmured. “Two minutes, right?”

The old man nodded slowly. “Two minutes. No pulse. The medics pulled her from the wreck thinking they were recovering a body, not saving a life.” Natasha turned to Yelena. “I want to meet her.”

Yelena grinned. “Are you sure? She doesn’t look like she wants to be found.” Natasha’s gaze hardened. “She’s already been to hell,” she murmured. “She can handle me.” And with that, the decision was made.

She moved through it all with quiet precision, out of place but completely in control. She wasn’t dressed for the chaos of the garage, no oil-stained coveralls, no smudges of grease, no heavy gloves. She didn’t belong here, and yet, every step she took demanded the kind of presence that made people move out of her way without a word.

She spotted you immediately, half under a car, legs stretched out, one hand buried deep in the engine bay. The way you worked wasn’t just methodical, it was intimate. The way your fingers moved, the way you tested a part, listened to the engine hum, made minute adjustments you weren’t just fixing a machine. You understood it.

Natasha stopped a few feet away, tilting her head slightly as she watched. “You drive like someone who doesn’t belong here.” You froze. It was small, barely noticeable, the slight hesitation of your wrist before you finished tightening whatever part you had been working on. But Natasha caught it.

Because she was always watching. A slow, measured breath left your lips before you rolled out from under the car, sitting up with your arms resting against your knees. There was grease smeared across your cheek, a few loose strands of hair sticking to your temple from the heat, but none of that mattered.

Because the second your eyes met Natasha’s, you knew. Your posture shifted. Not in shock, not in surprise. In recognition. And then, just as quickly, in rejection. “No.”

Natasha arched a brow, unfazed. “I didn’t ask anything yet.” You grabbed a rag, wiping your hands with slow, deliberate movements before standing up. “You didn’t have to.” Natasha smirked slightly, though there was no humor in it. “You know who I am.”

You exhaled, shaking your head as you grabbed a bottle of water from the nearby workbench. “Everyone in this business knows who you are.” You twisted the cap off, took a sip, and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand before turning your gaze back to Natasha. “And I already know why you’re here.”

Natasha studied you, taking in the subtle tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers flexed slightly before stilling. You weren’t just expecting this conversation, you had already decided against it.

“You need a driver.” you continued before Natasha could even open her mouth. “And you think I should be it.” Natasha didn’t confirm or deny it. She didn’t have to. You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “Not happening.”

Natasha tilted her head slightly. “You didn’t even hear my offer.”

“Don’t need to.” You tossed the rag onto the workbench, your movements final. “I don’t race.”

Natasha stepped forward. “You don’t compete.” You turned away, picking up another tool and adjusting something in the car. “Same thing.”

The silence that stretched between you wasn’t tense, it was a battle. Natasha wasn’t used to people walking away from her. She wasn’t used to people ignoring her. But you? You didn’t hesitate to turn your back.

Natasha narrowed her eyes slightly. “I watched you on the track.” You kept working. “Good for you.”

“You’re not just testing the cars.” Natasha’s voice was quieter now, but sharper, cutting through the noise of the garage like a blade. “You’re still racing.”

Your hands stilled for a fraction of a second. Then, just as quickly, you kept moving. Natasha pressed forward. “I saw the way you took that turn. The way you adjusted, the way you let the car move with you instead of fighting it.” She stepped closer, her voice lowering just enough to make you listen. “A test driver wouldn’t drive like that.”

You exhaled, slamming the hood of the car shut harder than necessary. “Whatever you think you saw.” you muttered, voice tight, “it doesn’t matter.”

Natasha didn’t move. She stood her ground, unwavering. “You belong on the track.” You laughed. It wasn’t amused. It wasn’t light. It was sharp, bitter, the kind of laugh that had too much weight behind it.

You finally turned, your expression unreadable, but your voice was cold when you spoke. “I belonged there. Past tense.”

Natasha held your gaze. “That’s not what I saw.” You wiped your hands again, slower this time, more deliberate. “Then you weren’t looking hard enough.”

Silence. Natasha exhaled through her nose, rolling her shoulders back slightly. “You can tell yourself that all you want, but I know a racer when I see one. And you?” She smirked faintly. “You’re still racing. You just don’t want to admit it.”

Your jaw ticked. For a moment, Natasha thought she had you. Thought she had struck the nerve she needed to. But then, you simply shook your head and grabbed a wrench. “Go find someone else, Romanoff.” You turned back to the car, your shoulders set, your posture final.

This conversation was over. Natasha studied you for a long moment, weighing her options. She could push. She could demand, argue, try to break through the wall you had built.

But she knew better. She knew when to walk away. At least, for now. She exhaled slowly, stepping back. “You know where to find me.”

You didn’t respond. Natasha didn’t expect you to. She turned, walking out of the garage, her steps slow, controlled. She wasn’t done. She wasn’t giving up. Because no matter how much you tried to deny it, Natasha had already seen the truth. You were still a racer. And Natasha Romanoff always got what she wanted.

As she stepped outside, the night air cooler than the thick heat of the garage, Yelena fell into step beside her, hands shoved into the pockets of her leather jacket. She had been watching from a distance, leaning against the wall near the entrance, casually observing the entire exchange.

After a few seconds of silence, she let out a low whistle, smirking. “That might be the first time I’ve seen someone tell you to go to hell and actually get away with it.” Natasha didn’t slow her stride. “She didn’t tell me to go to hell.”

Yelena popped her gum. “No, but she might as well have.” She studied her sister’s expression, intrigued. “So, what’s the plan now? You actually gonna let that be the end of it?”

Natasha didn’t hesitate. “No.” Yelena chuckled. “Didn’t think so.”

Days went by and you were again on the track. The first laps were smooth. You drove with focus, feeling the car’s balance, analyzing every movement, every response. No risks. No unnecessary speed. It wasn’t a race. Just a test run.

And then you saw it. In the rearview mirror. Another car, at the end of the straight, right in the middle of the track. You blinked. That couldn’t be. No other car was supposed to be here. But it was.

Then your radio crackled. “You’re driving like a damn rookie.” Your heart stopped. That voice. You gritted your teeth. “What the hell are you doing here?” She didn’t answer immediately. Her silence was almost worse than her words. “Drive.”

