#yet again inspired by wolf like me by tv on the radio | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

that-good-trash · 4 years

Text

Burn Away With Me 2

Shoto Todoroki x reader / Dabi x reader????

Warnings: mentions of death, profanity, kidnap, Angst,

Word count: 6,315

Part 1

Summary: Kidnap and murder usually go hand in hand but not like this. The world thinks your dead and you have to watch them mourn you like a princess locked away in a tower. Except princes don’t look for dead girls. You might just have to rely on the villain who took you.

Comment: Sorry I haven’t been posting but I’m back. This took longer than I thought and there will be a third part. I’ve decided to make this a series while I work on other fic ideas. Which if any of you have any suggestions or ideas I totally need inspiration for more one shots and series’s. I hope you all enjoy.

---------------------------------------------------------------

You were dead.

At least that’s what everyone thought, was told, had ‘witnessed’. In a way you were dead because having to watch the world exist without you, killed you. Watching Shoto in interviews and reading article about him made you wish you had actually died since he was lifeless. You had agreed to this so you were an accessary to his misery. The one thing you always promised was to never abandon him, to always love him. You had failed to keep that promise. You were now causing him pain and couldn’t even apologize for it.

----------------------------------

After your Hollywood murder, your vanishing act, you had woken up in an unfamiliar place that smelled damp and musty, like mildew under week old wet carpet. It was toxic to your nose which had become a little sensitive from living a modern clean life. You were wearing a jacket that wasn’t yours that smelled faintly of burning charcoal and cigarettes. While lifting the overly long sleeves you had become aware that you lacked any chest covering. You were naked besides the jacket and silk panties you wore under it. It wasn’t like you had time to pack, hell you actually hadn’t expected to ever wake up again. Trusting a villain was dicey, it could backfire terribly and you couldn’t figure out yet if it had. You were alive. That wasn’t for sure a good thing. The room you were in had a bed, which you were laying in, the sheets were stained and slightly charred in places. There was a single window and two doors, one leading into a closet, the other you didn’t know where. An old suitcase sat in the corner and you didn’t really want to know what was in it. Outside the door you could hear the sound of talking, it was staticky meaning it was coming from a TV or radio. You had gotten off the bed hugging the long black coat against your body as you made your way to the door. Fear flooded your veins. You had no idea what Dabi’s plan had been. While you slept the news of your death spread across all media. You weren’t even aware of this. You were thinking that this was a kidnap ransom thing. As the knob turned you could hear the voices a little more clearly. It was a TV, the light shining down the short hallway. You walked toward it before feeling your heart stop. Across the bottom of the screen was your name, your real name and hero name. It was the words that followed that made your legs give out. Now on your knees with shaking shoulders you read the headline, hear the news caster.

[ L/n F/n – Hero Name, was found murdered in her shared home.]

“Her fiancé Todoroki Shoto cannot be reached at this time but we mourn his lose.” You read the words and listen to the tail end of his sentence piecing together what had happened. The image changed from the inside of the news room to a helicopter view, footage taken hours ago. Your shared home had been surrounded by police vehicle’s and you watch Shoto rush out of his car and directly into the house. A sob escapes as you watch the police and pro heroes look down and away. You couldn’t hear anything other than the helicopter but you could imagine he was screaming your name. What was left behind? That’s when you became all too aware of a throbbing pain in your left hand. Looking down at your hand you scream, your ring finger is missing. How the hell hadn’t you realized this to begin with. There were so many pieces missing to this fucked up puzzle. How the hell did you get here? Where the hell was here? Where was Dabi and better yet your god damn finger? These questions invaded your mind as you watched the screen continue to show pictures of you with claims of death. You weren’t dead and if you were this was one hell of an afterlife. Purgatory was a shitty back alley apartment.

“When we, the public, were informed of L/n’s death everyone wanted to hear what the Todoroki family had to say, specifically Endeavor. His interview shows his conflicted emotions and many are quick to blame grief for his lack of emotion.”

You watch the interview and listen to your future father in laws words. He didn’t care. You had stopped crying as you watched him speak on your behalf. How dare he claim to know what you wanted. If you weren’t aware of the real mastermind, you’d think he tried to have you killed. How could someone be so heartless. You had spent so much time trying to prove you were worthy of Shoto even though your lover told you that you were more than enough. The social pressure Endeavor put on you was suffocating and you were really starting to realize that just by watching some shitty interview he did for publicity. Your hands were clenched into fist despite the pain in your left hand. You stood up a little too fast and fell backward. You never hit the floor, instead a hot hand caught you. You sighed in relief before staring into your kidnapper’s eyes. You weren’t weak or none confrontational. Your eyes burned with fury, your lips twitching with words brewing behind them.

“You son of a bitch, You bastard.”

“Woah, no reason to bring my mom into this, though I will say you’d be right about my father.” He was so smug as he held up his hands in defense against your hissed insults. He had expected tears and fear not an enraged hurricane. “Now calm down, what’s got you so pissed?”

“YOU FUCKING KILLED ME!” Your eyes were bulging out and your breathing was unsteady. Your eyebrows knit together as you glared him down with hell fire behind your eyes. You looked like a savage. Like a crazed lunatic. Instead of looking scared or remorseful he just backup against the tattered couch. His arms crossed and he lifted a brow. His smirk told you that he found this entertaining.

“Um, you seem pretty alive to me doll. You can’t believe everything you hear on TV.” He laughed at his own joke, or maybe the pathetic chaotic state you were in. As you heaved your chest in exasperation. You realized that you’d made a huge mistake. You killed yourself off on your own accord, you should have fought back then maybe you’d be in Shoto’s arms and not on every news station. If you had been kidnapped people would be looking for you but they aren’t. No one is looking for you. In an instant all anger subsided. You were tired, in pain, scared, pissed, lonely, dispirited, you were dead. Your shoulders slumped with no fight lingering. You let the wall catch you before sliding down it. Your head fell heavy into your hands before settling between your bend legs. You weren’t looking at him, but Dabi did seem a tad guilty. He pushed off the couch walking toward you. He dropped down, squatting in front of you. His fingers brush your hair out of your face, you slap his hand away looking at him with feral eyes that had tears bottled in them. A sigh escaped as he stood up, he could hear the TV mention your name. He watched people on the screen hold candles standing along a dark street. This was live. He yanked you off the ground and pulled you out of the apartment making sure he covered you with a scarf he snatched from the rickety coat rack. You didn’t know where he was taking you but when you ended up on the roof of this building you panicked. Was he going to actually kill you? Maybe that would be better for you. Instead you feel your face yanked toward a specific location. This building was old and crumbling but it was tall. It seemed to be taller than plenty of the buildings near it. As you looked off squinting you saw lights in the distance.

“What are you trying to show me?”

“Shh.” You were pissed. What the hell was his problem. Frustrated you cross your arms feeling the cold breeze and get a little less mad and grow shy after remembering again your lack of coverage. You go to ask if you can return to the apartment but he points and you follow. The city lights disappear and in a Disney moment the sky seems to light up. You watch from the ground miles away lights move like waves and from the tops of buildings lanterns fade into the sky. You watched in awe.

“They are mourning the loss of a true hero, you.”

He’s not looking at you but instead watching the lights. His hands are stuffed into his pockets and he doesn’t look at you as you collapse to the cold dirty roof ground. You scream into the illuminated darkness. It’s painful, like a wolf crying out for its mate after receiving a fatal wound. A howl of sorrow and agony. Was Shoto watching these lights mourning you as well? Your knees pressed into the harsh concrete beneath you cutting into them. Dabi stood next to your broken shaking form, his hands sat inside his pant pockets. He was watching the sky letting you fall apart. He had been in a similar situation before, having to mourn his own death.

It felt like hours had passed by the time you ran out of tears. Your knees hurt from the embedded concrete, your hands were shaking and your fingertips had the slightest tint of purple. You were cold, practically naked, empty, and alone. No one knew you were alive besides the person who killed you. The sky was no longer lit up and you wondered if this was goodbye. If this was how your life as a hero ended. You didn’t get a huge battle like All Might at Kamino, or Sir Nighteye’s battle with Overhaul. You didn’t get to retire or die in a heroic way, instead people would remember you as the hero who died in her home, murdered by some mystery villain. You knew in a week you’d be old news and everyone would be talking about this in the future like it was a part of Shoto’s tragic backstory. You stood up before almost falling directly back down. You catch yourself by grabbing onto Dabi. He winks at you which you react to with disgust. He nods toward the door and you walk toward it leading the way. You think for a moment that running off the side of the building would be a good escape plan. He knows what you’re thinking as he links your arm with his own and pulls you along back into the building and eventually into the hellscape of an apartment. You yank yourself free before walking to the couch and falling back onto it with a huff. You were pouting because he had caught onto your plan, because you had to be here in this disgusting shithole.

“This place is gross.” Dabi raises a brow before laughing, his laughter echoes throughout the small room.

“Sorry this isn’t a five-star hotel princess.”

“It doesn’t have to be a luxury hotel; it just has to be livable. The TV looks like it’s from the 80’s and the carpet feels damp. This couch smells like you set it on fire and it’s still burning. The bed room has various stains in various places. I haven’t even seen the bathroom but I imagine it’s even worse, oh god I can’t live here.” You weren’t prissy or someone with high standards, this place was just literal hell and since you were dead it was even worse. You could imagine that Dabi wasn’t going to let you leave whenever you wanted so having to be stuck in this place was going to drive you insane.

“I think you sound be more concerned with clothing than housing. You have a roof and a bed; you have no clothes.” Dabi made a very good point that you forgot in your depression over the living situation. You throw your head back letting out another frustrated sob.

“Fuck, you should have just killed me.” You thought you ran out of tears and yet some slid down your cheek. You were frustrated and wanted nothing more than to curl up against your fiancé while he comforts you but you couldn’t do that.

