#Croft

[gunnbby]

My favourite trait in tomb raider is that every one is fucking terrified of Lara Croft. Not only is she fucking unkillable, but she continuously faces cartels, yakuza, and shadowy international illuminati groups and completely D E S T R O Y S them with only two fucking pistols.

Tomb Raider Legend: Taunts a yakuza leader in front of his henchmen saying “Or you could beg for your life like last time”

Tomb Raider 2013: Dudes are fucking shitting themselves when she gets a grenade launcher

Tomb Raider Netflix: Even Devereaux wanted to at least try to recruit her.

She’s like if Indiana Jones was mixed with Batman. I love it

[thelonelyshore-if]

Croft Drabble

Or, Croft wakes up next to MC for the first time.

Yellow-tinged dawn light leaks in through the gaps in the blinds. 

The bedroom is warm, much warmer than they’d like, and something sharp is digging into their eyebrow. Croft sleepily reaches up, slowly drawing awake as they fumble for their piercing there, worried it’s gotten caught on something.

Instead they find a paw reaching out and poking them.

“Bones, lemme be,” they mumble, still mostly asleep. They turn their back on their cat, ready to burrow deeper under the covers. Maybe if she can’t reach them she’ll leave them alone.

They manage to roll over without issue. The problem comes when they bump into something warm and solid and altogether surprising. Their heart leaps into their throat as they feel your weight shift against their torso. 

Right. You stayed over last night.

The proximity between your two bodies is small enough that Croft can feel the warmth of your skin. They lay pinned between your sleeping form and their hungry cat. Shit, shit, shit.

Croft needs to figure out what the hell their next step is.

It's still early enough that the room is bathed in darkness. The morning glow from the window outlines you in dull light. They watch the slow rise and fall of your chest, mind spinning and mouth dry. You appear to be soundly asleep.

Which is good, because Croft is freaking out. 

They need to think about this, but they’re struggling to make sense of anything when you’re so close to them that any shift of their body shrinks the space between you. Bones mews in their ear and they want to push her away, but they don’t dare risk waking you. They’re completely paralyzed.

Where are they supposed to put their arms? Can they wrap them around you? Are they allowed? You stayed over, and their body buzzes with the memory of the night before, but this feels so intimate. So close. It’s been years since they’ve woken up beside somebody, and they’ve forgotten all the rules.

Bones hmmphs, halfheartedly pawing at their face one last time before hopping off the bed. Thank god. They need a minute to think, and her begging for breakfast isn’t making this any easier.

Their eyes trace the backlit lines of your body with an interest that isn’t nearly as detached as they’d like. An anxious, fluttering sort of feeling blossoms in their chest. 

Butterflies in the stomach is an apt description, but so cliché. A torso full of insects is a concept made for horror, and yet it's a descriptor so often used in romance. They’re briefly distracted when they wonder at the origin of the idiom. A familiar annoyance unfurls when they remember they can't just look it up. 

Focus. They need to think. You'll wake up eventually, and they need to figure out how to be normal when you do. 

Croft’s breath hitches when you roll over. Panic sets their thoughts unraveling when, for a moment, they’re worried you’ve woken. They’re not ready, they don’t know what to say. They scoot backward in the bed, trying to put more space between you for no reason other than their own uncertainty. Thankfully, you remain asleep.

Your eyes are closed, expression lax. Peaceful. Your lips hang open, the soft curve of them a siren's song. Croft remembers how those lips felt against theirs, hot and eager, and–

Wait. Frustration flares and they’re sidetracked again. Another cliché. A siren's song. Basic and unimaginative. Can they really come up with no better way to frame their own desire? Especially when it consumes them so thoroughly that just the thought of last night sets their cheeks on fire. There must be something better. They lose themself for a moment in trying to find the right words.

Croft closes their eyes, silently chiding themself. Their thoughts aren't a narrative, a garden of words needing to be pruned down to the roots with shears until they resemble something half passable. 

It's just…they're so nervous. Easier to berate themself for thinking in clichés then focus on the pit of dread in their gut. 

No, not dread, this isn't one of their novels and they don't dread this. It's the wrong word, it's more like terror and fuck that isn't right, either, and they're doing it again. Spiraling into the word choice for the book they're writing in their head rather than dealing with the storm of emotions pinning them to the bed like a butterfly being pinned under glass and– 

You move closer, shifting your body until you’re nuzzling into them. 