You shook your head, pressing the radio button harder than necessary. “I’m working. Get off the track.”

“Make me.”

Your fingers tightened around the wheel. The red car moved. Slowly, controlled. It slid into your line, blocking your path, positioning itself exactly where you needed to go. “Romanoff..” you growled.

“You think you can ignore me?” Her voice was sharp. “That I’ll just stand by and disappear?”

“I’m not here for a damn game.”

“Oh, but you are. You just don’t know it yet.”

Her car kept moving, staying exactly in your line. No gap. No escape.

“I don’t have time for this shit.”

Natasha laughed, a dark, mocking sound. “Oh, you have time. You’ve wasted years hiding. Not today.”

Your pulse was racing now. A fine tremor ran through your hands, your chest rising and falling faster than it should.

“Get. Out. Of. My. Way.”

“Make. Me.”

Her voice was calm. Almost amused.

“This isn’t a damn negotiation!”

“No. It’s a race.” And then she took off. Suddenly, the red car wasn’t just an obstacle. It was a shadow, shooting past you, positioning itself ahead, dominating every damn turn.

She gave you no choice. You felt your grip on the wheel tighten, your jaw clenching. “You think you can just challenge me?”

“I know you want it.”

Your heart pounded. “Shut up.”

“Drive.”

She pushed you. Drove more aggressively, more recklessly, cutting you off, giving you no damn room to breathe.

“You’ve gotten weak.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. “Shut. Up.”

“You used to be someone I respected.”

“I will shove you off this track if you don’t-”

“Then do it.” She knew damn well you wouldn’t. Your hands were shaking. Your breath was shallow.

“You’re not yourself anymore, are you?” Those words dug under your skin, a pain deeper than any physical wound. You hated her in that moment. Hated her for her arrogance. Hated her for knowing you. Hated her because she was right.

“Do you know what disappoints me most about you?” she continued, as if this was some damn therapy session. “It’s not the crash. It’s not that you fell. It’s that you don’t even try to get back up.”

And that was the moment. The moment something inside you snapped. A break. A damn fire you had suffocated for so long that you had almost forgotten it was ever there. Your foot slammed onto the gas. “Fuck you.”

The engine roared. The car responded instantly, as if it had been waiting for this moment. Suddenly, there was no hesitation. No fear. No voices from the past. Just speed. And a damn red shadow ahead of you, one you would finally chase. The engine roared under your control as you pushed the gas pedal down. Your car shot forward, vibrating with an intensity that traveled through your bones, but Natasha was there.

Like a damn predator. The red car moved with terrifying precision, cutting you off again and again, blocking your best lines, forcing you into her trap. She gave you no room to breathe, no moment of control. This wasn’t a challenge. It was a show of dominance. Every turn, every straight-line maneuver was a damn game. But not just any game. It was her game. And she made sure you lost.

The next corner approached with brutal speed. A sharp right turn, one that would demand everything. Your fingers clenched around the steering wheel, your body was ready, but your mind wasn’t. You were supposed to brake. A fraction of a second earlier than usual to maintain control. But then Natasha moved over. Hard. Aggressive. Too soon. Way too soon.

Your breath caught. What the hell is she doing? Her line was a disaster, too tight, too risky. She forced you to the outer edge, pushing you into a damn dead end. “Brake.” Her voice cut through the radio. Ice-cold. “Brake or crash.”

Your heart pounded. Your instincts screamed, she had you exactly where she wanted. But your body… your damn body wouldn’t listen. Your leg twitched, your foot wanted to press the brake. Just like back then. Just like on the day you last really raced. A flash shot through your mind, the impact, the screeching metal, the blood. The silence afterward. Your hands trembled. Natasha knew. She knew exactly what she was doing.

“Do it.” her voice came through again. “Do it or stop calling yourself a driver.” Your rage exploded. “Romanoff!!!” You yanked the steering wheel, forcing the car into an impossibly tight line, feeling the tires fight for every inch of traction. Your body tensed, everything in you screamed that you wouldn’t make it.

But you did. Your car flew through the corner, just a hair’s breadth from Natasha’s, so close you could swear her gaze burned through the helmet straight into your soul. But she didn’t brake. She stayed with you. She dragged you with her. “Yeah..” you heard her growl as your cars raced side by side down the straight. “That’s it.”

Your whole body burned. Your muscles locked under the tension. This wasn’t a damn race anymore. This was war. And you hated her. Hated that she had brought you here. Hated that you needed it. Hated that you had missed it. The final turn approached. Fast, treacherous. The kind of turn where drivers either proved themselves, or failed. Natasha went in first. Her line was perfect. Almost too perfect.

You could have let her go. Could have let her take the lead. But you didn’t. No. Not today. Not anymore. The anger boiled over, your head screamed against all the voices that had held you back for years. You want me to take risks? Then fine, here you go. You ripped the car into the turn harder than ever before, deeper than anyone would have dared, taking an impossible line, one that couldn’t work.

It didn’t have to work. It just had to prove you weren’t afraid anymore. The tires screamed under the pressure, your car shook, the chassis vibrated as if it would fall apart, but you held the line. And for the first time in this whole damn race, you heard nothing from Natasha. No command. No taunt. Just silence. The finish line came into sight, you and Natasha racing towards it, but you didn’t care.

You had surprised her. For the first time, you had turned the tables. Adrenaline rushed through your blood, your body electric as your cars crossed the line. For a moment, the world was nothing but white noise. Then silence. You tore the helmet off your head before the car even stopped. Your hands were shaking..but not from fear. From anger. Anger at Natasha. Anger that she had dared. That she had pushed you this far.

That she…That she had done it. You jumped out of the car, your pulse pounding as you stormed past her. “See? I-”

“Fuck you, Romanoff.” you spat, your voice trembling with barely suppressed rage. You didn’t look back. Not at her. Not at the car. Not at the damn monster she had awakened in you.

——

You lay on your bed, arms folded behind your head, staring at the ceiling. Since you had come home, you hadn’t spoken to anyone. Not because there was nothing to say. But because you couldn’t. Your head was full. Full of her laughter. Full of the screeching tires, of the way your heart had pounded when you almost lost control. Full of that damn fire Natasha had reignited in you.

