Anonymous asked: you should do an Ask Lara and Sam thing !!
Anonymous asked: how do you write beautiful in chinese?
Anonymous asked: A CHAPTER A DAY KEEPS YOUR RABID READERS AT BAY
I’M UPDATING AS FAST AS I CAN OKAY AND SOMETIMES A GIRL JUST NEEDS TO BE SILLY
You know when I zone out at work?
There’s a documentary about the Yonaguni Monument playing on TV right now…
i want a fanfic where sam complains about lara’s facelift
There was so much noise in the cafeteria of the S.S. Endurance that I’d decided to retreat back to my cabin for some peace and quiet. My Japanese wasn’t good enough that I could translate well surrounded by cheering, arguing, snide remarks and Alex batting his eyelashes at me. Additionally, Sam and Whitman had got into an awful row about whose money should be used for what, and that sort of talk was just not my thing.
I had my head down close to the desk, listening to Moby and agonising over a particularly obscure sentence, when I heard Sam’s heels out in the corridor. She was obviously bored again.
When she stepped into the room, she was lit by the dim glow of the LCD from her camera. “Here’s the soon to be world famous archaeologist, Lara Croft, in her native—WHAT THE FUCK?”
I looked up, alarmed. “What?” I asked, my translation forgotten. “What’s wrong?”
Sam was gaping at me over the screen. “Lara!” she said, aghast. “What the hell have you done to your face?”
I put my hand up to it. It did feel a little smoother than usual, but not enough to really bother with. “What are you talking about? I haven’t done anything to it!”
She staggered up to me, discarding the camera on my desk and touching my cheeks with her fingertips. “Yes, you have!” she accused me. “You’ve botoxed the hell out of it or something and been playing with the fake tan!”
I stood up and rushed over to the mirror, putting my face right up close to it. “Sam, what are you talking about? This is the same face I’ve always had! Maybe it’s the light?” My eyes looked a little different, though. Nicer, actually. Maybe I was finally getting enough sleep.
Behind me in the reflection, Sam hand her hands in her hair and was acting as if someone had just burnt her house down. “Oh, God,” she said, completely serious, “Oh, my God! This is a fucking disaster! You look thirteen!” She pretended to hold a microphone at me. “Hey, everyone! Here’s the soon to be famous archaeologist Lara Croft who’s thirteen years old and for some reason can only look stunned and slightly vulnerable!” She dropped ‘the mic’, staring at my reflection. “Lara. Seriously, there’s no way I can hold hands with you now without feeling like a total paedophile.”
“Hold hands with—Sam, what on earth has gotten into you? You’re being completely mental!”
She came to some internal conclusion and threw her hands up in a yield motion. “That’s it,” she announced. “That’s it. I can’t do this. Guys!” she yelled up towards the ceiling as she stormed out. “Cut! I can’t do this! Cut!”
I CAN’T EITHER SAM WTF HAVE THOSE BASTARDS DONE TO MY BBYS FACEEEEE
Anonymous asked: Prompt: Roth misinterprets relationship, gives Sam the Talk.