Croft stops. Stops thinking, stops breathing, stops being. 

They don’t dare move. You’re so close. They still don’t know where to put their arms, but apparently you want to be close to them. They hesitantly wrap one arm around you and you make a noise, a pleased little sigh that makes them want to cry. The way you press against them shuts off their brain.

You stir.

“What time ‘s it?” you mumble. 

“No idea,” they answer, voice breathy. Uncertain. They can hardly believe you’re here.

“‘Kay.”

You smile against their chest. Your breath is hot. It tickles, and Croft’s breath hitches when you press a kiss to their sternum. 

Croft feels like they're going to throw up. Or cry. Or maybe both. 

You just feel so fucking good. You slot together perfectly, like you were made to lay interlocked in each other's arms. They lay frozen, but steadily they find themself relaxing again. You’ve drifted back to sleep. Minutes drag past and the tension in their muscles bleeds away. 

Focusing is impossible when you’re pressed so tight against them. It’s like their thoughts want to race, like they always do. The panic wants to reappear, to send them in a flurry of anxiety and uncertainty. But instead all they can think about you.

And it’s beautiful. Wonderful. Croft shifts until their face is pressed in the curve of your neck. They breathe in the scent of you. Marvel in the feeling of you. Slowly, slowly, sleep starts to overcome them.

They don’t fight it. Why would they? You’re here, and this is exactly where they want to be.

[jillraggett]

Plant of the Day

Wednesday 13 September 2023

The seedpods of Papaver somniferum (opium poppy) are a great decorative feature after the flowers are over. They can remain in the garden or be used in a floral display either fresh or dried.

Jill Raggett

[tyrianwanderings]

[poseidenx]

Ms Croft

[nyvavainilla]

An illustration based on a WonderCroft comic novel im working on with a partner 😊

This is a project that we are doing in our spare time among our busy lives, so it has been taking us a lot of time... But we won't give up!

We truly believe in this project, and someday sometime, society will see a comic about these two characters.

We want to explore a lot of topics, from romance and love, to war and violence. All of it, with a feminist point of view. We are actually very excited to share our view of all of these topics! And hopefully, more people will get as excited as we are 😊

[monocle-teacup]

Holy crud, I've been saying the VERY same criticisms about Earthspark for almost a whole year offline! I wanna add that the show really missed the mark of making Mandroid & Bumblebee parallel/ Megatron & Croft parallel. The lines were RIGHT THERE, they just needed to be defined! 1/8

Hey Anon, I hope you don't me combining some of your asks together so that my response flows better. I thought about putting all the asks and my response in one post, but that would've been entirely too long.

This is such a fascinating idea and TBH it never occurred to me that you could draw parallels between Mandroid and Bee of all characters. I'm honestly shocked the show didn't have a flashback episode about The Battle of the Bay because it was such a significant event. Maybe they'll do it in the 2nd season.

When you put the similarities between Mandroid and Bee that way, they make wonderful foils for each other. Both being secretive, but dealing with that burden in different ways. It would've made for interesting character growth for Bee and a particularly emotional scene with Mandroid exploding on his old friend Alex about how much he feels Bee is responsible for ruining his life.

Yeah, Bot Brawl could've easily been its own arc multiple episodes long. There was so much that could've been explored, like more variety in humans views on TFs and introducing more legacy characters.

[roughridingrednecks]

Croft

[sophievalentine]

Lara Croft by Sophie Valentine

Instagram: www.Instagram.com/sophiegamergirl Facebook: www.facebook.com/sophievalentinecosplay Twitch: twitch.tv/playsophie Twitter: twitter.com/playsophie_

+18 Shop: Patreon/OF/Gumroad linktr.ee/sophievalentine

[damgoodninja]

Sometimes I prefer the unfinished sketchy look over my finished stuff.

[cruel-simmer]

Completed Croft Midnight Sun Family Tree!

Like I said in my previous post, this isn't the end of this family but I'm having mild issues with TS3 on my new PC so it is the end of them for now.

When they return it'll be with Ellis, Finn and Grayson going to University (bc I'm dying to play TS3 uni lmao) and then once they graduate I'm going to play the rest of their lives (or one of their lives depending on who my fave ends up being) and one of their kids will go on to be part of or found a brand new legacy!