You hated her. Hated her because she knew exactly what she was doing. Hated her because she had brought you back to a place you swore you’d never return to. Hated her because it had felt..damn it..alive.

You gritted your teeth and rubbed your face, exhausted. Your whole body was still tense, as if you were about to get back into the car. The tension just wouldn’t fade. For years, you had held back. For years, you had done everything to bury that part of yourself. And then she came along.

Romanoff. And within minutes, she had torn it all down. A knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts. “Y/n, dinner’s ready!” Your mother’s voice. Warm, kind, the kind that usually calmed you. But not today. You didn’t want to go downstairs. Didn’t want to pretend everything was normal, as if yesterday hadn’t happened. But if you didn’t, there would be questions. And questions were the last thing you needed.

So you forced yourself out of bed, pulled on a sweatshirt, and shuffled down the stairs. The kitchen was warm, the smell of food lingering in the air. Your mother was still at the stove, your father already sitting at the table, scrolling through his phone, while your little brother sat next to him, tapping his fork against his plate.

You sat down silently, grabbed a bowl of food, and started eating without looking at anyone. Maybe they wouldn’t notice. Maybe tonight would just be a normal evening. “Y/n were driving again yesterday!” The fork in your hand froze. A cold shiver ran down your spine. Slowly, painfully slowly, you lifted your gaze.

Your little brother grinned at you, completely unaware of what he had just done. “Yeah, she was on the track! I saw it! Her car was really fast!”Silence. A different kind of silence. The kind that comes before a storm. Slowly, your father put his phone down. Your mother turned away from the stove, still holding the spoon in her hand, her eyes wide with shock.

“What?” Her voice was quiet. Too quiet.

“It was just a test run..” you tried to keep your voice calm. “Nothing serious.”

“A test run?” Your father leaned back, his brow furrowed deeply. “Since when are you driving again?”

“I’m not.”

“Oh yes, you are!” your brother chimed in cheerfully. “And you’re really good! I even saw videos!”

“Jacob, shut up!!” You snapped. Your mother looked at you like she didn’t recognize you. “We talked about this.”

“I know!”

“No, apparently, you don’t!” Her voice was sharper now. “I thought you wanted to leave it behind. I thought you were done with all of this.” Your jaw tightened. “I am.”

“You were driving.”

“It was nothing.”

“It was something..” your father cut in now, his tone cool, controlled, but you could hear the underlying frustration.

“After everything that happened? After the accident?” Your mother’s voice was rising now. “And now you’re telling us it was nothing?”

Your hands curled into fists under the table. “I didn’t want to, okay?” you finally said, your voice lower. “She…she pushed me into it.”

“She?” Your father frowned. “Who?”

You swallowed hard. You could have lied. Could have made something up. But what would have been the point? “Natasha Romanoff.” The name dropped into the room like a weight. Your father took in a sharp breath. Your mother froze for a moment, as if she wasn’t sure she had heard correctly. “Natasha Romanoff?” Her tone wavered somewhere between disbelief and concern.

“Yes.” Your father slowly shook his head, like he couldn’t believe it. “That woman is…Y/n, she’s dangerous.”

“She’s a damn legend..!” your brother chimed in excitedly, as if you had just spoken about a hero. “Jacob, you stay out of this!” your father snapped, shooting him a quick glance before his focus returned to you. “And she’s the one who got you back in a car?”

You felt the anger rising inside you, but it wasn’t the explosive, loud kind. It was deeper. Simmering. Because they made it sound like you had no choice. But you did. And you made it. “I did it myself..” you murmured.

“Against her?” Your mother stared at you in disbelief. You nodded. Her face paled. Your father let out a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, that’s fantastic. First, she races you, then she pushes you to keep going? What the hell does this woman want from you?”

“I don’t know.” The lie came too easily. But you did know. Natasha had told you. She wanted to bring you back. And the worst part of it all, the part that made your stomach turn, was that some part of you wanted it too.

Your mother rubbed a hand over her face, exhaustion clear in her posture. “I don’t understand…after everything that happened, why would you even let her get to you?” Because she cornered me. Because she pushed me. Because she saw what I couldn’t admit. But you didn’t say it. “It was a mistake.”

Your own voice sounded hollow. Your father studied you for a long moment, as if he were searching for something between the lines. But then your mother slowly shook her head. “If you drive again…” Her voice was firm. “If you really go back…then that’s it.” The words cut through you like a blade.

“What?”

“Then you’re on your own. You’re completely on your own.”

You looked at her in shock. “That’s not fair-”

“It is.” She said, her gaze steady, sharp. “Because we’re not doing this again. We almost lost you once. Almost buried you. I will not sit back and watch you put yourself in danger again.”

It felt like the air had been sucked out of your lungs. You knew they were worried. You knew, to them, this was never just a sport, it was the thing that almost took their child from them. But this? This was an ultimatum.

“This isn’t fair!” you muttered, your hands clenched into fists beneath the table. “Life isn’t fair.” your father said simply. And that was the end of the discussion. Silence settled over the table, thick and suffocating. Your food tasted like nothing. Slowly, you stood up, pushing your chair back. “I’m tired.”

“Y/n-”

“Good night.” You left them at the table, feeling their stares on your back as you climbed the stairs. As soon as your door closed behind you, you collapsed onto the bed, rubbing your hands over your face. Damn it. You had never been this angry before. Not just at them. At yourself. Because a part of you knew your mother was right. But another part…Another part knew it was too late.

Days passed, but you couldn’t shut it off. Every time you were on the track, she was in your head. When you walked through your front door, you thought you’d finally get a quiet afternoon. No cars. No Natasha. Just you. “Do you really think she’s happy?”

You froze in the doorway. Your fingers tightened around your keys. Slowly, almost unwillingly, you stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind you. The voices were coming from the living room. You could hear your mother, upset, almost pleading. Your father? Silent. And then..Natasha. She was here. Oh, hell.

You forced your legs to move, following the sounds into the living room. And when you turned the corner, you saw the scene before you. Your mother sat on the couch, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line. Your father stood by the window, hands in his pockets, his shoulders tense.