“This isn’t forever. My plan just needs to go accordingly and you should be free to go. Think of this as summer camp or a stake out mission.” You looked at Dabi skeptically. He stared back lacking any intension to deceive you.

“Tomorrow night I’ll bring you by some clothes. If you really hate this place so much, I’ll let you clean and decorate it. Give me a list of shit you need tomorrow and I’ll see what I can do. Your stuck with me and when I’m not here you are going to be under house arrest. You don’t get to leave and if I find out you tried; I’ll show you exactly why you shouldn’t disobey me.” His eyes darkened at the end. He wasn’t the smug Dabi but one who truly would turn you into ash. Minutes ago, you would have chosen to be burn alive rather than have this as your life but that was quick to change with the hope that you would actually be released. Dabi wasn’t all that bad, scary kind of but not bad. Clothes were a blessing you couldn’t wait for. The ability to make this place livable also enticed you. He really knew how to get you to stop whining. A smile spread across your face and Dabi raised a brow. He expected a thank you, he shouldn’t have.

“You’re still a fucking asshole who kidnapped and ‘murdered’ me so don’t go thinking I like you or want to rely on you. The idea of being burned alive is almost tempting when compared to living here with you as my only company.” All this was still served with your smile. You stood up and let the coat tail spin behind you as you walked off to the bedroom. “I’m a size [Y/size], don’t forget that.”

The door shut leaving Dabi alone in the living room. His head falls backward and a chuckle escapes passed his lips. “Damn, what a weird girl. Can see why you like her little bro.”

His hands dip back into his pockets as he leaves the apartment. Once on the street below the dirty building he looks up toward your window. It’s hidden away in the alley. You are looking out it hoping for a view but there isn’t one. He knows how miserable you are but also knows you’re a fighter who will survive. He lights up a cigarette as he disappears into the night. You are left sitting on a dusty windowsill thinking about your would-be husband, your almost widow. You wonder what he was doing, how he was doing. Were his friends with him? A single tear slips down your cheek and onto the window sill mixing into the dusk leaving a dirty mark. A melancholy laugh puffs passed your lips. You close yours eyes remembering the first time the two of you met. Remembering how falling in love happened slowly then all at once.

----------------------------------------

Shoto Todoroki was an emotionless teenager when you met him. You were older than him by a year and met him by complete accident. You both attended UA and he got lost ending up near one of your classes. He ran into you as you rushed to deliver paperwork to the office. More like you ran into him. Instead of swooning over the mismatched eyes and hair like most girls did you pushed passed him. “Sorry gotta go, next time watch where you’re going.”

You had found him outside your classroom afterschool waiting for you. You were confused as he looked at you with about as much emotion as a wall. Hell, you’d seen walls with more emotion. He was like a red and white brick. Your fellow classmates walked around you, some whispering questions amongst each other. You were as confused as they were.

“Um why are you here?”

“You ran into me.” You raised a brow at his blunt accusation. You thought back to earlier and indeed you ran into him. You should have apologized seriously earlier but now you were curious. He waited out here just to tell you that.

“Earlier I was walking down this hallway and you ran into me, then you proceeded to tell me to watch where I was going when you were the one who should have watched herself.” A child, a first year, a stranger was scolding you. A normal person would apologize or defend themselves. You weren’t normal. Instead you laughed at him. He didn’t like that but his irritation subsided into concern. What had he said that was so funny? This seemed like a very serious topic, had he told it like a joke? “Why are you laughing?”

“You seriously waited out here, outside my classroom, just to scold me. Man, you are taking justice pretty seriously, that or I offended your pride as a man. Is it that one? Did I make you feel less of a man because I pushed you while blaming you for my own neglectfulness?” Shoto couldn’t believe how you spoke to him. His cheeks actually heated up from embarrassment and that never happened. People didn’t usually speak to or toward him like this. It was, different? You patted his head when he didn’t speak but just stood there like an old windows computer trying to start up.

“See yah.”

“Wait.” You stopped behind him and turned around. He was facing you with conflicting emotions. “What are you doing right now?”

“I have training, why?” You were put off slightly by his change in attitude.

“Can I watch.” Okay that sounded stalkerish. “I have a classmate who likes to collect information on people’s quirks. You’re from class 2A so I assume you have a unique or powerful quirk. I think he’d like to watch and I have to write a report on quirk studies so…”

Bullshit, it was all bullshit, you knew it he knew it. The janitor that passed awkwardly knew it. This boy would die of embarrassment if you brought it up. A sigh slips out and you can’t say no because you are already late and at least this would give you an excuse to give your teacher. “Sure.”

After getting changed you found four underclassmen staring at you. It was uncomfortable and almost comedic. You never really brought attention to yourself, actually class 2A never really attracted too much attention. The dual hair colored boy stood next to a green haired boy who seemed really excited to see you. The other two consisted of a taller blue haired boy with glasses and a shorter round cheeked brunette. You actually realized you knew all four of them. A grin spread across your face as you pointed at them.

“You guys are from class 1A. I watched you guys at the sports festival and I watched you guys at the school festival. Oh man you are Midoriya Izuku, you’re Iida Tenya, Uraraka Ochako, and that makes you Todoroki Shoto. They all looked amazed that you knew their names. Hell, it was hard to not when everyone talked about the class of villain fighting heroes. They were famous and you had mocked the class heartthrob. It made you laugh because you had classmates that found him hot with his cold demeanor and mysterious scar. When you looked at him you saw a socially awkward kid.

“You’re L/n F/n! Your quirk is so cool! I read about it in a book Mr. Aizawa had about former students. I would love to be able to see it in action! Would that be okay?” He was enthusiastic and you couldn’t say no. You also needed to get to training because you were even more late now. After a nod they all followed you to the training grounds. Other students looked at you and laughed at your entourage. They made teasing comments while others swooned over Shoto. You rolled your eyes. Training mattered more than some dumb boy. Little did you know how wrong you were at that moment. Running into him that afternoon started a domino effect. He had watched you never looking away as you fought. You were mesmerizing. He hadn’t heard a word said by his friends. It was cliché but he was captivated by you.

After that day Shoto found himself following you a lot. He would meet you after class and watch you train or go with you to the library. It was awkward to you but kind of cute. He opened up to you about his past and you didn’t cry. Instead you smiled and held his hands. You told him that he was strong and that his past would never define his future. He had fallen deeper and deeper in love with you, who seemed so far out of his league. Little did he know that he filled your thoughts. You always wondered what he was doing or thinking. You learned to make soba so the two of you could eat while watching the sunset. He missed being around you when you were at your work studies but he supported you behind the scenes. Eventually the two of you were inseparable, until graduation. You stood amongst your fellow classmates laughing and smiling, beaming with pride that you had made it. Everyone had flowers and gifts except you. You turned when someone had called your name. It was Shoto standing facing you, he had a bouquet of your favorite flowers with red streaked across his cheeks. He said something but you couldn’t hear over the crowds. As you walked closer you tried to hear him better. You kept yelling that you couldn’t hear so he mouthed it slowly and you realized what he said; I love you. Your heart stopped and all of a sudden no one else mattered. The loud crowd disappeared leaving just you and Todoroki. Your legs kicked off the ground flinging yourself the distance tackling him into a hug. He dropped the flowers, wrapping his arms around you.

“I love you too.” He cried against your shoulder because he hadn’t known love like this. Your love was something he gained and his trust was something you had fought for. He loved you and you loved him and that was all the mattered. That time felt so far away but in reality, it was only 3 ½ years ago. You’d been with him for 3 ½ years and engaged for six months. It wasn’t always perfect but you wouldn’t have traded it for anything, except you did trade it. You traded it for some shitty apartment and a death sentence. You were truly the villain of this story.

--------------------------------------

It took Dabi two days to ‘find/steal’ the things on your shopping list. He brought you a haul of ‘crap’ and clothing of various sizes. You were miserable but this was one thing that made you smile through the depression. Cleaning supplies gave you something to occupy your time. A small chipped table for the eating nook next to the tiny kitchen, a dresser with mismatched paint and broken drawers. A clean set of blankets, sheets, and towels found a home on the bed and in the closet in the hallway. It wasn’t perfect but you were excited to put them where you wanted. It was like an interior design show for the less fortunate. Dabi sat on the couch with a bottle of bourbon while watching people play hero on the TV. You cleaned around him. He wrinkled his nose when you poured carpet cleaner everywhere. The apartment smelled of bleach and lemon by the time you finished. He was actually impressed, a smirk spread across his face as you flopped down on the couch. The large blanket he got you covered the dirty stains on it. He looked you over, noticing how you looked good in the wore torn jeans and oversized t-shirt he got you. It was casual and he liked it. He imagined from what you had come from that you wore a lot of blouses and skirts rather than this.

“You did a good job. I’d give the place two stars.” You hit him with the towel sitting on your shoulder. He laughed noticing your eye roll. “I gotta leave for a few days. While I’m gone you better behave and maybe I’ll bring you a treat.”

“Fuck you.” He had gotten used to your foul mouth and wondered how such an energetic snarky girl ended up with tight ass Shoto who only showed emotions like confusion and anger. He pushed off the couch. He needed to go back to the league and knew he couldn’t involve you in it. You were dead and it needed to stay that way. The league would use you for a different goal and he couldn’t let that happen. He grabbed his coat throwing it over his shoulder along with a wink and kiss to you. You blinked with an annoyed face before catching the kiss throwing it to the ground grinding it under your foot. His laugh could be heard even after the door closed behind him. You were once again alone which changed your demeanor from aggressive to weary. Your eye lids drooped and your shoulders fell. Your legs found themselves pulled onto the couch with your arms wrapped around them. You watched the news hearing segments talking about Deku saving three people from a fire and Red Riot helping catch a bank robber. You smiled happy for them. You never resented them, instead you rooted for your fellow heroes. They were saving the day while you scrubbed strange stains out of ancient carpet.

