#the person who hosted is fucking loaded this place was luxurious

[vaquerismo]

friendsgiving in the financial district 🥳

[lollercakesff]

And They Were Strangers

Jyn Erso has been prepping for this for months. Years even, if you count the endless hours she'd spent running pools and hosting watch nights with her college roommates. She'd choreographed hundreds of dollars in auctions for remaining teams and had led multiple nights where her and her friends cooked their way around the world with the country of the week. The memories were great, sure, but to say she didn't feel a connection with this path in her life would be a lie. Something drew her in, tied her up, and convinced her that this - this - was the thing she needed to do before she died.

And now it was time. She was ready. Mentally… Physically… Hopefully.

AN: Will I finish writing this? I have a plan... But is it worth my time?

But the path to her next adventure was currently being blocked by some too-tall goon with haphazard hair and piercing dark eyes who kept getting in her way. First at check in, then in line for security, and now at the boarding gate. They’d practically been together, crossing paths and crashing each other, since she entered this damn airport and it was starting to really get to her. 

"Are you planning on getting on this plane or just standing in the way?" Jyn growls under her breath when the man doesn't move forward with the gate agent's call.

"What - Oh," he leaps forward a step and hustles towards the woman, pulling his passport from his pocket as Jyn sighs and checks her papers again. 

Her new American passport feels heavy in her hand, its empty pages a sign of things to come. She was on her way to Los Angeles where she was scheduled to show up at her first and only briefing for the next season of the Amazing Race. The producers had promised a full day of orientation covering the rules of the race and how the team match up would work before the "trip of a lifetime" began the next day. She was trying not to stress about it but she didn't quite know what she was getting into. 

This was the first season where every team in the race would be a set of strangers. They'd all meet at the briefing but it wouldn't be until the start of the race when they'd learn who their partner was. The producers had billed it as the season of 'fate' where they tried to pick a winning team by pure dumb luck with names drawn from a hat. Or so she'd been told. Who knew how it would really work.

"Next!" The agent calls and Jyn scurries forward, passing her documents over and brushing her bangs from her face. In another second she's motioned through and she's heading down the gangway and onto the plane. 

When she gets to her seat her frustration returns tenfold as the man from before has settled himself in her seat by the window, his seatbelt already clipped and his attention turned towards the action on the tarmac. 

"Hey, you're in my seat," she greets, stuffing her duffle in the overhead bin.

"F? Window?" He answers with an almost-accent and a quirk to his lips. Jyn frowns and steps into the row to let the people behind her pass.

"Yes. That's my seat, can you move please?" 

"I was sure I had the window, I feel claustrophobic if I can't see out - "

"Yeah, I'm sure. Can you check your boarding pass?" She asks, cutting his sob story off before it can even get started. 

"Can't I just have it this one time? It's a short flight," he answers, making no move to relent. Jyn sighs and drops into the seat next to him, her eyes closing tight as she urges the irritation to ease. 

"Fine. But this is bad karma and I hope it comes back to bite you in the ass, asshole," she grumbles the last part, determined to insult him but not loud enough to cause a scene. The man coughs as if to hide a laugh and Jyn hates him even more, pulling up her hood and taking out her headphones.

She was going to spend the next two hours in a music haven, mentally far from this man and the constant bumping of her elbow that came from sitting in the aisle row. Soon she'd be in LA at her hotel and then she'd be on to a new country, with a new language and culture that she'd have to work with to get her team to the finish line. Then she’d do it again and again until they won. Or they lost. She didn't like to think about that last possibility so instead she closes her eyes and hits play.

---

The hotel bed is more luxurious than anything she's ever slept in in her life and when she wakes it's with a curse as she realizes she's almost late to the briefing. Hustling around the room, she nearly crashes onto the floor when her pants get tangled and she loses her balance. Cursing out her alarm, her beautiful sleep, and the time difference, Jyn pulls on her t-shirt just as she pulls open her door and slams into someone walking past her room.

"Shit, sorry!” She gasps as she rights herself and pulls back. When she looks up it’s to find the man from the plane. The one who wouldn’t give her back her seat. The one who’d been a pain in the ass all day. “You!” The man’s eyes widen and he looks around him like he’s being Punk’d, surprise in his brow. 

“From the plane?” He counters, as if he was still struggling to place her. 