And in the middle of the room, completely relaxed, as if she belonged there, sat Natasha. She had one leg crossed over the other, hands resting loosely on the armrests. Her posture was calm, controlled..but her eyes? Her eyes were ice. She knew she wasn’t welcome here. But she sat there like it didn’t matter. Your mother shot her a withering glare. “My daughter is happy! She chose to leave this madness behind.”

Natasha blinked slowly. Then she looked at your father. “And you? Do you believe that?” Your stomach twisted. Your father said nothing. He had been silent the entire time. Your mother had been the one who stayed at your bedside after the crash. The one who held your hand when the doctors said you might never walk again. The one who swore you’d never sit in a cockpit again.

But your father? He had accepted it. Never questioned your decision. Supported you, but never really talked about it. Now, he looked at you. Not at Natasha. You. And in his eyes, you saw something you didn’t expect. He was searching for an answer. Your throat felt dry.

“Dad..” you murmured. “Tell her to leave.” But he didn’t. Natasha studied him carefully. Her voice was quiet, almost gentle. “You know, don’t you? You see it.”

His brow furrowed. “See what?”

“That she’s lying to herself.”

His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. “Look at her.” Natasha continued, still watching him. “You say she’s moved on. That she’s chosen to stop racing. But do you really believe that? Or is that just the story you tell yourself so you don’t have to worry anymore?”

“Stop this..” your mother snapped. “She made her decision. You act like you know her better than her own family!”

Natasha slowly turned her head. Her gaze was hard, but not angry. Just cold. Precise. “I don’t know her better.” she said. “But I know what I saw yesterday. And that was not someone who quit.”

Your hands curled into fists. “It was a mistake.”

“Then why are you still thinking about it?”

Silence. You could hear your mother take a deep breath, her fingers clenched around the glass on the coffee table. “I don’t understand you..” she whispered. “Why are you doing this? Why won’t you just leave her alone?”

“Because she can’t.” Natasha said simply. Your breath caught. “People like her don’t just stop.” Natasha continued, her voice now quiet, intense. “They can try. They can tell themselves it’s over, that they can live a different life. But deep down, they know better.”

Her gaze shifted back to you. “You know better.” Your heart pounded. Your nails dug into your palms. “No.”

Natasha tilted her head slightly. “Yes.” She reached into the inside of her bag, pulled out a folder, and placed it slowly on the coffee table. “This.” she said calmly, “is a contract.” You stared at it as if it were a weapon. “A seat. A team. A new chance.” Natasha continued. “You don’t have to take it. I won’t force you.”

Your mother sucked in a sharp breath. “You don’t seriously expect-”

“No.” Natasha interrupted her. “I don’t expect anything, Mrs. Y/l/n.” Her eyes were back on you. “But I know what’s going to happen. You’ll ignore it. You’ll pretend you don’t want it. But every night, this damn thing will be in your head. You’ll think about it. About the race. About the feeling. And one day, you won’t be able to deny it anymore.”

Your pulse roared in your ears. Your mother shook her head vehemently. “Please leave now..” Your father still said nothing. He was looking at you. And you knew that he knew. That he had always known. You didn’t want it. You really didn’t. But you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

And Natasha knew it. “Take the contract.” Natasha said quietly. “Or tear it up. But if you do, do it because you’re sure. Not because you’re afraid.” You swallowed hard. Your hands trembled slightly as you reached for the folder. But you didn’t open it. You turned away. And without another word, you left the room. The contract felt heavy in your hand. Behind you, complete silence.

Then, you heard Natasha stand up. “I won’t try to convince you again.” she said calmly. “But I promise you one thing. If you tear it up, it won’t go away. This feeling. It will never leave you alone.”

You exhaled shakily. Heard the front door open. Heard it close again. And then Natasha was gone. You stood in the darkness of the hallway, the paper still in your fingers. You wanted to get rid of it. You wanted to ignore it. But your hands wouldn’t move. Because you knew Natasha was right.

-

-

-

-

-

[beifong-brainrot]

I don't know why I feel so numb towards the new Avatar announcement. Like I'm not excited for it. But I'm also not as devastated and pessimistic about it as a lot of people are about it.

Like yeah, Korra haters are crawling out of the mud and shit again, but they would've taken ANY excuse to hate on her. Like, even if it were all sunshines and rainbows in a post Korra world they would probably be going on about how she was a 'weak avatar with no accomplishments' or a Mary Sue or something like that.

I'm cautiously suspecting that Avatar Studios are going for a Kuruk-style story with Korra, where she was somehow defamed. It seems that the Avatar books were a sort of testing ground for them, as the 'Avatar's twin' plotline was also teased in the Roku book.

I understand why this upsets some people, as it gives Korra an ultimately unhappy life and leaves her as hated in-world. However, I don't think we should jump to conclusions of Bryke somehow wanting to 'destroy' Korra's character, just because they didn't give her a happy life. Characters like the aforementioned Kuruk, and fan favourite Toph Beifong didn't have 'happy endings' in the traditional sense, but that enhances their characters, in my opinion. Like yeah, it's tragic that sometimes storylines are sad- but that doesn't make them bad storylines.

Is it a bummer that Korra seemingly had a tragic life? Yeah. But also, she's the Avatar, and would inevitably face a lot of strife in her life- and not do things perfectly. Aang also faced difficulties and had problems in his adult life.

It also feels like there's a potential meta storyline going on there, potentially having the in world hate towards Korra tied to the IRL hate towards Korra. This isn't the first time Korra's character has been used for more meta-style commentary, as a lot of her character surrounded her trying to measure up to Aang, whilie also trying to be her own person- a potential coentary on what making a follow up to atla must've been like.

And also- we are JUMPING to conclusions over leaks and blurbs.

I think my main personal concerns with the Seven Havens lie with the fact that it feels like a soft reboot of sorts. With tlok, despite its technological advancements, which I did have issues with, we see very clearly how we got to point A to point B. The world Korra inhabits feels the same as the world Aang inhabits.

Seven Havens seems to have had a post apocalyptic vibe, where the world has changed drastically, reshaping the four nations into seven new 'havens' and changing the way the Avatar is percieved. It feels like a huge departure from the previous series - which could be fine- but also feels like waste.

The world of Avatar is so complex and has been built up through multiple series, books and comics. To have it reshaped completely feels like throwing out such a rich compendium of lore and stories.