“As you all know we recently lost hero/name and it’s been hard to cope. This Saturday is her funeral. It is not an open viewing but we were informed that citizens are allowed to place mementos and grieve afterward outside the building. We are also being told to remind people to let hero Shoto grieve and not to bother him if you see him in public.”

Whatever was said afterword you didn’t hear because you were processing the new information. You were going to be buried, this makes it even more real. Chest tightening you stumbled off the couch reaching for the remote. Silence surrounds you as the TV clicks off. The room in spinning and you feel as if you are actually in a small box being buried. You cover your ears begging the world to stop spinning and for the voices to stop. You hear your friends giving eulogy’s, you hear crying and whispers of disappointment. You were a hero how did you lose. The ground hit you, wait no, you hit the ground. Your legs had given out and you were sobbing into the carpet, you could taste the chemicals you had used earlier. At the moment you didn’t care, not about the taste or about anything else. You had a request for Dabi that you knew wouldn’t fly well. You wanted to attend your own funeral.

-----------------------------------------------------

A week after your ‘murder’ came your funeral. There were strict rules enforced by Dabi, you weren’t allowed to leave the apartment for obvious reasons. This rule prevented you from going but you got to watch it. After begging for some kind of way to be there Dabi returned with a laptop that had shaky footage. You didn’t know who was recording it and knew better than to ask. The footage wasn’t perfect but it gave you what you wanted. Dabi offered to leave you alone but you didn’t want to be alone. The sounds of sniffling were caught coming from many guests. The building was gorgeous. Huge with marble walls and columns near the entrance. It felt like you were at a Greek wedding not a funeral. Everyone was adorned in black. You didn’t recognize the people near the camera person. The camera angle moved and you gasped, walking down the aisle leading toward the end of the room where you assumed a casket laid were your friends. You had friends from your own classes but these weren’t them. These were the friends you made through Shoto. Midoriya walked, his hand holding tightly onto Uraraka’s, she was crying. You smiled sadly at her through the screen. They were an adorable couple who you always rooted for. Now they were finding comfort in each other mourning you. Following behind them was Kirishima with Bakugou, Bakugou looked good in a suit but his red eyes made the red around them stand out more. You felt bad since you knew how much he hated feeling or looking weak. Kirishima was smiling but it held pain. There were many other classmates following behind but the camera turned to watch people gather around the front doors. Your hands flew over your mouth and Dabi had to catch the laptop before it fell from your lap. He placed it on the coffee table angling it so you could watch without dropping it. He wanted to scoff at your pain because he couldn’t understand why you would be sad. This was all a game, a show put on for the media. No one really cared for others this much, or maybe they did, Dabi just knew that he didn’t understand why the dead felt bad for the living.

“Please let him through.” Tenya was signaling people to move away from Shoto. Once the crowds dispersed you could see him. He looked like he hadn’t slept in months, his eyes bloodshot with black holes surrounding them. His cheeks were hollowing, and the rest of him looked thinner. He hadn’t been eating. His hair wasn’t styled and seemed messier, longer. His skin was dull and lifeless, like his eyes. He walked like he had no idea where he was going. Tenya held his shoulder walking with him like a guide. Had Tenya been watching over him for you? You hope someone was, you hope someone will intervene and stop his self-destruction. The camera follows as close as it can and you don’t know how much you can watch. In the front, stood rows of chairs for close family and friends. Your mother was wiping her eyes with her head against your fathers’ shoulder. They looked at the casket that you knew was empty. The camera watched Shoto tap their shoulders. They stood up and hugged him. He was apologizing to them; they didn’t take the apology. Your parents were always fond of him. They wouldn’t blame him. Shoto sat down away from them, Natsuo and Fuyumi sat next to him. Natsuo was rubbing his sisters’ shoulder as she sobbed into her handkerchief. The seat next to them was empty, reserved for Endeavor, for someone who wouldn’t show up. Natsuo had told you before that Endeavor didn’t do funerals, he even missed his own sons. You were actually glad that he wasn’t there, he didn’t deserve to be there. Dabi noticed your change from a forlorn stare to one filled with scorn. He knew you had been thinking about Endeavor, he knew because he had felt he same thing. He had been in the same situation watching people cry over him while the person that caused it was MIA. He watched the footage continue and could feel you stiffen up as people got up to speak. Speech after speech drained you of tears and life. You looked like you were actually dying as you watched Shoto stand behind the mic.

“I don’t want to talk much. I could stand here and tell you every tiny detail about F/n that I love, that I miss. I could tell you about her but I won’t. Instead I’ll say this and only this. I will not sleep, I will not eat, I will not rest till the killer is caught. No one even cares that this was a murder. She isn’t dead, she was murdered and while the rest of you cry and live your comfy lives, I’ll be out there taking down her killer.”

A sentimental speech is what you expected but received a promise of revenge. People gasped and shook their heads in disbelief. It was tasteless to people but to you it meant he fell right into Dabi’s clutches. Dabi was smiling with knowing eyes. He already knew this would happen. He knew all along and you couldn’t be mad because apart of you hoped this would get you back in his arms faster. The rest of the funeral went by without much problem. You watched the casket be lowered into a hole and buried with goodbyes and bundles of flowers. Shoto was the only one left besides the camera man. He put the camera down walking over to Shoto. You gasped as the winged hero put a hand on Shoto’s back apologizing for his lose. Shoto didn’t react while Hawks picked up the camera and turned it off. You watched the black screen feeling your hands shake, you slowly turn to Dabi.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.” You did was answers. You needed to know why the number 2 hero of Japan, Endeavors subordinate, was doing Dabi a favor. You had heard about heroes helping villains and selling secrets but this was to close to home. What the hell was happening. “Please Dabi, tell me what’s happening. Why was Hawks there? Why was he recording for you?”

“We all have secrets doll. I can’t tell you to much but I can tell you he owed me a favor and this was how he was repaying me. I needed to see your funeral as well to make sure my plan was actually working. It is and Shoto seems to be playing the game as intended. Soon enough you’ll be trading your stained walls in for your old egg shell white ones. Your pumpkin will turn back into a carriage sweetheart and while your dancing with the prince, I’ll have the kings head on a stick.” You knew he wanted Endeavor but you finally started piecing together exactly how he was going to do it. He was going to use Shoto to kill him or capture him. Either way Shoto was now a pawn on the same board as you. Dabi was playing the game against a cheater, someone who wouldn’t lose easily. Endeavor was not an easy man to break. This was going to be harder than manipulating your husband and you knew that.

“I want to help.”

“You already have. You being dead gives Shoto reason to kill. To go against his hero code. As long as you stay dead and he seeks revenge all goes well. I get what I deserve.” His phone beeps and he’s leaving you. The laptop goes with him, you don’t mind because there isn’t anything you can do on it anyway. You walk to the window watching his figure disappear into the foggy street. What an ugly night. You went to bed and curled up with a book Dabi had brought you.

Elsewhere Shoto stood in the darkness of an alley behind his fathers’ agency. Hawks walked by talking on the phone with someone not noticing the boy’s presence. Shoto waited and slipped into the building before the door closed. He couldn’t be caught using the codes or else they’d know it was him. He knew how to avoid the cameras, how to maneuver the building without getting caught. He found himself outside the large office he had been in plenty of times. To think it would be his father’s final resting place, it was perfect justice. He went to push the door open but hesitated when he heard him talking to someone.

“I offered her money, I offered her positions outside the country, Hell I had other heroes try to seduce her but nothing worked. She was hell bent on staying with Shoto. I couldn’t allow her to ruin his chances at being the number 1 hero. He needed to focus and if he were to marry it should be to someone with a quirk that complimented his. I needed her out of the picture and to think someone else took care of it before we had too.” Shoto knew his father was shitty, manipulative, abusive and so many other fucked up things but this was something else. This was beyond shitty and abusive. This was evil and a power trip. His father may not have killed you but he was going to get what he deserved for playing a part in it. The door opened under his touch and when he walked in his father turned a huge smirk across his face.

“Oh Shoto, I was just going to call you.” He put his phone down and Shoto was able to make out the name of the contact he had just been talking to, Hawks. He thought back to the funeral and pieced together theories. Hawks had a part in this and he was going to find out exactly what happened to you. His arm encases itself in fire the other arm freezing the exits. He stares at his still smirking father. “This isn’t a friendly visit. You’re going to tell me you killed Y/n and then I’m going to decide if I should kill you now or slowly torture you first.”

------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @flowersgirl02

Let me know if you would like to be on the taglist-

#shoto todoroki x reader #bnha #bnha dabi #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha imagines #bnha shoto todoroki #dabi x reader #bnha todoroki

110 notes · View notes

trashboatprince · 5 years

Text

Here’s a little drabble for the Beast Bendy son au, something cute cause it’s been a while!

Inspired by a recent story by @fullmetaldevil-blog where Sammy is a babysitter, but for this au, gonna have to make Wally a babysitter instead haha (since Sammy’s gone). I hope you don’t mind that I was influenced by your cute fic, but it gave me the kick in the pants to write something with Wally and Bendy hanging out!

On with the fic!

Wally parked himself in front of the now-familiar Stein family home, adjusting the old paperboy cap on his head as he turned off the engine. He could see that Henry’s truck was still here, guess he got here just in time. Phew! He was worried he was gonna arrive late and miss them!

He had gotten a call two days ago from Henry who had asked if Wally could come down and babysit for the weekend. Apparently Tom and Allison were unable to and their neighbors were out of town, so that left the former janitor.

He happily agreed, his wife didn’t mind, got him out of the house for something other than work, anyway. He grabbed a small pack from the back seat and headed for the door, knocking on it. There was a loud slap against the door and he could hear a happy snarl from the other side.

If he had to guess, Bendy turned into one of his taller forms to look out the peephole. Wally grinned happily as the door opened and a normal-Bendy suddenly clung to his legs. “Heya, short stack!” Wally chuckled, patting the demon on the head, careful of his horns.