“Yeah. What, are you following me? How did you know to find me here?” Jyn growls, crossing her arms. The man cocks his head and furrows his brow, looking at her as though she was crazy. 

“Follow you? I’m here for… A thing that has nothing to do with you. If anything, I’d think you’re stalking me,” he adds sharply. Jyn scowls and shakes her head, her watch beeping with her five minute alarm. 

“Sure. Fine, whatever. I won’t be here long enough to have this happen again. Have a good life!” She shouts as she hurries off down the hall, her hand flung up into the air and her middle finger pointed towards him. 

She takes the stairs down to the conference room because getting stuck in the elevator with that jerk would put her nerves over the edge, their already frayed status from the late wakeup making her more punchy than usual. By the time she barrels into the room and grabs a plate of the breakfast, the producer is calling everyone to a seat. 

Jyn moves towards an empty chair and begins measuring up her fellow racers, her eyes drifting over one person and then the next as they settle in a semi-circle around the speaker. Some of them were incredibly fit, others a bit paunchy but she figured they could probably take her in a memory challenge or two if it came down to it. Most of them were on the younger side, maybe in their twenties or thirties, though there were a few who easily slotted into their fifties at the very least. She didn’t want to be ageist but she secretly hoped she’d get paired with someone who could keep up with her at the very least and she didn’t really peg any of these older folks as marathoners. 

“Welcome, good morning everyone!” A young woman calls out, drawing their attention to the front of the room. Jyn sits up and nimbles on a muffin, trying to look intimidating to the others around her who she assumed were doing the measuring up as she had just been. 

“You’re in my seat,” a voice says over her shoulder. Jyn’s stomach drops and she frowns, looking back to find the man from the airplane and the hallway standing behind her. “Don’t worry though, I’m not going to make you move, I’ll just take this empty one here.” 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Jyn hisses, clenching her hands and nearly crushing her muffin to pieces. 

“Nope,” he responds as he sits in the chair next to her. An insult is on the tip of her tongue when the woman calls out again and really takes control of the room, beginning with a welcome spiel before moving right into the security briefing. After the team has explained every terrifying aspect about the world in explicit detail, Jyn looks around the room and finds half of the contestants with a concerned look on their faces, the other half grinning wickedly at the challenge. Beside her the man keeps his expression reserved though his eyes are calculating, the look making her guess whether he was regretting his choice or simply bored. 

After the welcome session, they’re broken up into groups of four and are led to a table in the corner of the room. Jyn sighs a breath of relief as the man is placed in another group, his presence finally dissipating and allowing her to focus on the tasks at hand instead of the prickling skin she felt whenever he was close. 

Hours pass and the contestants are moved around the room to different stations where they focus on different aspects of the game. There’s logic tests and geography quizzes which she passes with flying colours but when it comes to the language skills and memory games she flounders, her attention twisting towards her fellow contestants. She spends half the time trying to measure up where they stand on these activities, who would be best suited to the way she wanted to run this race. 

Her strategy - based on years of watching the show - was to run with brute force. She would power through on the physical challenges and when it came to figuring out a puzzle she was set. She just needed a partner who would be able to keep up and rush into everything just as hard. Smarts weren’t what won you the race, it was being able to push your way through anything and she had trained to do just that. 

“Everyone now has an hour for lunch. Feel free to get to know each other and remember, these folks might be your competition or they might just be the person you cross that finish line with!” The producer from earlier calls as the stations are closed and the participants are left to loiter in the room. 

Jyn feels like she’s in a social experiment as she beelines towards the food table to take a plate. She loads it up with everything she’s going to miss for the next few weeks - caesar salad and french fries and pasta salad that looked too delicious to miss. When she settles at a table she’s quickly joined by a handful of others, the conversation easily picking up from the morning activities.

“I’m Bodhi Rook, you?” The man sitting next to her says around a forkful of salad. Jyn looks him over quickly and notes his tall frame and long hair, his thin frame and open expression. He could be a good partner - she’d seen him race through some of the challenges with an efficiency she admired. 

“Jyn Erso,” she answers, lifting her hand to offer a shake. Bodhi takes it and squeezes it before turning back to his food, diving in as she looks around the table at the others. “You heard anything about how we’re going to be assigned teams?” She asks after a few minutes, her water lifting to her lips. 

“Not really. My group thought maybe the stations were to see where our strengths were so they could match us up better. But I was also told it would be a name in a hat, so who knows what they’re planning.” 