It also worries me, as it likely throws away tlok's very imteresting work with politics. While tlok didn't always tackle the dissection if politics correctly, it at least had the courage to discuss these complex topics. Getting rid of the four nations will probably toss away a lot of these politocal effects of Korra's tenure as Avatar, for example- the democratisation of the Earth Kingdom.

Reading the atla comics (while the fandom loves to bitch and moan about them) is a satisfying experience, because I get to see the building blocks for Korra's time being set up- for example the creation of Republic City. However, my concern is that any future tlok comics will feel unimportant- due to the fact that the characters accomplishments will likely be undone several years later.

I also worry that they're going to try to 'depoliticise' the next show. Dismantling tloks' complex political climate is one alarm bell. Making the new avatar a young child, seemingly even younger than Aang, despite a good chunk of the fans being adults at this point, feels like its hinting towards making the show less complex and 'grown up'. Of course, a protagonist being a certain age doesn't necessarily mean the target audience is supposed to be that age too- however it does set a model of how the world will be mainly shown to us- through the eyes of a young child.

And while Avatar gave us a serious show for kids- atla being relatively deeper than most kids shows of its time, I don't know if Seven Havens will be able to replicate that perfect storm, especially with a lot of kids media nowadays being so heavily scrutinised and policed.

Also not really as hyped for the earthbending twins concept because I already have MY preferred set of earthbending twins. "Oh but one of them is the Avatar and-" don't care. Beifong twins my belovedst.

They should've somehow kept the naming scheme set by Poi & Ping and Wei & Wing it would've been funny.

[luiluvr]

all the stars || luigi mangione

first non-request fic :p …😓😓 this may be more than one part idk idk LMK IF U GUYS ARE INTERESTED!!! this is also highschool!luigi so it’s sfw :3

WARNINGS: none! just a fluff fic 🤍 female!reader, uses of y/n, alternates between luigi’s & reader pov.. proofread but if there’s mistakes lmk! :D

SUMMARY: on a field trip, you happen to bump into some prestigious, all-boys school. one of those boys has been admiring you since you stepped inside, and it’s probably love at first sight—for him.

Luigi’s efforts of staying single and focusing on graduation had been excellent. Sure, he pondered the wonderful world of love his buddies described- as they spoke on their loving, gorgeous girlfriends. He never got to that point, even when a girl did try and talk to him, he was too nervous—despite his occasional, cheesy pick up lines and natural charisma; deep down he didn’t think he was a good ‘other half.’ His friends encouraged him to meet someone, or go on a blind date with one of their girlfriend’s friends, but he refused. It wasn’t a waste of time rather it was his own nerves kicking his ass when he actually liked someone.

And oh boy, were those nerves kicking in now.

He was still in high school—specifically his senior year. It may not be much to other students; but he sees it as his final opportunity to excel and show his potential to the colleges he wanted to attend. No time for a relationship in that chaos, right?

Wrong.

He was staring down the prettiest girl he’d ever seen in his entire life. Right now. On this field trip. He wasn’t sure if it was the gray zip-up sweater, or if it was really warm inside. All he knew was he saw you.

You were so pretty with your knitted sweater and maroon-colored skirt. If he could he would’ve just dropped to his knees right there in front of you. He was in over his head, he didn’t know your name, but he already fell in love with you. Just by your smile you flashed to probable friends, the way you inspect the paintings in the museum, the way your eyes flutter as you listen intently to the tour guide.

Everything about you is perfect.

He exhaled shaky, he felt like a creep for staring so hard. He might’ve gazed a hole in the back of your head if he kept on. His buddy Grady noticed—he grins and elbows Luigi, “Staring’s considered rude, Luigi.” He laughs quietly as to not disturb the tour. “Oh shut up, Grady.” Luigi mumbles. Grady was an A-Class, nosey-ass; but Luigi liked him. He could be fun to have around sometimes. “She’s just really pretty.”

Grady pointed at you, with your little clutch in hand, “The one in the sweater?” Luigi nodded. “She looks like she fell right out of a painting.” He says.

Grady chuckles, bumping him again, “You’re whipped, dude.”

“So what? I can like a pretty girl if I want.” He says defensively.

“Never said you couldn’t. It’s just odd for you.” Well he wasn’t lying… Luigi sighed, “I know.” He continues walking forward, then Grady leans next to his ear as he’s inspecting some little archive. “You should go talk to her. The tour’s gonna end soon, she isn’t gonna notice if you don’t say something.”

Unfortunately, Grady was right. Very right. Luigi pushed forward, shoving his hands in his jean pockets—trying to reach where you were near the front. He did. You weren’t even a foot away, you looked so beautiful. His mouth went dry, he rubs his arm as you’re reading over the description of some rock or fossil, whatever. He clears his throat softly, moving a tad bit closer to you.

You take notice, assuming he wants to read as well. “Sorry.” You said quietly. He shakes his head, putting a hand up, “No, no worries, you’re not doing anything.” He flashed a gentle smile, you nod, glancing back at the text. Come on Luigi, get it together! He breathes out and reaches a hand out, nervously. “I’m Luigi.”

“Y/N,” you replied. He was pretty cute, he had a firm handshake that showed confidence and his hazel eyes glimmered. “I hope I’m not bothering you, I wanted to talk to you before we all leave. I think you’re—absolutely beautiful and I’m hoping.. maybe if you’re okay with it, I can have your number and we could hang out the rest of the tour?” He grins anxiously. It was so endearing to you. It was rare for a high school boy to be this nervous and giddy to ask for your number; and to be so respectful about it too?

“Sure, I don’t mind, That sounds nice actually.” You returned a kind smile and he handed you his phone discreetly for the tour guide’s sake and you punched in your contact info. Saving yourself as Y/N—what else would it be? “Awesome…” He murmured. “So, Y/N, how old are you?”

“Seventeen,” you state. “You?”

“Same—seventeen. I turn eighteen in May.” He says proudly, “Happy early birthday. Even though that’s… Four months away.” You chuckle, the two of you begin walking along with the groups, he had his hands in his pockets, while yours were folded behind your back.