“Hiya, Wally!” Bendy replied, removing himself before grabbing the man’s hand, pulling him inside. Linda was there waiting for them and told Bendy to go head up to his room and clean it up for their guest, no need for the house to be a mess. Bendy nodded and scurried up the stairs.

“He’s in a good mood.” Wally said as Linda walked him to the kitchen.

“Yeah, but it’s gonna turn sour soon.” Henry replied from where he was putting away the last of the breakfast dishes. “He doesn’t really know that we’re heading out.”

Wally raised an eyebrow at this. “Whatcha mean by that? Ya guys didn’t tell him?”

“We tried.” Linda sighed softly. “But whenever we leave and can’t take him with us, he freaks out and fights. I fear he worries that we’re gonna just leave him behind or something. He’s gotten better about it when he’s left with the Conners or the neighbors, but he’s never been babysat by you, so you might be in for a time.”

“Ah, ain’t nothin’ to worry about, Lin!” The short man huffed, shaking his head. “I’ve got a batch of kids that did the same thing when they were just sprouts, mah grandkids can be the same! I’m sure I’ll survive a few days with him.”

“You’ve never seen a demon have a tantrum.” Henry replied.

“Don’t forget, Stein, I was in dat studio a lot longer then you! I’ve seen him freak out more than a dozen times!” Wally laughed and Henry rolled his eyes.

The trio talked for a few more moments, mostly about the trip the Steins were going on. It was for a family event on Linda’s side and since they weren’t really familiar with Bendy outside of being a cartoon character and not alive, they figured it would be wise to leave him home.

“Well, guess it’s time we should head out.” Henry spoke as he glanced at his watch. “I already packed up the truck when Bendy was still asleep, so he’s still unaware.”

Linda frowned softly, looking towards the living room where Bendy was now, too busy watching something on the TV. “Let’s tell him. Wally, just wait here for a moment.”

Wally raised an eyebrow before shrugging, taking a seat in a kitchen chair, hearing the quiet talk from the living room. He couldn’t quite make it out until there was a loud shout of ‘NO! WHY CAN’T I GO!?’ from Bendy. He looked towards the doorway, seeing Bendy clinging to Henry like a koala, screaming as the artist tried to pull him off.

“It’s not fair! Why can’t I go! I wanna go wit’cha!” Bendy shouted as he was finally pried off. “Is it cause I’m scary?” He asked, his eyes wide like a kicked puppy’s, they even had inky tears in them.

Henry sighed through his teeth before looking at Linda for help. “Well, Bendy, it’s not that, but this is something that is happening for my family. And while you are my family, I don’t think my relatives are going to be keen on seeing a living cartoon character.”

“Then dress me up like a human kid! I’ve pulled it off before!”

“Sorry, bud,” Henry sat him down on the couch, “but it’s mostly for your own safety. And besides, you can hang out with Wally, you like the guy, and he’s gonna be a lot of fun, probably more so than Tom and Allison usually are.”

Bendy loudly sniffed and wiped at the area of his face where he should have a nose, probably for effect. He whimpered and held out his arms for a hug. Henry was happy to give him one before pulling away, with a little effort since Bendy tried to cling to him again.

Good byes were said, though Bendy’s were extra sad since he was a cartoon and a bit dramatic, and he and Wally watched Henry and Linda pull out of the driveway, heading down the street and out of sight. Wally glanced at Bendy, seeing the demon with his face pressed flat against the window.

“So, uhh... is there anythin’ ya want to d- Gah!” The former janitor suddenly jumped away as Bendy started to melt into a thick, goopy pile next to him. “B-Bendy?! Are you okay?!”

There was a horrible whine in response as the large blob of Bendy suddenly vanished through the floor, slipping through it like a Searcher did when attacked. Henry didn’t say anything about Bendy doing this kinda thing! He knew the toon could now transform between his three forms, but this was new! He didn’t even recall ever seeing this inky blob form before!

Oh no, oh no! He couldn’t call the Steins, and he wasn’t about to just drive after them! He had to find where Bendy went and get him back to normal! With a bit of effort, Wally found the door to the basement and looked all over in the room, finding no trace of Bendy.

Where could he have gotten to???

Then he thought back on what happened, the way Bendy vanished... it was like when the Ink Demon went through portals in the walls and floors. Did... he teleport to another room? Glancing up, Wally noticed something at the stairwell, something he hadn’t seen in quite sometime. It made him want to cover his eyes and cower in fear on instinct.

Inky trails were slowly making their way down the walls and stairs of the stairwell. Swallowing the thick lump he suddenly had in his throat, the engineer quietly went up the steps.

“Bendy..?” He quietly asked, seeing that the walls and doors were covered in the moving lines. He could hear loud, yet muffled, noises from a door at the end of the hall, the one almost completely black.

Bendy’s room.

Feeling his heart beating hard in his chest, Wally approached the door and opened it, finding it unlocked. Inside, the room was dripping with ink from the lines, strange waves of it were floating in the area above the bed, where the Ink Demon laid.

For so long, Wally had feared this creature, knowing that being Boris kept him safe, but that still had him worried. Bendy was unpredictable at times, even in the loops, he could have attacked the wolf at any time.

But right now, Wally was watching Bendy screaming into his pillow, kicking his mismatched feet in annoyance and anger at being unable to go with his parental figures. Bendy was nearly thirty years old, a full-on demon with two terrifying forms, yet here he was, acting like a three-year-old child who didn’t get the toy he wanted.

If Wally wasn’t nervous of Bendy in this form, even acting like this, he would have burst out laughing at the sight. Stepping into the room, he walked to the bed, hearing a very loud, angry growl from Bendy.

Oh no, he wasn’t going to act like this! Wally’s dealt with this sorta thing from his kids and grandkids and he didn’t take it from them, so he’s not taking it from a demon!

“Alright, mister!” Wally gave Bendy a shove, rolling him onto his back. The toon seemed surprised before he snarled, as if to ask ‘what’s the big idea’. “Don’t you give me dat tone! I don’t care if you have the power to kill me or whatever, but there ain’t no need to act like a brat!”

Bendy looked at him, making a confused sound. He huffed and suddenly changed form, becoming his beast self, growling right in Wally’s face. The man shuddered, his eyes wide... no! No, he was not going to back down to Bendy, not even in this form! He’s survived teenagers, he can survive an upset devil darling.

“Well, if you’re gonna act like this, then I’m outta here!” Wally announced, pushing at the large face, stepping back towards the door. Bendy tilted his head, where was he going?

“I’m gonna head out and grab somethin’ to eat, you can come along with me, but only if you calm down and stop actin’ like a rude kid.” The engineer stated, giving a shrug.

Bendy stood there, tilting his head slowly, a confused growl coming from that large mouth before Wally watched with wide eyes as Bendy changed form. He was pouting, his arms crossed. “Where ya goin’...?”

“To McDonald’s, we’ll get ya a nice burger or somethin’, and maybe we’ll go to the park. But only if you calm down.”

The toon looked bothered before he sighed, nodding. Wally waited at the doorway to the room as Bendy threw on a disguise of sorts. It was kinda funny to see him dressed like a child for chilly, fall weather, even putting on a hat to cover his horns, a turtleneck keeping his floating head from being noticed too much.

Once Bendy was ready, Wally took him out to the truck and got Bendy in, then himself. The drive through town was quiet, outside of the little devil playing with the radio. When they arrived at McDonald’s, Wally picked up Bendy, carrying him inside, like he was a child. He remembered Henry having done this once during a visit, and it helped hide Bendy’s face from most people.

After orders were placed and the food grabbed, the former janitor sat down at a table in a corner, away from others, giving Bendy his food. He watched the demon look at his burger, pouting still.

He sighed, rubbing at his forehead. “Ben, what’s up? Are ya really this upset ya couldn’t go?”

“No.” Bendy replied, taking a bite of his food after moment.

“Then why are ya poutin’ and bein’ a bit of a pain in the neck?”

He got a huff and a small glare. “I’m not, I’m just... mmm...”

“That doesn’t tell me spit, kid. Come on, talk to me. You use to chat with me back in the studio, yeah?” Wally smiled a little, trying to come off as more relaxed.

Bendy looked up at him and picked up a fry, putting it into his mouth. “I just... I don’t like Henry leavin’ for a long time. I get worried he ain’t gonna come back, dat somethin’ will happen an’ I can’t help him.”

Wally blinked, but smiled. “I see, but that’s no reason to act like that.”

“But I gotta! I want ‘em to know dat I don’t want ‘em to go! Or at da very least, I’d like Henry an’ Linda to take me wit’ ‘em so I can stay close.”

“So, you’re just worried? That’s sweet, Bendy, but ya gotta understand that you don’t have to be around them all the time.” He got a fry flicked at his forehead for that.

“I know that!” Bendy huffed, turning his head away, “But I still wanna go anyway!”

Wally watched him before looking around, then back to him. “Are you also worried about what people think of you?”

This got Bendy looking at him again, his white face flushed gray as he looked down at the table instead. “I... yeah. I mean... I can’t really may mahself look like a human, an’ a lot of people freak out at da sight of me, so I... can kinda understand why Linda didn’t take me to see her family. After some of Henry’s family’s reactions to me, it’s probably best to wait or somethin’. Still...”

“Well, if they’ve got a problem with you, that’s their loss. I know that lots of kids like ya, and some adults are warmin’ up, yeah? Heck, Linda told me all about the day you got to go to school! Oh, and you know how my family likes you, remember? And when I took ya to Coney Island? A lot of them sure liked ya.”

Bendy smiled a little. “Those people from the sideshow sure were swell about me... I can see why Linda an’ Henry left me wit’ ya, but, uh, do you think next time I can go? When they think it’s okay?”