“Yeah, I heard the hat thing too. I hope there’s a little more thought put into it,” she responds with a shrug. Bodhi nods and lets a laugh escape. 

“Either way, I think I’ll be okay. I just like the adventure of it, you know? Don’t really need to win the whole thing,” he says around another bite. 

Jyn frowns and looks at her food, debating internally whether she could be paired with someone who didn’t want to win the whole race. If she had to admit it - though she’d never say it on camera - she wasn’t here just because she liked the show and wanted to see the world. 

She was here because she needed the prize money. 

The thought creeps up on her and she pushes it back down, stuffing it into her chest like too many clothes in a carry on bag. She didn’t have time to think about it now, not when she should be sizing up her competition and thinking about U-Turn and Yield strategy. No. She needed to focus. 

“What about everyone else?” Bodhi asks the table when Jyn still doesn’t respond. She turns her attention to the people around them, listening as first a bright eyed Luke Skywalker and a gruff Baze Malbus explain their motivations before moving on to Leia Organa, a beautiful but strategic thinker, and her cocky puppy-dog-tail for-the-day Han Solo easily admits he’s only here for the money. Jyn can’t help but think he might be her real competition if they don’t get paired together, the gleam of a quick buck in his eyes adding to his boisterous energy. 

Taking another glance around the room, Jyn weighs the rest of her competition as they sit at two other tables. Sixteen racers in total, all with different motivations and experiences that they bring to the table. They’d be eight teams and the producers had all but guaranteed it would be a tough race with all of them having secret strengths that were admitted in their bio videos. Jyn can’t remember what hers ss but by the time she turns back to the conversation at hand, she already knows one thing is for sure - she’s going to win, even if it kills her. 

After lunch they’re broken off into individual briefing rooms where they’re given their racing issued equipment and a final check in with the producers before they’re sent off to their rooms to pack. In the morning they’ll all be meeting in the lobby to hand over their backpacks before heading to the starting line. 

When the race starts their first activity will be finding their matched backpack with a coloured bandana tied to it. The racer with the matching bandana will be their partner for the duration and it will either be a successful match or a story of just how quickly Jyn can crash and burn their team. 

Throughout the evening she tries not to think about it - pushing away thoughts of how hectic tomorrow would be, how much adrenaline is already rolling in her veins and just how is she supposed to sleep tonight? To distract herself she focuses on potential strategies depending on who she paired with in the morning. Baze could work, or she’d even probably be successful with Han if they didn’t rip each other's heads off. Bodhi would be a great candidate - he seemed relaxed and competent, but Jyn didn’t like that he wasn’t driven by the final prize so much as he just wanted to have an adventure. 

No, she could pair with most of the people she’d met that morning. With the very real exception of the man from the plane who she’d learned was named Cassian Andor. There was no way they would be able to work together to even get out of the States, their partnership tanking before they even took their first flight. She was sure of it. And so when she falls asleep that night it’s to the thought that she had a one in fifteen chance of failing and those were pretty good odds. 

---

Morning comes in a rush of excitement and insanity and a paranoia that she’s forgotten something even though she’s checked her bags at least a dozen times. When she gets to the lobby, the assistants take her old bags and mark them with her tags before collecting her race bag and shoving it onto a luggage cart with the other packs. She’s directed to a holding queue where the racers mill about, snacking on the continental breakfast and filling their water bottles. 

Twenty minutes later and they’re piled onto a bus. Thirty minutes later and they’re being placed around an empty field with only the production crew circling them and a pile of luggage in the center of the field. Jyn thinks she spots her bag with a blue tag and she grins, looking around at the nervous faces she was up against. 

“You’ve got this,” she whispers to herself as Phil Keoghan begins his speech from near the luggage pile. Adrenaline spikes in her blood and then there’s a horn and she’s racing forward, scrambling for the luggage pile and her bag with its bandana looped through the arm. She pulls it free and stumbles back, looking around at the other racers as they take in their own colours, desperately looking for their partner. 

Not Bodhi. Not Baze. Fuck, not even Han. She scours the faces and colours until she sees it - blue, like hers! She steps forward, her smile widening having finally found her partner. 

But then she looks up. And her eyes meet her partner’s. 