The conversation continued, friendly banter and getting to know each other. He attended an all-boys school out in Maryland. Far from here. He was incredibly smart too, he spoke high of his achievements and he wanted to attend UPenn — a very impressive school. It made sense for him though. Looks and smarts aside, he was a realistic guy — for a teenager anyway. It was a relief talking to someone the same speed as you, who was just enjoying life and working to achieve what satisfies them.

He was also into robotics, he even complained a little about how his robot lost a recent competition and that he told the coach he should’ve been given the remote — but no one listened to him!

“That’s inspiring.” You say, and he just grins. He has such a sweet smile too. His cheeks have little dimples, the way his eyes squint and crease at the corners, he shrugs nonchalantly, “It’s nothin’ really, just trying to stay caught up.” He states, glancing around, he thinks before motioning you closer. “Wanna see something cool?”

“What do you mean?” You questioned, he tips his head to the side, gesturing to follow him. However, you don’t think it’s the smartest idea to wander off from the group in a building like this; but Luigi insisted. “I’ve been on this tour a bunch of times, trust me, we’ll be fine. Come on now.” He ushers you, grabbing your hand as the other kids walked on without second glances. You both share a bit of laughter as you moved briskly in the direction he lead you — subconsciously squeezing your hand every now and then. As he slowed down, he pushed open a door, you got distracted reading a flyer outside and he immediately tugged you inside, the door shutting behind your back.

He watches your expression intensely as you look around, it’s a planetarium. The ceiling was casted with a starry sky, although—most likely—not real time stars, it looked gorgeous anyway. It cast a soft light, the room mainly dim.

Luigi admired you as you admire the stars. “Even if it isn’t the sky right now, it’s fascinating to think that all the stars can look like this.” You murmur, finally looking at Luigi, who’s still watching you with a big, dorky smile. “What?” You laugh.

“Nothing. Just admiring the view.” He replies.

“The one up there’s nicer, you know”

“Yeah, but the one right in front of me is better.”

[hayateart]

Today in fanfiction I will never write - Moshang 'Kitchen Nightmares' AU

I am currently watching the new episodes of the Kitchen Nightmares and of course, this brought on an idea for a new Moshang AU I don't have the time to write

Shen Yuan, more known under the name of Shen Qingqiu, is a renowned chef with dozens of Michelin Star restaurants around the world [he's the Gordon Ramsey of this AU]. He recently renewed his Kitchen Nightmares show and is currently touring China and helping restaurants.

For the purposes of the show his SQQ persona is very strict and cold. It sels and his disdainful glare sends the female audience to their knees. In reality SY is a big softy with great passion for food.

The Ice Palace is a seafood restaurant in a medium-sized city by the shore. It used to be moderately successful until the owner died and it was taken over by his brother, Jun Linguang. Linguang thinks he is a great owner/manager, and it's everybody else around him who is running the business to the ground. Standard Kitchen Nightmares bullshit.

SY arrives at the restaurant and is greeted by Jun Linguang and his complaints about the incompetence of the staff, mean people writing mean reviews, unsophisticated pallete of the local clientele, you name it. When asked why he won't hire new staff, he says nobody wants to work these days.

Still, SY will not form an opinion on the restaurant until he tries the food. He orders a mishmash of the dishes. What he receives is... well, he is used to the dishes he tries in the failing restaurants to be awful, but this? The dishes are certainly bizzare, but the protein is cooked to perfection, and the sauces are smooth and rich in flavour. The problem is that nothing goes well together! This is somehow more frustrating than the food being bad! Clearly, there is someone in that kitchen with actual talent but still doing a shitty job!

It is time to meet the chef!

Shang Qinghua is just a guy. Well, he was just a guy who one day stumbled into the Ice Palace looking for a job to pay through his college. He started at dishwash hut as the staff kept leaving, he had to learn how to cook to help out on the line and keep the restaurant afloat until he made his way to the head chef. His college education long discarded and forgotten.

The thing is, he actually likes cooking, but he has to follow the owner's menu and is not allowed to make any changes. And it kills him because he knows how bad the diahes are. He knows he could do so much better if Jun Linguang just gave him some freedom! Since he's not allowed any, he suffers abuse from customers who complain his dishes are shit, including his pwn parents who came to see for what he discarded his education for.

He would leave. He should leave. He would find a better job if he only tried. But... the previous owner's son? Jun Mobei? Who is stuck as a server until his uncle sees him worthy to take over family business? That Mobei? Well, Qinghua can't leave him at the restaurant to face his uncle's abuse alone! Linguang is not a nice person to his employees, but he is even worse to his nephew. Most of the staff can breathe easier when Mobei is around because then Linguang focuses his attention on him.

Not Shang Qinghua. Shang Qinghua hates seeing Mobei verbally and emotionally abused by his uncle, but every time he tries to step in, things turn out even worse for Mobei. Linguang hates people disobeying him, and he would have fired SQH for his transgressions. However, Mobei protects the chef by directing his uncle's attention back on himself.

Anyway, SY meets Shang Qinghua. He shouts at him for the bizarre menu, weird combination choices, and the wasted potential he can see clearly in the head chef. SQH pretty used to the verbal abuse takes it all well, all things considered. Only cries for about 10 mins while begging SY to fix the restaurant. It's a family business, and it means co much to Mobei! They can't lose it!

Whi the heck is Mobei? SY wonders, but does not comment. Instead, he orders SQH to order something for him, to wow him with his culinary prowess.

And Shang Qinghua does! He prepares the best dish SY tasted during the entire program. Probably during his entire career! Definitely better than even SY himself can prepare. He loaths to admit, but SQH is amazing in the kitchen.

The kitchen itself is spotless and runs like a wrll oiled machine. The dining room and equipment are a little outdated and could use an update, but it's not all terrible. It is clear the problem is the owner who makes bad business decisions and scares/stresses the staff.

SY finally meets Mobei, when it is time to see how the restaurant runs on a normal day. It's not very busy but Mobei, only a server controls the dining room and the front of the house, the same way SQH keeps the kitchen running smoothly. Whenever his uncle is not there to interfere, that is.

SY finds out the restaurant used to belong to Mobei's father, who opened it for his mother. She was very fond of seafood. Mobei does not say it openly, but it is clear he will not leave the business to crumble under his uncle's careless management.