“Absolutely! Heck, wanna know a secret?” Wally leaned in, Bendy doing the same with wide eyes. “I know Henry gets upset when he can’t take ya places. But don’t tell him I know! Allison told me this cause she learned it from Linda!” He winked and Bendy snickered at this.

Bendy was still a bit bummed out throughout the rest of the day, but Wally did his best to keep Bendy in good spirits. They finished lunch, after a small fry-flicking fight, and went to the park where Bendy played with some kids he knew.

Then after that, Wally took him to the library, where Bendy proudly showed off the library card he had. Henry had warned him that the little demon was always looking for a chance to show off the card he had gotten with his name on it.

From there, they returned to the Stein home and spent the rest of the afternoon playing some of Bendy’s board games and watching cartoons on TV. By the time Bendy had gone to bed, Wally was exhausted, but happy that he got Bendy to be in a better mood. Heh, it took Tom the whole weekend to get Bendy to appear as a toon again the first time he did this, took Wally about twenty minutes!

He nearly jumped at the sound of the phone, getting up the answer it. “Hello?” He asked.

“Hey Wally, it’s Henry.” Came the reply. “How are things there? We just arrived, long drive, but it went well.”

Wally grinned. “Good to hear! Ah, things here are swell!”

“Are you telling the truth? Or are you trying to keep me from worrying?”

“No, no! Things are good! I got Bendy to talk to me, we spent the day together, had some fun, he got mac ‘n cheese for dinner, an’ now he’s in bed. I think he’s sleepin’ in your guys’ bed, but he was dozin’ off on the couch.”

There was relieved sigh from the other line. “Good to hear, I was really worried about him, poor guy is still dealing with all the stuff from the studio.”

“I know, but he’s tryin’, and he just needs somethin’ to take his mind off of worryin’ about you guys.”

“Yeah. But we’ll be back in three days. Hopefully he’ll keep bein’ good with you.”

Wally chuckled. “Don’t worry! I’ve got things planned for him, gonna take him into the city, to the museum! Got into a conversation about dinosaurs today and now he wants to see them!”

Henry chuckled softly. “Good to hear on that. Well, I’ll let you go, gotta go mingle with Linda’s family for a bit before bed. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Yep, talk to you tomorrow, Henry!” Wally hung up and smiled, shaking his head as he went to make himself comfortable on the couch for the night. Heh, Henry had nothing to worry about, Bendy was pretty much exactly like his own kids, this weekend will be a piece of cake.

And Tom’s gonna owe him fifty bucks for this.

This has been in my drafts for weeks cause I got stuck, but this is the best I can come up with, haha.

Might do the museum trip as a later drabble, could be fun!

Thanks for reading!

#bendy and the ink machine #batim #batim bendy #wally franks #henry stein #linda stein #henry x linda #john's drabbles

80 notes · View notes

alivingfire · 6 years

Note

Ohmygod I love podcasts!!! Can you rec me some? It's hard to find good ones sometimes.

YES! I CAN!

i’ve been knee deep in podcasts for about three months now, and i have, apparently, wide and varying interests, so i’ll put a little descriptor of each. also, i listen to podcasts on the Stitcher app, but i think all of these are on itunes if you prefer that, and i linked the websites if you want more info.

DARK STUFF

my favorite murder - this is 100% my favorite podcast now, but the first time i listened to it, i had to switch it off. start from the newest episodes, get a feel for it, and then you can go back and start at episode one, which is still interesting but before the hosts really find their footing. basically, karen and georgia are two friends who love true crime, so they talk about their favorite weird murders and mysteries. it’s dark, but it’s also really funny (they’re both comedians) and i think they learned to really strike a balance between jokes and the serious stuff. they’re also super feminist – their sign-off at the end of each episode is “stay sexy, don’t get murdered.”

someone knows something - canadian investigative journalist david ridgen tackles unsolved mysteries, one story per season. if you like documentaries, you’ll like how this podcast is set up. ridgen interviews witnesses, friends, families, police officers – basically everyone around the cases he’s looking into. it unfolds like a story and you really feel like you’re right in the middle of it. you don’t have to start at season one, but definitely start at episode one of whichever season you pick, because these are episodic and won’t make sense if you go backwards.

lore - this podcast is SO GOOD, and it’s actually just been turned into a short miniseries on amazon prime that is incredibly creepy and well done. lore is written by a horror author, aaron mahnke, who takes you through the scariest stories and legends, and how they came to be part of our world. the first episode is about vampires, and it legitimately has such a twist ending that i screamed. if you like spooky, mythology and legend and history-based stuff, this is the best.

LEARN STUFF

literature and history - think about your favorite dorky teacher who makes ridiculous jokes and is so. genuine about learning and teaching that you get interested in the subject because he’s so interested in the subject. now imagine that guy was a harvard professor who totally knows his shit and he starts a podcast. starting from the beginning of history, this guy takes you through the pieces of writing that have changed the world. he’s super soothing and i’ve already read a couple of books he recommended. definitely start at episode one for this one, chronology is important and he builds on each episode.

no such thing as a fish - if you like dry british humor and trivia, this is the one you’ll want. the writers of the super famous british panel show QI (the show stephen fry hosted) talk about their favorite random facts that they discovered and researched that week. super funny, and you’re still learning.

good night stories for rebel girls - if you are a strong woman or love strong women or want to someday be a strong woman, listen to this podcast. this is still relatively new, but the format is amazing: the writers and hosts turned the stories of real women throughout history into fairytales. incredibly inspiring, and you get to learn about awesome women you might have only vaguely heard of.

nancy - the best lgbtq podcast you could ask for. lgbtq people, stories, histories, pop culture, and interviews that will absolutely have you bawling. this is an NPR podcast, so it’s interview-heavy, but the subjects are handled well and there’s no queer tragedy here, it’s all very hopeful and realistic without being pessimistic.

ENTERTAINMENT STUFF

ID10T - this used to be called nerdist, and it’s hosted by chris hardwick, the guy who used to host @midnight on comedy central. basically, hardwick and either his cohosts or a famous person – as of this post, the last guest was antonio banderas – talk about ~~nerd things of the week: movies, comics, video games, tv shows, etc. etc. it’s basically just pop culture, at this point (because video games aren’t just for nerds anymore, kiddos), but what’s fun about it is that hardwick is incredibly unapologetic about absolutely loving the things he loves. it’s more fun to listen to this guy geek out about stuff than listening to other people find ways to criticize the things you love, i promise.

gilmore guys - pretty much what it says on the tin - two guys watch gilmore girls and talk about each episode. you’re probably wondering why you would want to listen to some random guys talking about a show you (presumably) love, but they’re really careful to stay away from anything mansplain-y or judgmental. one of the guys, kevin, is a huge gilmore girls fan, and the other host, demi, is watching for the first time, so it’s interesting to hear their discussions, especially regarding race, homophobia, and a lot of other issues that the the show writers tiptoe around. definitely don’t start at season one for this show – it’s super rough and there’s even a little minute-long intro on the very first episode that says so. start at about season three, there’s not a lot you’ll miss and they’ve got a rhythm down by that point.

STRAIGHT UP STORIES

welcome to night vale - if you’ve been anywhere near podcasts or, tbh, tumblr, for the last few years, you’re probably at least slightly aware of WTNV. in all honesty, it lives up to the hype. it’s not scary so much as unsettling, very southwest gothic and supernatural. WNTV is the story of a strange town in the middle of the desert, told to you by cecil, the town’s local radio broadcaster. cecil tells you all about what’s going on in night vale, from the shadowy city council who sends monsters after people they disagree with, to the radio station’s cat floating in the bathroom, to old woman josie’s angels that hang out in her house. it’s interesting because, underneath all the unsettling creepiness, it’s super feminist, super pro-lgbtq rights, and super anti-authority/anti-establishment. if nothing else, cecil’s voice is one of the most soothing of all the podcast voices, and the quality of the writing and acting is superb from episode one.

wooden overcoats - hands down one of the funniest dramedies i’ve ever seen or listened to. wooden overcoats is the story of a tiny british island, where brother and sister rudyard and antigone funn run the island’s only funeral home, at least until a guy named eric chapman moves his own funeral home in right across the street and ruins everything for them. everyone, from the mayor down to antigone herself, falls head over heels for chapman, and rudyard has to find a way to keep the family business running even though he’s not very good at his job and would prefer to do as little as possible. the voice acting is SUPERB, and i genuinely mean it’s hilarious, with lots of gallows humor and funny timing.

the penumbra podcast - the penumbra is a hotel in the middle of nowhere, and every person staying there has a story. some of the stories are one-offs, and some of them, like the story of juno steel, space private eye, are recurring. it’s very old-timey radio style, lots of noir monologues and humphrey bogart-esque one-liners. some of the early episodes are rough, but they’ve actually gone back and re-recorded the juno steel ones, so they’ll be the best to start with.

the bright sessions - do you like superheroes? do you like the dark side of superhero stories, where people with powers have to deal with being different and strange and emotional all while trying not to accidentally time travel or read someone else’s mind? this one’s for you. the bright sessions are therapy sessions between dr. bright and her patients, who are atypicals, or, basically, superheroes without the spandex. dr. bright helps her patients work on controlling their powers, all while a shady secret government organization watches overhead. you’ll want to start from episode one on this story, but you’ll probably immediately have a favorite patient.

the bridge - another not so creepy, but more unsettling podcast. set in a slightly-different alternate universe where there’s a hundreds-of-miles-long bridge that stretches across the atlantic ocean from the united states to europe, you join a bored traffic reporter as she tells stories from other watch towers and stations along the bridge, which, after decades of use, is mostly abandoned. all the while, creepy stuff starts happening on her watch, and she and the other bridge employees have to figure out if they’re really in danger, or if they’ve been at sea too long.

the truth - a lot like the penumbra podcast, the truth is a collection of short stories, acted out like actual movies. the first one caught and hooked me – what would’ve happened if apollo 11 didn’t land on the moon, and instead became the first space tragedy? the stories are (again, i have a pattern) dark but funny, and they’re incredibly creative.