Dark brown meeting green.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Guess you’re stuck with someone with bad karma,” he says evenly, the nerve of it making her want to pull her hair out. She curses again and grabs for his arm, dragging him towards the clue box for their next instructions. They didn’t have time to waste on pleasantries and witty comebacks, not if they wanted to win. 

She could do this. Brute force was all it would take, right? 

[jawllines]

hey bub don't forget to post the met gala fic! xoxo ur reminder anon

tHANK YOU FOR REMINDING ME :D

“Holy shit.”

Y/N had seen Harry in a lot of things -- being his best friend meant experiencing his wardrobe, including but not limited to getting pictures of outfits laid out for something with question marks for her opinion, entering expensive boutiques with eyes averting from price tags in attempt not to panic, marveling as she walks through his closet to see pieces he’d purchased unbeknownst to her (plucking a few things from his drawers), and sending him links to things she think he ought to like just to see him in a photo online in it a week or so later. Despite how familiar she was with his taste in fashion and what he looks like in items of different colors, cuts, and fabrics, she is still often blown away with what he could conjure up. There was just something so. . .alluring, about the way in which he wore things with confidence without oozing any sort of cockiness that might turn someone off from him.

So when he’d invited her to come with him to New York for the Met Gala (in which she would not be attending, given she didn’t have thirty grand lying around to spend, but she got to sleep in a fancy hotel and eat like a King for a few days so she was happy), she’d been more than ecstatic. Was keen on seeing his outfits, hearing what he would do, what he’d have to say, and hope that he explain to her what even happens at the Met Gala apart from the red carpet. Even had fun with his impromptu ear piercing that she helped with (she’s got steadier hands than him). Her plan was simple -- to enjoy the luxuries of being rich without actually having to be rich, dawning one of the expensive hotel robes, slipping her feet into slippers and watch a livestream of the carpet while simultaneously pretending she would be willing to spend more than twenty dollars on a top as she scrolled through various clothing websites. Maybe take a bath or something and wait for him to come back, wondering what food they served at those kinds of events, if Harry would even like it, and if she should order room service (to which she would pay him back for even if it meant sliding money into his wallet when he wasn’t looking) and get him something in case he didn’t.

Though as the night continued on, picture after picture being released, videos and live streams from the event, everything seems so exciting and entertaining, she began to feel a small pit of. . .of something in her chest. She couldn’t quite tell what it was -- she was so proud of him and so happy to see him happy, that her cheeks could burst with a smile from it, but her heart weighs heavy. Harry makes good to rarely seem like he’s famous. Apart from the occasional fan picture or paparazzi hoard, he’s just normal Harry, who snores way too loud, has awful gas after eating jambalaya, picks off people’s plates without so much as a question to, and cannot sit still or keep quiet through a movie if he wasn’t interested in the subject matter. He was the Harry that shoved his head under her hand as his formal request for her to play with his hair and gave her drunken, emotional kisses because he’s “never felt so close t’a someone before”, and would rather sleep on her dingy old couch in her worn down flat than sleep in his multi-million dollar home if it meant that he didn’t have to be alone.

This Harry though -- famous Harry -- appeared to be completely in his element. Floating down the pink carpet with the man responsible for all things Gucci, dancing to Cher, mingling with celebrities, hosting the fucking event. It was like a whole different world he was apart of; one of glamour and opulence that she could only ever dream of. At that moment, for the first time, she’d felt as if she’d been holding Harry back somehow. She’s more than aware that she does not have that kind of power to do it on her own, but what about what he does for her? The nights that she wants him to come over, is he turning down plans with someone who might be more beneficial to his career? Or with someone who has much better, more interesting stories than what her professor tried to pull in her lecture? Maybe he was passing on drinks with stylists and people of greater importance because he’s far too loyal to pass on a romantic comedy movie night with her?

He deserved all good things; nothing but great, wonderful things and she feels endlessly guilty that she is unable to cater to that side of him.

That’s why when he returns a little earlier than he had expected, showing off the second garment he had changed into, his eyes wide and bright, “Get dressed, you’re comin’ with me to an after party!” He chirps after bursting through the door, walking towards the closet without a second thought and swinging the door open to reveal what she had presumed was a bag for one of his suits. Instead he pulls it from the closet, tosses it onto the mattress that she was sprawled on and points his finger at it, “Loads of people I wan’ you t’a meet, yeah?”