[marcos-h-c]

Colorber day 11 - Lara Croft

[thelonelyshore-if]

It occurred to me that Croft is going to hate that a decent amount of MCs are obsessed with the lake especially if romanced by them. Croft gives the vibe of not only wanting to leave but to put as many miles between them and the fog as possible.

Which would probably be pretty hard to achieve if even after they both escape MC comes to the lake every summer to visit (they still feel v bad about not visiting more in the past).

Poor Croft would probably pull their own hair out, if they hadn’t worked painstakingly on their aesthetic, about the fact they have seemingly fallen for the most insane person alive.

(Not MC going to visit the lake every summer, laying on the dock and looking into the depths while they keep their feet and tell the lake all the things they love about Croft before going for a swim, like gushing to a parent or best friend about your s/o. Softly lamenting that they couldn’t convince Croft to come this time either, but that they wouldn’t stop working on it).

You're 100% correct, Croft would hate it. I love this ask so much. Your thoughts are soooo good. It got me thinking, and I ended up possessed, so I wrote a little drabble to go along with it c:

“You're sure you don't want to come with?”

Croft stands in the entryway of your shared home. You've got the door cracked, letting an unpleasant wave of hot air worm its way into the house. Sunshine cascades over your shoulders. It spills onto the floor, golden-bright and much too warm.

Croft edges away from the light and the heat. The heft of their thick black hoodie is enough to get them sweating at the mere thought of stepping out into the summer day.

“Yes, I'm sure,” they say tersely, avoiding your eyes. 

The skin on the back of their neck pricks. Gooseflesh raises on their arms. It must be 80 degrees out and yet they feel cold. 

Why do you insist on doing this?

They think the words, but it's an old argument, and they refuse to sour your departure with a recycled spat.

Instead, they tilt their head and ask, “Will your parents be joining you this year?”

What they mean is, will you be alone? Or, worse, alone with Willow? They're asking if you'll be safe and sound and stay on this side of reality or if they'll spend the next week sick with the fear that the lake or your terrible little sibling will steal you away. 

If you hear the undercurrent of fear you brush past it. Instead you elect to set your luggage down and slip back into the house. You walk up and wrap your arms around their waist. 

“I'll be perfectly safe,” you respond, without answering the question. 

Croft starts to argue but falls silent when you press your lips to theirs. They hold you tighter, cupping the back of your neck. Deepening the kiss. They pour their fear and their uncertainty and their love into it, aching for you to taste the desperation on their tongue.

They can't lose you. 

They don't understand why you go back every year. They know, of course, about your youth and the lake and the red string tying you together. They've seen it, and they know you. But they still can't understand.

You escaped–both of you, together, breaking your way back into reality. Shedding the horror and the fog and the fear of Easthaven was like tasting sunshine, made all the better by you at their side. 

And yet you go back to your cabin every year. Drawn in, the moth to the flame. So far you've always ended your pilgrimage and returned to their arms. It doesn't change the silent fear that corrodes their faith and their trust; the terror that tells them that this time you'll give way to temptation. That you'll be lost to them forever. 

Except you wouldn't be, would you? Because Croft would go back, if it meant holding you again. Orpheus singing his way into hell. 

“I know you will,” they whisper against your lips. They try to rid themself of the doubt. They do trust you. They love you. 

One week and you'll be back again. 

“Don't miss me too much,” you tease, pulling away. 

“Don't fall in,” Croft responds, throat so dry that you can both hear the plea badly hidden amidst the joke. 

You give them a small, sad smile. A final hug, too brief, but you have a plane to catch and a car waiting outside. 

“I'll see you in a week,” you promise, “I love you.”

“I know.”

They watch you leave. The door creaks to a close as you pull it shut behind you. You're off to commune with something they will never understand. Leaving them behind. 

But only for a week. 

Croft closes their eyes. Takes a deep breath. 

They can handle a week.

[jillraggett]

Plant of the Day

Tuesday 5 September 2023

Growing between the stone paving of an historic croft front garden was Koniga maritima (alyssum, snow-white carpet, sweet alison, snow in summer, snowdrift, sea alyssum). This compact, low-growing plant is an annual or short-lived perennial. The tiny, white flowers are honey-scented flowers and produced throughout summer.

Jill Raggett

[solocanzoninelleorecchie]

mi sento ancora in colpa per il maggiordomo Winston, vado a riprenderlo

[philipreadart-blog]

Lara Fanart! I also drew 3 alternatives based on some other outfits from the games so look out for those over the next couple days!