SY needs to make a decision here. The objective of his show is to help failing restaurants. The only reason this one is in danger is the owner. He could poach SQH for one of his restaurants, seeing how talented he is. Hell, he could even hire Mobei as the manager if that would make the head chef happy. But they both made it clear they would not leave the restaurant, no matter the reason, or the money.

It is time to conclude the show. SY does what SQQ is expected to do. Updates the menu, renovates the kitchen and dining room, and leaves Linguang with a set of strict instructions and a warning that if he does not follow the restaurant will close with even more debt than he already is in.

When the TV crew leaves, however, SY makes Linguang an offer he cannot refuse. The restaurant is in debt. SY will buy it off of Linguang, debt and all included plus profit for Linguang. He's rich, he can afford it. After Linguang leaves happy, SY promotes Mobei to manager immediately, with significant pay rise. Once Mobei can afford the mortage, SY will let him buy the restaurant off for himself. Even though he would be happy to keep it, Qinghua included.

With the weight lifted off his shoulders, no uncle looming dangerously over his shoulder, destroying everything Mobei cares about Mobei finally has the courage to ask SQH out. Also, SQH can finally take a day off, since he doesn't have to worry about Linguang abusing his nephew! First one in three years! [He caught the flu one winter and was off for a week.]

BONUS: LBH is a head chef in one of SQQ's retaurant. He was brought in for help designing the new menu. LBH and SQH bond over their similar background, only LBH was lucky to start off in SQQ's restaurant.

BONUS 2: Mobei learned how to run the dining room and front of the house from SQH. Not only from observing him but also by reluctantly asking him questions SQH was happy to answer.

BONUS 3: SQH saw himself in Mobei, alone and disliked by his own family except while SQH's patents were simply inattentive Mobei's uncle openly abused him. Qinghua refused to leave Mobei without an ally because he knew how badly he himself needed someone on his side. Mobei must have needed someone even more.

[afrsconp]

Sorry Ghosts fam, I need to interrupt the usual content for a second and get these thoughts out about a different fandom.

So I binged all of Mythic Quest really fast, then read a bunch of braddavid fic (A+ stuff btw) and meta, and I'm surprised that, of the two of them, Brad is the one that gets the most character analysis. Because to me, it's David who's much, much harder to get a read on.

I mean yeah, we get almost nothing of Brad's personal life, but the tiny glimpses of his backstory that we do get make it pretty clear that his very traumatic childhood led him to create this asshole persona to protect himself. Like it all seems pretty linear: his natural instinct to be kind and care deeply about people/things led to the trauma of what happened to Kate, so he ended up equating kindness with weakness and taught himself to ignore those instincts and go the opposite direction instead. To not caring about anything other than money and power, because that's how he could build and retain power (and by extension, protection) for himself.

But David? It's a lot harder to figure out. He's so openly clingy and needy and tries way too hard; he's the butt of everyone's jokes. But because he's used for comedy most of the time, it's easier to not notice that when he is being serious, it's revealing trauma that's on par with Brad's. Like that scene when he went up to the rooftop and it's implied that he was considering jumping off the building, and David Hornsby does some amazingly subtle work there because when Jo asks him why he came to the roof, for a second or two you see the most terrible, heartbreaking look in his eyes before the scene switches to comedy again.

And it happens over and over again. The way he was so upset when Ian and Poppy took over the Christmas party, all the hints about his shitty childhood and his ex-wife not treating him well, his extreme loneliness, how much he drinks, taking Xanax, having trouble sleeping. Like the guy is not well, you know?

So the ship is so interesting to me because both of them go to extremes to hide the same truths about themselves (not wanting to get hurt) but they do it in completely opposite ways. Brad went the uncaring asshole route, and David went the oversharing, overly desperate route. It's all just surface level though, and whenever they get rejected they can just blame it on those surface level things instead of deeper insecurities (I'm worthless, I'm fat, I'm a waste of space, I'm old). But like, I get the feeling that Brad almost convinced himself that he really is the uncaring asshole he spends so much time pretending to be, whereas David is a little more aware of the fact that he's lying to himself. Idk.

And then there's the stuff we're getting in the current season, where their character arcs weirdly mirror each other. They started off as opposites - Brad prioritising money/himself and David prioritising other people/relationships - and now they're starting to meet in the middle.

That's why it seemed like such a huge deal to me that Brad actually acknowledged, out loud and to another person, that he's capable of changing due to meeting the right people. Anna tells him that that statement left him exposed, and it really did - and I think part of Brad's arc this season will be realising that being exposed like that isn't necessarily a weakness.

And David's whole breastplate thing, facing his fears, putting himself out there, and coming to terms with certain truths about himself... I keep thinking about the way he shut down Ian's bullshit about the movie so quickly. We've seen him be incredibly effective when he doesn't panic, and I hope we get a little more of that.

I don't think braddavid will ever become canon, but I do hope the show lets them be friends. Because I really do think that they have the potential to understand each other in a way none of the other characters ever could.

[lsunstreakerl]

Thinking about Rico in other aus and

- Obviously darkbull he’d need some kind of nebulous criminal connection but RB would NOT want him damaging their precious boy

- moto!Max would be on that like a shot with an even bigger size difference because of his tiny motoGP waist

- cat!Max maybe encountered him when he was a stray - Nico and Lewis take Max out for a walk and he just absolutely bolts for this giant terrifying dog and they think oh god that’s the end of Max before he gets the world’s biggest hug (and some tail sniffing)

- rico in the darkbull verse is the reason max has the "only hooking up with other athletes on holiday" rule. like when I wrote that a while back he is who I was thinking of. (max very much enjoys seeing him anyways)

- oh motomax wastes no time. he sees it and he wants it. (he gets it)

- I like how your brain thinks... stray max has potential here

[valenteal]

The reason why the story of the Todoroki family in mha is simultaneously surprising, original, and completely unsatisfying has become obvious to me after reading one essay by Joseph Campbell. Honestly every writer should read his works or at least an overview of them. That way they can avoid making mistakes like this.