PODCASTS I HAVEN’T STARTED, BUT THAT ARE ON MY LIST:

you must remember this - classic stories from the classic hollywood era, from marilyn monroe to charles manson and a lot more early stars we’ve completely forgotten about.

wolf 359 - stories set in a space station floating out in the middle of nowhere, the crew of wolf 359 search for alien life and try not to die lightyears away from home.

alice isn’t dead - made by the creators of welcome to night vale, so i’m sure this is good. alice is a truck driver who has to road trip around the country (and beyond) to find her missing wife.

the podcast history of our world - a lot like literature & history, this guy is just so excited to teach that he makes you excited to learn. he’s also really good about covering underrepresented people, which is more interesting than learning yet again about history from the side of colonizers.

EOS 10 - i have at least listed to the first episode of this, so i can confirm what everyone says: this is basically the show scrubs, set in space. a lot of doctors who think they know what they’re doing but are really on their own with no clue what to do.

heaven’s gate - more true crime! heaven’s gate was a cult that committed mass suicide in 1997. the host dives into the lives of the cult members to prove that anyone could’ve been caught up in the story.

if anyone has any recs, i’m happy to add to my list!

#anonymous #rachel talks #podcasts

91 notes · View notes

savesamnishimura · 6 years

Text

Why does Sam matter?

Tomb Raider is one of the first games I played when my parents finally offered my brother and I a Playstation. It was our first console and even though we didn’t have many games, I remember how in awe my 7/8 year old self was at the time. Even if I was just a kid, it was amazing to realize that, not just my brother could incarnate a ‘super hero’ of his gender, I could too. I could be this badass British woman who kicks ass and takes name and who has a weird obsession with doing headstand just to climb an obstacle (show off*!).

I also remember that, even though I’ve never been close to my brother, we were morphing into a real team when we were playing the game together. Maybe that is why I’ve never seen Lara as a lone wolf so much, because I remember Wilson (the fridge part is a nice memory, even if it makes you sound like a psychotic person) and all the characters that were around her along her adventures. Not only that, but I also remember how I used to look for game guides with our very slow 56k Internet connection (I don’t miss that time!) to guide my brother through the game when it was his turn to play.

The thing is, although I look fondly at this part of my childhood, I can’t really tell you what the plots of the games were. I was young and even when I played as a teenager; I only remember bits and pieces, because I loved playing this badass woman but I couldn’t relate to her. Along the years, she looked less and less like a normally constituted person with a soul (triangle boobs, really? Can you even run with that?) and more and more like a Terminator.

So I slowly lost interest, focusing on other role models, because I was lucky enough to be born in a time when strong women were starting to appear on TV on regular basics. Time flies and before I knew it, I was a young adult, finishing my master degree and ready to take on the world (things didn’t go as planned, kinda like with the search of Yamatai but that’s another story.) and what do I hear one day? There’s a Tomb Raider reboot, with a Lara who’s practically my age! I was ecstatic, memories of my childhood came flooding back and I couldn’t wait to play it, to incarnate my girl Lara once again, now that I’m older and wiser. Of course, I expected a lot.

And boy, I wasn’t let down, it was AMAZING! Unlike the games in my childhood, I didn’t just appreciate Lara character, I fell in love with it. She wasn’t a cold robot killer anymore, she was human, flawed and beautiful and struggling to find her path, just like you do at her age. And she wasn’t alone, she had her mentor, friends and more importantly her bff Sam.

This time, the plot was captivating. I was so immersed into it, ignoring everything just to play the game (I played it several times since and I’m still amazed). I wanted to save my homegirl Sam, not because the game was telling me to, but because the character that plays the “damsel in distress” wasn’t weak or annoying, she was also strong, funny and witty, she was Lara’s rock, Lara’s motivation when she wanted to give up. Their connection was so organic and beautiful. And the end of the game was just iconic.

It was like I had found my Lara Croft, badass and yet human, strong and fragile, a woman who gets hurt, who suffers but who keeps going, someone not to mess with yet still shy and bookish because women are not one dimensional character. This Lara inspired me and a part of what makes her even more likeable was her relationship with Sam, no matter if romantic or platonic.

After that, I needed to know more about them and I started reading the comics. Rhianna Pratchett and Gail Simone did a wonderful job portraying Sam and Lara, as individual and as friends. It was all I could ask for.

But oh why do all good things come to an end? Suddenly Sam was written off in preparation of the new game. I had a bad feeling, and it turned out I was right…

Although I liked playing ROTTR, it lacked of something and I can barely tell you what the story was about. Despite Jonah’s presence, Lara was less human, like a part of her was missing, funny, just like Sam… When I played the DLC Blood Ties, I couldn’t help but think how Sam was to Lara what Amelia was to her father Richard, and yet, Sam was still nowhere to be find. Why does Lara need to be a lone wolf when even her mother and father left her letters telling her she didn’t have to be alone, that they wanted her to be loved and cared? It was supposed to be a reboot, a fresh start, so why slowly going back to the killing machine she was in the previous generation the game?

I understand that the studio wants to please old and now fans, but you can’t please everyone, and TR2013 was a commercial success, so why disregard the new generation of fans to try and seduce players that won’t like the reboot version anyway?

A lot of new video games hero and heroine have companion going with them on adventure and they are not less of a success, so why Lara Croft couldn’t be one of them? Why couldn’t she have Sam going with her, being there, if not physically, through video recordings or over the radio? And Jonah could help too, but having him isn’t enough or the same, his relation with Lara is different, he’s like a big brother, but with Sam, Lara lets herself be, like she does with no one else and that’s what’s missing now…

After reading the last Tomb Raiders comics issue, I have little hope of seeing Sam again (it was like years of canonically strong bond between them never existed), and seeing Lara turn back into a loner just breaks my heart. I’m not sure I want to invest my time, money and love into supporting this franchise if that’s where the story is heading and I don’t think I’m the only one (There are articles that prove that Sam is loved as a character and the humanized version of Lara too).

Sam matters to Lara’s story, to us, to me, please don’t write her off.

I know it’s already long, but I’ll just finish with this. Lara Croft isn’t a one dimensional character, Lara Croft doesn’t have to be cold, Lara Croft doesn’t have to be a stereotype. My Lara Croft is a wonderful young woman who can go on adventure and still have friends, people to come home to. My Lara Croft falls, struggles and gets back up again, not for her dead father’s memory, but for herself, for her friends that she loves and who cares for her, my Lara Croft could be so much more if only you could give her a chance…

#samantha nishimura #lara croft #tomb raider

32 notes · View notes

worddonor · 5 years

Text

“No one cares about your shitty life.”

The above was a thought that popped into my head after checking the ‘gram for a bit earlier this evening. It silenced all my thoughts and shut my inner voice straight up. More self-pity, woo-hooo! Mood-swing Monday. Yeah!

Lovely.

This time it stung for some reason. Me telling myself that that thought is just lies from the dark side didn’t ease the pain, because it felt true. That sentence hurt not just on the surface, but deep deep down because in that moment: I believed it with my whole heart. Maybe my faith will get to the place where I believe what I hear in church every week, right now though I must be honest I know what I’m hearing and I’m singing the songs and voering the verses to my brain on repeat over and bladdie over, but reality is saying whether I live or die matters f*%@l. I’m delusional. God doesn’t exist. The only person who will ever love me is me and the chances of that happening are slim to none because I can’t stand myself. I’m a fool and the most loved, successful and impactful people to ever have lived (and who live now) and graced the Earth with their presence apart from Jesus himself didn’t share Bible verses on Facebook and Whatsapp (guilty as charged here). They all have something in common and that more often than not, isn’t Jesus. I know the path I’ve chosen, but my inner world is still all kinds of stuffed up and it feels like it’s getting more confused by the day – it’s being split into two: the believing, faithful, spirit-filled world and the doubtful, despairing, depressed world, both equally strong. The warring of the two wolves fighting over food: I feed the good wolf, but the bad wolf doesn’t relent, it fights tooth and nail for the food and ground it’s been inhabiting for most of my life up until now – plus it doesn’t need to expend much effort to pull me down to giving up all hope, all it needs is one dodgy thought like the one above.

You might say, “My guy, why do you believe that thought?” Well, because if I look around me, everything proves it right. Nothing can stand against that thought.

Except for God.

By chance we ended up watching an Ariana Grande music special on TV and I thought to myself there’s this newish song of hers called “breathin’” that after hearing it play on local radio I grew to like it because it spoke to me on a subterranean level: even her, this massive pop star sometimes needs someone to tell her to ‘just keep breathing.’ She delivers the message so beautifully. Have a listen:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kN0iD0pI3o0

Many people truly appreciate a message like that, especially in the times we find ourselves in. I didn’t like her music at all at first, in fact she irritated the fudge out of me, but hearing this song and the other one that came after a man felt lower than low earlier in the year, I thought, “Hey, this lady’s onto something here...” Her voice is pretty amazing and the melodies or beats or whatever are quite mellow too, who woulda thunk it. This young lass with the long pony is doling out better therapy in a few minutes than most expensive ‘psychologists’ do in hours of flow questions and chatter. Lol.

I don’t know man. I cannot explain my kop right now. I know the Lord is there working in my life and in the lives of people close to me – I’ve seen it and I cannot deny it. I can’t. Call me delusional. It’s fine. I’ll be delusional for Jesus. I do genuinely feel delusional for believing it because the success I see in the lives around me – those folk don’t acknowledge Jesus; it’s usually just a general love. They’re making an impact, a real discernible impact. Not like me and many of the ‘Christians’ I know. The ones that DO acknowledge Jesus I’ve seen over and over are the most troubled and hypocritical and bitter people who expound on scripture, but struggle to keep to the principles of the Bible themselves and do, more often than not, use Christianity and God’s grace as a get-out-of-jail-free card.

