Olde-e

me: *gives an answer*

teacher: class, do you agree or disagree?

you: well I disagree beca-

me:

I have these paper birds in my room from 17883 years ago and I still think they look cool..😛

Love PINK

♞ ℒ ~

It had been a dark day. Lancelot Du Lac stood on the roof of the British Museum, the door blocked - someone was banging at it - staring at the stars. She was wearing the dress Ahkmenrah had given her a while ago, her hair brushed out, one of the wilted crowns of flowers he’d made her on her head. Her armour was to the side of her, drenched in her pharaoh’s blood. Useless. It was so useless. She was useless. Lancelot had failed.

Just hours earlier, someone had broken into the museum. Everyone here was too damn friendly, walked the person around - they were dressed up as if they were an exhibit - told them everything. When they came to meet Ahkmenrah, Lancelot had been with the pharaoh, who was nothing but kind. He explained the tablet’s workings, as if to ease off the newcomer at his awakening. Lancelot had left Ahkmenrah’s side to help Mistress Tilly round everyone up, why did she leave his side? That was when the faker struck. Ahkmen, he wouldn’t let it go, it was his tablet, his life - and the imposter killed him for it. She had failed.

He’d let out a cry and she’d heard it, tackling the man once she arrived on the scene, knocking him out, retrieving the tablet. But Ahkmenrah was dying. There were a lot of people screaming, but there was no sound for her as she got down to his side. 

His skin was cold. Lancelot pulled him up into her arms, using a hand to keep pressure on the wound, he was spurting blood. “Ahkmenrah?”

"Lancelot." His voice was quiet and strained, an odd sort of smile forming on his face. The sun was in his eyes. 

"You will be all right, Ahkmen, do not worry, I’ll save you, I -" He interrupted her, the sun starting to fade from his eyes. His skin was getting a bit darker, a bit less soft - it was too late. She was too late.

One of his hands pushed itself to hold the one of hers that had been pressuring his wound, and the tears in her eyes started to fall, mingling with the thick blood that was covering the both of them. 

"I love you."

Her eyes widened a little - affection always did have this affect on her - before she started crying a little harder, holding onto him a little tighter. She couldn’t reply at the moment. There was something stuck in her throat, too much feeling, though if you’d asked she’d say wonky wax.

It took her a few precious moments, but out it came, “I love you too.”

Ahkmen smiled. 

With what must have been the last of his strength or close to it, he pulled himself up so his face would be up to hers, smirking before he kisses her. Her eyes widen, and a blush settles on her wet cheeks, arms keeping him held up against her so he wouldn’t fall. It lasts an entire half a minute, before he falls back a little and gasps in pain, his heart beginning to slow. Lancelot’s face fills with fear.

"Ahkmen?"

It’s a whisper as he looks up to her face again, spasming, the sun shining brightly in his eyes, his cheeks slightly sunken in, and he takes his last breath.

The sun goes out.

Lancelot holds him for a while, rocking him back an forth, a song she’d heard Octavius and Jedediah play on the computer -

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are grey
You never know, dear, how much I love you
Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

When she finally lifted his body, bride style, carried it down the hall, she was still crying. Everyone passing lowered their hats, tears were shed, some people called out for him. Lancelot brought him to his parents, his home.

Merenkahre and Shepseheret could not speak at first. They had, again, lost their favourite son, who was slowly mummifying in Lance’s armoured arms.

"I have failed, your highness."

There was crying, Merenkahre screamed at Lance. Lancelot Du Lac was banished from Egypt, and they took his body, both of them crying, as Lancelot bowed and left for her own exhibit.

There she’d opened her chest and pulled out the flower crown, the dress, parchment unto which Ahkmenrah had written her poetry or silly little things, she took out the scarab bracelet he’d gotten her, everything. Then she left for the roof. 

So here she was, tears stained to her face as the first lights of the sun started to appear. The bracelet sparkled in the dim light, the poems and scribbles on parchment held tightly in her other hand. There was blood stuck to her hair. 

The banging on the door increased and was accompanied by shouting of her to stop, to come back, maybe it would be okay without Ahkmenrah anymore, please don’t do this. But she ignored it. Lancelot could not live in a world without her sun, her Ahkmenrah, the love of her life.

The sunrise was beautiful.

Lancelot had not seen one in so very long, and it reminded heer of the past. She smiled as she turned to stone, unable to see anything but a golden light, pain enveloping her as she slowly turned to the black ash, glittering like a jewel, collapsing to the floor. The pain was so intense, it filled her entire being - but she did not scream like others had. Lancelot embraced it. When it overtook, the ash gathering on the ground, exploding and vapourising in a golden plume of smoke, the bracelet and flower crown clattered to the ground. The letters stayed fast under one of the buds of the crown. On top of the pile was her goodbye.

What was a sun so bright, taken out every night,
Why must they snuff it out, and ice cover all about?
Love never dies, never dies, and the people, she cries,
And two, they stand, the moon and the sun,
Together forever once all is done.”

How was she to know, the next night, the powers that be in the tablet would raise her pharaoh once more?

What would she do if she knew that he would run up the stairs to the roof he’d been directed to, to find the dress he’d gotten her crumpled on the ground next to her bloody armour, a crown he’d made her next to a bracelet she’d cherished from him, the love letters he’d sent beneath her final declaration?

What would she say if she could see him collapse to the ground and cry, wishing for nothing more than his knight back, willing himself to commit the same act every night after that, hoping each time his tablet would stop, would let him join with his love?

Nothing more, for she was just a memory of yesterday. If only she could know what would be her greatest mistake.

Transformation Not Tuesday level 300 (my baby hospital bracelet in my hand today.)😛

The first night after. I got so drunk and went to a bar somewhere. A lady I met offered me some good old E and then we smoked the jane thay I brought after. Then we took some dosage of cough syrup and went all our way to space. I thought I was dying. Dying to forget the fucking fuck you.

my future partner is probably texting their bae right now about how they’re gonna be together forever. sike, see you in ten years bitch

MK is my 💖

you know how a lot of things are spoiled for you b/c its the internet and tumblr has a lot of gifs, images, and all that. like its nigh impossible to go into a fandom without having things spoiled for them. however

i still have no fucking earthly clue what jojo’s bizzare adventure is even remotely about. the power of eyeliner? maybe

"why do you always wear black"
cause i’m ready for ur funeral bitch