#like barely

World’s Best Christmas Carolers

I won’t be here when you come back.

made myself cry again writing fic,,,,one more day and my project is done and i can draw freely again🥹🥹

[opens my trench coat] take a look at these wares... limited time only, heh

This is... well, it's supposedly from my Absolute!Lara prequel fic, but it's basically just pure, unadulterated self-indulgence. Likely something I should cut but idk I'm really bad at killing my darlings, so we'll see.

Tagging @thecapisin, @datamodel-of-disaster AND @rowanisawriter ;) no pressure, of course, but I'd love to see your work if you want to share ^^

Apologies for the format:

“Cut me.” “You said it.” “You pickin’?" “Pass.” “Alright, down the line, then. Step right up. You pickin’?” A loud sigh and a clink of a glass on the table. “Oh, hell—alright, I’ll take it.” “Hey! We got ourselves a game, ladies and gen’lemen. Now bury.” Two cards skid across the table. “Who you reckon got the jack?” a timid voice asks. “Ha! Listen to this one. Alright, Len, put ‘em down.” A meaty hand slaps a card on the table. There’s a low whistle. “Now there’s a tough act to follow.” “Aw, come on in, the water’s fine!” “You give yourself away every time, you know that?” “Why do you think I never play with you lunatics?” Lara stuffs her fingers in her ears and sighs. Purple tufts float through the air outside like tiny astronauts bumbling through space. Someone yells something from the kitchen table, one of those funny nonsense words about a play, and Lara swings her legs over her bed and cracks open her closet door. Way in the back, behind waterfalls of patched-up jumpsuits and crisp gray school uniforms, then past the pupal nest of stuffed animals she had banished from her bed for the crime of obstructing her from growing up and so now they were clustered together in sad little cones oozing onto her as she reaches… way, way back, a whole four feet of tunneling, there she finds a plastic bin with a warning scribbled in black marker: “WARNINING!! Noone but Lara Lor-Van is alowed here,” with the last three words smushed together for space, the childish script making the muscles in her jaw squirm with embarrassment. At least the ‘warnining’ was heeded.

Ah yes, the universally beloved 52-card deck. May need to come up with a different name for "jack," but I refuse to just start it with a k instead of j. (My husband suggested "jort" but this was also vetoed).