One of the things Campbell is best known for is his breakdown of all the recurring patterns that are inherent to mythology and story telling across all human cultures. The character archetypes, the story structure, the themes that are always present. This doesn’t mean the stories are unoriginal, it means that the ideas and themes behind them are so intrinsic to human culture that they can never be destroyed or created as long as humanity continues. There’s immense beauty and value in understanding these archetypes and what they say about humanity as a whole.

The story of the Todoroki family was set up perfectly to fit one of these archetypes. The tale of the tyrant-monster who is toppled by the hero, a product of his own selfish desires poisoning his domain, who has defeated the demons of their culture and their psyche to become a pure representation of human nature at its best. (This is heavily paraphrased and Campbell talks fancy so others may have differing interpretations but I don’t want to go get the book rn to quote it).

Both Shouto and Dabi were being set up as potential heroes to defeat Endeavors tyranny. It wasn’t until season 5 or 6 that we see the dramatic change in direction that the story takes, with Endeavor getting a redemption arc and Dabi being legitimately unhinged and evil. Now, this could be considered a plot twist or whatever, if it is it’s a really bad one, or it could be that Horikoshi literally changed his plan part way through the series. I personally think it’s the second. Whether that was because of pressure from editors, a desire to surprise fans who’d guessed where it was heading, or because he just decided he liked it better I don’t know. What I do know is that is was a mistake, one that went hand in hand with about a million other mistakes that are basically the same situation of the story completely changing direction halfway through. It ruined the series and it wasted an opportunity to tell an important story that could really resonate with people.

Instead of the ever satisfying tale of evil dictators getting what’s coming to them because of their own mistakes, we got a halfhearted redemption, a lot of victim blaming, reinforced widespread societal prejudice, undone character development, and a shit ton of heartbreak.

And I don’t understand why! It was set up so perfectly! It had so much potential! It looked like it was going to be incredibly cathartic, a story about how people are flawed and imperfect and expecting more ruins society. It looked like it was going to be about a toxic culture actually being changed! And then it wasn’t!

If it was an attempt to be original it failed spectacularly. If it was an attempt to be depressingly realistic it was a complete success, which I suppose is saying something given the nature of the series and its completely insane premise but I digress.

My point is, recurring themes and stories exist for a reason, they are important, and going against them so completely will never leave the audience satisfied. We crave these familiar stories, we need them. Mha made us expect to get one, left people on the edge of their seats for years waiting for the catharsis of it. And then we didn’t get it. Think queer baiting but with the psychological effects of stories.

[persona-brainrot-real]

It is once again “why didn’t they let ryuji have any empathy for yusuke” era. Nothing like a game establishing that both of them have abusive/neglectful/awful dads and then instead of ryuji trying to connect with yusuke and show him that madarame is abusing him, he just gets angry at him?? For what????? Why???? There was so much potential

[nnobodoodles]

Huh.

So I randomly remembered Croc is pretty much Italian.

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

finally at that age where i'm thinking i should get a tattoo. not bc i feel strongly about it, just seems like a waste not to. i've got so much skin i'm not using

[blueskittlesart]

in the nicest and most non-confrontational way possible. i feel like some of you think that anything that isn't directly openly spelled out for you within a story is "missed potential" or "unexplored." like. sometimes there are implied narratives. sometimes the point is that you as the reader are supposed to think and draw your own conclusions and participate in the story. the writers not directly spelling every little detail out for you doesn't mean that the story is poorly written or missed its own plot details somehow. PLEASE.

[sludgekludge]

you ever think about how crimson physically abused and literally murdered his wife, then abused his only son, and yet he's more generally well-liked by both the show and the fandom than stella. you ever think about how valentino. and he's way, way more beloved than stella. i wonder why that is. anyway

[dykedvonte]

MacCready being one of the few companions to not lose affinity if you eat people makes sense when you remember the fungus in Little Lamp Light grew from decomposing bodies. Like the kids weren’t eating people directly but they were eating people adjacent things.

Not to mention how the Lone Wanderer can trick the kids at LLL into buying “strange meat” to eat which is just human so it’s more likely than not they have just straight up ate people so he’s either very desensitized, knows what food desperation can do to people or feels he really has not ground to stand on since he was in the same boat whether he wanted to be or not.

[nocofamilyau]

not related to noco at all but what is katie and sadie’s relationship like now?

pretty good all things considered! while they're both married to two sweet guys and have separate families (none of their kids are other td characters, unfortunately...) they're still really close, and still live next to each other at that same beach town they grew up in, now both running that successful 80s themed ice cream business they've been dreaming of! its safe to say they probably suffered the least on Total Drama, only leaving with a couple of minor scars, good god were they lucky..

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

i still haven’t really had the time to process my emotions but i really am soooo upset that we didn’t get a funeral …….. like . there are a lot of things i forgive akutami for because of how awful his work schedule must be / how hellish writing is in general but choosing to throw in that last minute mission instead of a funeral to really show grief over gojo’s death is not one of them …… i just don’t really understand it? i’ve always disagreed with the fandom’s ooc allegations and i still do now because nothing the characters did or said this chapter was ooc, but if they aren’t shown grieving beforehand then obviously people are going to feel that gap… :’)

the literal only issue is that what we know must have happened between these chapters wasn’t shown to us. and that just makes me so so sad . we know how many people cared about gojo, yuji tells him that ’none of us could ever forget you’ and maybe that’s akutami’s way of showing that, but since the characters don’t even explicitly mention that he’s dead everything just falls kinda flat … i’m still praying on my knees for an ova chapter / for mappa to add stuff in season 4, but rn i just feel very sad :< the gap of writing quality between 261 and 271 is just really jarring … i liked a lot of things in this chapter. but i just can’t get past the funeral thing …….

[anotheraverageairbreather]

Now that the main GSNK ships are finally seeing some progress (Waka knows Seo is Lorelei, Kashima and Hori Kiss, Nozaki realizing his feelings, Ryousuke and Miyako are together, etc), does anyone think Mayu and Mikorin have a shot at being canon??? I mean they’re relationship is absolutely set up in a way that is COULD happen plot wise, and the Manga is fruitier than a Jamba Juice, but they’ve been given so much less attention than the other ships ( that could also be because Mayu isn’t like a member of the main cast tho???) idk my hopes aren’t HIGH per se, but I feel like there’s a non zero chance! Like I’m sitting at a solid 7%