It makes me sad, because I read about Jesus and about King David and Abraham and Noah – ouens with mad-man faith. They put us modern okes to shame frankly. The lives we live are pitiful...well let me rather say: MY life is pitiful when I read of what they did and the faith they had in the Almighty. They had true, powerful faith. When I think of one person who is genuinely effecting true change I think of Angus Buchan. If everyone looked at him as an example of what Christian life is meant to look like – he is a contemporary example of ridiculous, shameless, unwavering faith. If you know his story then you’ll understand why, but even for those who don’t: just watch him live and you’ll get it.

When shitty thoughts pass through my mind in the state I am now, it’s tough for me to argue with them because they reinforce my current reality and these are thoughts that have been by my side for years even though my faith says to look beyond my current state, to fix my eyes on Jesus and believe in His promises. At the moment though I won’t lie: I’m struggling. But I’m being way more intentional about the company I keep and the choices I make even though it doesn’t take much to derail a man. On Saturday I wrote some inspired words down as I felt the holy spirit moving in amongst the bunch of people I spent time with the evening and I felt stronger than I have ever felt having been with other humans which was strange as I was my usual, quiet, shell-bound self (the words just didn’t flow again and I was mostly to one side picking up stompies, as they say, of other people’s conversations – pathetic). I enjoyed myself in the spirit? Is that a thing? As I managed to be present with others in a loving environment mostly devoid of alcohol and even devoid of background music yet it was the most nourishing experience I’ve had in a long time and trust me: I LOVE music. Even music though doesn’t feel like enough anymore. Weird. Just weird.

I’m going to stubbornly look on the bright side, why? I have no bladdie clue. Again, it must be the spirit in me – that amazingly optimistic holy spirit in me. All I know is when I write words like these above I feel like I’m not trash (don’t get me wrong – I know in my head that God doesn’t make trash, but I’m trying to get that message through to my heart). For the moment: every single day I wake up, I give thanks to the Lord. By the time I get home after a day of work, life has convinced me that nothing I do matters, nothing I say matters, who I am matters nothing to anyone truly, but when I focus on helping someone out or writing words down I feel like those particular things matter: I matter in those moments.

It’s a miracle I still have a job, I’m so average at it – I’m just good enough not to fire and just bad enough not to promote so I float on in my stagnant pool (I’m enjoying this pity party, can you tell? Don’t worry – I already know it’s all up to me to work hard and to negotiate for my own progress or find greener pastures where my unique ‘skills’ are appreciated. No sarcasm here, straight up: I do know it’s my responsibility).

Ok, enough Monday night RAW, no more wrestling.

Do you know who does care about your shitty life? Do you? Do you want to guess? It’s the one who made you. Your manufacturer cares about you. Jesus cares about your life, every single moment of every single day of your ‘shitty’ life. People keep saying this, but it’s because it’s the only way to come close to fathoming the extent of His love for us: he knows the number of hairs on your head (Matthew 10:30). He cares about your life which is why I know – even though the voices in my kop are loud – His name silences the loudest voice.

Give Him a chance.

I used to get so sad, clearly I still do get pretty sad, even to the point of sweating out of my eyeholes until they dry out, but I can truly say I feel a hope now underneath the sadness that permeates up into my conscious mind and says,

“It’s ok. Feel it. God still has a plan for you. You might feel stupid and delusional for believing in Him, but look how far He’s brought you. Go try everything else and see if any of it can sustain you like He can despite what you look like or feel like. Go. I’ll wait.”

So I continue to follow His voice, read scripture, worship, pray and focus on Him. I will fall, granted – I fall over and over in a few minutes let alone the whole day, but I won’t stay still on the ground even though I look like I’m dead and buried from the outside. Nah. I’ll follow the Lord’s voice and my silly dreams until they are no longer dreams. You will too when you discover your manufacturer, your defender, your saviour and your father. Give Him a chance, I promise you: you won’t regret it.

Peace internets and remember: Jesus cares about every single little detail of your silly little life. If the creator of the universe cares about the smallest details of your life, how silly and how little can your life truly be in the grand scheme of things? Just keep breathing as the ponytailed belter sings and keep listening for His voice, this is Him speaking to you.

#musing #thoughts #life #jesus #ariana grande #just #keep #breathin'#people #LBHJ

0 notes

how2to18 · 6 years

Link

I FIRST MET Lee Goldberg on January 10, 1971, which is the day I was born, nine years after Lee showed up. I don’t remember this meeting, though there are some adorable photos that mark the occasion. Since then, what I can tell you is that I’ve come to depend on him for the kind of advice only an older brother can provide:

How to kill a guy.

How to get rid of that guy’s body.

How to perpetuate a long con where you pretend to be that guy.

That sort of thing.

Such is the benefit of having an older brother with the same profession … which, in our case, is writing crime fiction. Lee’s been on the job for a long time now. His first book, .357: Vigilante (under the pseudonym Ian Ludlow), came out in 1985. His first script, an episode of Spenser: For Hire entitled “If You Knew Sammy” co-written with his longtime writing partner Bill Rabkin, was produced in 1987. In the intervening years, I’ve seen Lee hit the highest highs — number-one best sellers, like his new book, True Fiction, which spent the better part of March and April atop Amazon’s best-seller list, and top-rated TV shows, like Diagnosis Murder, the classic crime drama he executive produced — but also the lowest lows. There was the time he wrote for a talking dolphin. There was also the time he wrote for a non-talking dolphin. And then there was a debilitating fall that cost him the use of both of his arms for many months, a frightening experience for anyone, but particularly daunting for a person who makes a living typing. Through it all, what has never changed is the devotion Lee has had for the crime genre, his optimism that luck is a thing you create for yourself, and his sense of humor for the absurd things in the world. He’s sold millions of books around the world. He’s written dialogue for Dick Van Dyke and David Hasselhoff. He’s inhabited some of the legendary characters in the mystery canon: Nero Wolfe. Monk. Spenser.

Mostly? He’s just my older brother.

So when I told him about 25 years ago that I also wanted to be an author, that I wanted to take my shot — this was after I’d graduated college and tinkered around in advertising for a few years — he gave me the best piece of practical advice I’ve ever received, which was this: Learn how to do more than one thing. Write short stories, write novels, write essays, write screenplays, write criticism, teach, become flexible, so that you always have a way to tell your story, so that you always have a way to earn a living as a writer, because there will come a time when you can’t sell something, when you need to have a back-up plan that doesn’t crush your soul, because as much as he had succeeded, he’d also failed, over and over again.

He was right, of course.

I do all of those things now, just like he has at one time or another.

In the last two decades that we’ve had this job — without ever actually working together — we’ve been able to experience a lot of cool things with one another. There was the night we spent with Donald Westlake, asking him all the questions we’d been holding on to since childhood. There were the weeks we were both on the New York Times best-seller list at the same time, Lee with a book he’d written with Janet Evanovich, me with a book I’d written with Brad Meltzer. Or the time we signed autographs for Stuart Anderson from the Black Angus. No, really. We met the Black Angus.

But also, in all that time, I’ve never read a single interview with Lee that satisfied me. He’s a funny guy, and so I think he gets a lot of questions that are set-ups for easy quips, which is a uniquely Goldbergian trait that I know we share — the ability to take any serious topic and turn it into a joke — but it also makes me feel like his hundreds of thousands of readers only know one side of him as person. So. This one time? We’re gonna fix that.

TOD GOLDBERG: What were those first nine years without me like?

LEE GOLDBERG: My first instinct was to reply with a joke … but I’m going to give you a serious answer. Those were the years when mom and dad were still married, so it was the only time we resembled a TV family. Our parents even had sitcom-y careers. Dad was a TV anchorman and mom was a model/socialite. We were moving up the ladder, from a starter house in Oakland to a brand new tract home in the suburbs. We spent the weekends at a beach house we rented in Capitola. We even had a Ford Country Squire station wagon. All that was missing was a shaggy, Please Don’t Eat the Daisies dog (which we got shortly after dad left … better late than never). We’d eat TV dinners in front of the TV watching dad tell us the news. In that environment, is it any wonder I turned out the way I did? You missed that tiny window of time when mom was, well, a mom and could be a lot of fun … but wait, this is about me, not mom, or the inspiration for all of your fiction. Let’s get back to me and mine.

I spent a lot of those nine years play-acting TV shows like the Wild Wild West and Batman with Karen (for you, dear reader, she is our sister, who is two years younger than me). I got to be James West and Batman … while Karen always got stuck being Artemus Gordon or Robin or whoever the second banana happened to be … and she wasn’t too happy about it.

When I wasn’t doing that, I was staging radio dramas and talk shows on my tape recorder. (I fell asleep each night listening to talk radio and old-time radio dramas.) I cast our neighborhood friends as guest actors (in the radio dramas) and either in-studio guests or callers for my talk radio programs. I would then play the recordings back, recording them on a second recorder, to edit out stuff that didn’t work and to add music (the theme song of my radio show was “Up, Up and Away”).

My pretend play was elaborate storytelling. I suppose I did it because I was imaginative … but probably to shelter/cocoon myself from all the arguments going on in the house (and there were a lot of them). I didn’t know, of course, that I wasn’t just playing, I was rehearsing for my future career … like a guy who plays doctor and then, like, actually becomes one.

I often get asked what it’s like to have a family of writers and artists, and it’s hard to explain, exactly, because it’s the only way we’ve lived. Our sisters are both writers and artists, our mother, after her socialite period, became a newspaper columnist covering socialites, our father — not that I ever lived with him as a sentient human — as you noted, was a TV news journalist, and then there’re all the uncles and cousins and whatnot, too. But you were the first one, really, to make it on a national stage, which I know gave me the confidence to aim big, and which I suspect made it easier for our sisters, too. Did seeing mom’s and dad’s success and, in many ways, eventual failure — both of them had these sort of big-league dreams but ended up never quite getting there, which ended up driving them both a bit mad — provide some motivation for you?

There’s no question that dad being on television and mom being a writer shaped me in profound ways. There is a lot of both of them in me … though more of mom than dad. They were both comfortable in front of an audience, whether it was on camera or standing on front of people. Mom had a big, outgoing personality and great sense of humor. She was a deft schmoozer and a big ego. She was a profound exaggerator in her storytelling, for both comic and dramatic effect. She went after what she wanted, personally and professionally. She was a fighter. I have a lot of those same attributes, though I hope with less of the destructive flip side. For example, I know when I am exaggerating a story and, I like to believe, so does my audience. We’re in on the joke together. It’s like when an audience buys into the franchise of a TV series … no matter how ludicrous it might be (she’s a nun — and she can fly! A detective with OCD! A drug-addicted doctor who hates his patients!) … because they want to enjoy the ride. Unlike mom, I don’t believe my exaggerations are the truth and then exaggerate them the next time I tell the story, and then exaggerate that, until I am heading into something approaching clinical delusion. I know where the truth ends and the embellishment, for comedic or dramatic effect, begins. I’m deeply afraid the day will come, though, when I lose that self-awareness.

I haven’t talked much about dad because he wasn’t really in my life after I was 10 years old (though he was in my life more than you or our sisters). Dad grew up wanting to be a TV anchorman … despite coming from a small logging town and having zero contacts … and yet he achieved that dream. He eventually became an anchorman on KPIX, the CBS affiliate in San Francisco … a major station in a major market … and it should have been a stepping-stone to the national stage. Getting there had to take talent, drive, and confidence … but somewhere along the line he lost his mojo … or, more likely, his backbone. I was too young at the time to know why or how it happened, or if mom was somehow to blame. But he became a weak, wishy-washy, superficial man. He let people, he let life, walk all over him. He stood up for nothing and nobody and lost everything. He showed me it was possible to achieve your dream, but through his failure, he also showed me you had to be strong to keep it. That’s not all I learned from him. Seeing him on TV every night also made television — the industry and the medium — something approachable to me. He made the TV part of my family. He made it small and human. My father was a TV screen, and I knew that I was stronger than he was. So yeah, I could break into TV. No problem. And I did.

One of the nice things about having siblings who are also writers is that they give you the unvarnished truth about your books — so when you’ve told me in the past that a book I’ve written is good, I know it’s good, and when you tell me a book I’ve written is just okay, it validates my impostor syndrome and saves me a trip to the therapist that week, which is also nice. And so I was pretty excited to tell you the other night how much I loved True Fiction, and not just because I thought it was your best book — which it is — but because I thought it marked an evolution in your writing, which is a thing that excites me as the biggest Lee Goldberg fan in the country. This is your funniest book, but it’s also one that lovingly shows an admiration for the thriller genre, and it shows your growth as a writer. In scenes where you might have gone for an easy punch line 20 years ago, you now have something that is funny but has a larger emotional relevance as well. Where you might have held back on a scene because it was too absurd, you now blow scenes up to be beyond absurd, because the genre you’re skewering requires it. Essentially, True Fiction is you at the top of your powers, both in terms of observation but also in terms of execution. Can you sustain that level without becoming a parody of yourself?

God, I hope so. I’m facing that problem now as I plot the third book with these characters. The first sequel, Killer Thriller, came very easily to me and felt like a natural extension of True Fiction. I never wanted either book to be a satire of thrillers, but rather an exploration of the difference between fiction and reality, between who we think we are and who we really are … and how the stories we consume in movies, TV, and books shape so much of what we expect out of life and from ourselves. I wanted to acknowledge the clichés, formulas, and tropes of the genre, confess my love for them, and then totally subvert them … while delivering the same pleasure that thrillers do. But most of all, I wanted it to be a fun, fast-moving, exhilarating novel that felt like watching a great action movie. I wasn’t sure I could pull it off.

Here’s the funny thing, and it’s probably blatantly obvious to a lot of other people, but I didn’t realize until one night recently, when I was talking to you, that I’ve explored these same issues and themes now in three books — The Walk, Watch Me Die, and True Fiction (four if you count the sequel). So perhaps it’s actually too late and I’ve already become a parody of myself.

I think the most satisfying thing for me, as a reader of your books, was seeing how the influence of different parts of your writing life came together to make True Fiction such a joy to read. The influence of your time writing with Janet Evanovich was clear to me in the pacing. Your years writing Monk show up in your ability to make even secondary characters complete, rounded individuals. And of course your life as a TV writer and producer makes the action set pieces come alive (in a way that I, frankly, cannot do — when I was writing the Burn Notice books, for instance, I’d go and look at your books and scripts to see how you choreographed big fight scenes, or scenes where you’re blowing things up, and they really worked as a primer for me). Is that pulling-in a conscious part of your writing process or is it atavistic at this point?

Hold on a minute while I look up “atavistic.” No, it’s mostly conscious. I wanted this book to show off everything I’ve learned from being a screenwriter and working with Janet. That means I wanted it to be as visual and fast-moving as a screenplay, to be driven by dialogue and action rather than by clever prose or internal monologues that get you inside a character’s head (usually to give you exposition). When you write a script, everything has to be conveyed through dialogue and action … unless you use narration as a crutch for bad writing (which it is 90 percent of the time). One of the reasons Janet and I work so well as collaborators is that she thinks like a screenwriter, even though she isn’t one. She believes the writing should never call attention to itself, that the clever lines or observations should be in the character’s mouths, not in the prose, and that there should never be any boring parts (bla bla bla as she calls it). Exposition and lengthy descriptions are cut to their bare essence, usually a single line or two that makes the point. It’s an approach to writing that starts the moment you start plotting the story. I discovered, from writing a number of novels with her, how to take my screenwriting instincts and apply them to writing a novel without losing my voice. Actually, I think I finally found it.

It’s interesting to me that both of us write crime fiction but come at the genre from different angles. You have always written more about heroes — not always traditional heroes, exactly, but people who are invested in fighting crime, at any rate — and I’ve typically written about bad guys or antiheroes. I remember a conversation we had, however, after my second book came out and it lost a bunch of nice awards, but no one read it … and you said, “You could try maybe putting a joke in between the suicide attempts, the carving up of little children, and the murdering of women who look a lot like your wife, see how that feels.” You were being funny, of course, but it was also one of those moments of self-realization that I had that maybe you’ve always known: that people read crime fiction to feel satisfied at the end, not to feel like they want to kill themselves. So your approach to crime novels has always been very satisfying — a love interest, a heist, glamorous locales, a mystery that is solved in 285 pages, the world largely set right again by the time the credits roll. Do you think that comes from your TV background, or is it something more personal?

I love reading. I want to be entertained. That doesn’t mean a book has to be funny. But it doesn’t have to be unrelentingly dark and bleak. There are a lot of “literary” writers who think they aren’t good at what they do, or won’t be taken “seriously,” unless they are making the reader feel absolutely miserable. There are some readers who might find that experience engaging, relaxing, and an escape from their day-to-day lives … but it’s a very small number, certainly not one that will sustain a lucrative writing career. People can take heartbreak, pain, and continuing tragedy and despair in a novel as long as you also give them some humanity, some heart, and especially some humor. Open the drapes and let the sunlight in now and then. I’m a big believer that there’s always humor in our lives, even in the saddest, most dire moments. You know that to be true in our own lives.

Escaping into books was always how I coped, so I understand entirely. But do you remember the first book you read that made you think, “Oh, I could do this.”

Yes, I do. It was Fletch by Gregory McDonald. The dialogue was so good that the publisher put a page of it on the front cover. It was the first time I read a great crime story told primarily through dialogue. Yet it was every bit as rich, in character and plot, as far wordier and less dialogue-driven books. I studied Fletch and Confess, Fletch the way some Jews study the Talmud. I didn’t have McDonald’s skill, but somehow I knew after reading his book that I could be a writer. (Later, Robert B. Parker’s Spenser novels gave me the same feeling … but Fletch was the revelation.)

So maybe the better question is: Do you remember the first time you thought that you didn’t want to consume a book, you wanted to be the one who actually made the thing?

Larry McMurtry’s Lonesome Dove. To me, that’s a perfect novel. I’ve read it many times trying to see how he pulled it off. What gives me hope is that even McMurtry isn’t capable of doing it every time he writes a book. It’s a goal he still strives to achieve … with mixed results. But in every book he writes, even the truly bad ones (and he has a few), there are moments of brilliance that I wish I had the talent to achieve.

Last question and then I promise I’ll let you get back to refreshing your Amazon page: I tried to count how many books you’ve written or contributed to, but I have two English degrees, so it got into math I’m frankly not qualified to do. It’s something like 75 books. Plus you wrote or produced 25 different TV shows. And launched a publishing company. You have a wife. You have a daughter. You have friends. You have family. You’ve had a bunch of great pets. You have profoundly odd hobbies, like smoking meats and flying your drone around, which essentially means you’re one step away from being one of those guys with a big-ass train set in the basement. When, in the last 35 years, have you slept?

I get lots of sleep … it’s rare when I get less than eight hours. Sometimes I get a few hours more. I honestly feel like I waste a lot of time, that I procrastinate too much, that I’m too lazy, and that I should be getting a lot more done. I feel like I’m capable of being much more productive than I am and that I’m letting myself and my family down, that I am not living up to my potential creatively. I wish I could survive on three or four hours of sleep a night. Think how much I could get done!

Tod Goldberg is the New York Times best-selling author of several books of fiction, most recently, Gangsterland. He directs the Low Residency MFA program in Creative Writing & Writing for the Performing Arts at the University of California, Riverside.

The post The Brothers Goldberg appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

from Los Angeles Review of Books https://ift.tt/2JbFr2h via IFTTT

#Blogger

0 notes