Her heart kicks up in her chest, not only because he is even more ethereal in person, nor was it just the fact that he had literally scared her phone out of her hand when he’d plowed in through the door, but because what in the hell? People he wants her to meet? At a met gala after party? Is she even allowed at those?

“Am  I even allowed at those?” She mirrors her confusion and he shrugs his shoulders.

“Don’t see why not; m’the co-chair, so I think I get a bit of leeway with a thing or two,” he pulls the zipper open to the bag, uncovering a beautiful glittery, chain detailed silver slip dress that she only distantly remembers stroking her fingers against on the mannequin, checked the price tag, and pretend it didn’t happen. Y/N couldn’t believe he’d remembered it let alone purchased the damn thing and now it was just sat on the mattress, waiting for her to put it on, “If anything everyone will suspect your just some smarmy socialite who doesn’t a hundred percent what Camp is and that’s’ okay. Hurry on then, I don’ want them to have too much fun without me.”

Her eyes were wide, “Holy shit,” sbe begins, placing her fingers to her temples, “Holy shit, Harry,” she shakes her head, “I can’t go! I’m not even -- I don’t even -- I took like a half assed shower at best!”

“And you look marvelous, Darling,” he took the liberty of withdrawing the dress from the bag, thrusting it out towards her with his fist around the sleek dark wood of the hanger, “I’ve been gushing about ya all night, and y’know I hate to be made a liar.” He motions towards the piece in his hand, brows furrowed as he becomes impatient, “S’been like two months since I bought this so if y’don’t like it anymore then --”

“Shut up, you know I love it,” she takes it from him, trying to ignore the way her heart swells when his mouth pulls up in a big, triumphant smile, “But it was at least one month’s rent, you’re asking me to go to a party with a ton of famous people and that’s something that I need to like prepare for mentally weeks beforehand.”

As soon as she’s got the dress in hand, he takes her by the shoulders and guides her towards the bathroom, “Yeah, yeah, Lovie, listen -- they’re all jus’ like me, yeah? Normal, dressed a bit fancy,” he squeezes her where his hands lay, “Loud as all get out, just like a good chat, will absolutely adore you if you get your arse ready in the next twenty or so minutes.”

He’d managed to close her in the bathroom, leaving Y/N to stare into the large floor to ceiling mirror illuminating every flaw she could’ve possibly thought to have all at once. She looks disheveled -- like someone who had only been planning on lounging around on a hotel bed and living simultaneously through Met Gala Twitter. Not somebody who was meant to get ready in twenty minutes. However, somehow Harry was incredibly persuasive without even having to be persuasive and she was sliding the robe from her shoulders, letting it pool to the floor.

She could get ready in twenty minutes -- she’s had worse time constraints in the past.

                                                                .                                    .                                       .

Y/N’s head is spinning.

Too much had happened in such a short amount of time; she’d met more people than she would have thought to be imaginable in a night than she’d ever met in her entire life. People of such fame and opulence she was certain that they would never cross paths, no matter the fact that she’s Harry’s right hand for most things. However, she realizes tonight as she’s mingling and meeting these people Harry has known for a long while and had never let the situation arise in which Y/N would meet them. Harry kept his personal life separate from his public life and if he could, she realizes, he kept her personal to him which simultaneously made her heart soften and ache all in the same.

She doesn’t think it would hurt too bad, until she had fluttered around the room with him and he had left her to her own devices for a moment so he could get them both something to drink. That’s when someone had turned to her (she wishes she could remember their name but after meeting so many people in a night, most of them escaped her) and said with a look of bewilderment on their face, “So you guys have been friends for how long? You seem so close, I wonder why he hasn’t really mentioned you before.”

It’s not like she expected him to be speaking on her twenty four seven, that definitely wasn’t the case! However, she talks about him a healthy amount to her other friends, and not even in a way where he’s Harry Styles -- again, just the boy who gets drooly when his face is smushed up against a shoulder -- they know that he’s around and is aware of his presence and their friendship. It makes her wonder if he’s ashamed of her or something. . .was being friends with a college student considered unclassy? Would it be better if she was some socialite who had infiltrated the world of celebrities and shared all their gossip at the first breath of their names? Because those are the friends of his that these people know about.

But he had brought her tonight, so that meant something didn’t it? It had to have, right? Was this a test to see how she would do in a situation where she was placed amongst people of such high regard? Or did he just feel guilty for inviting her then leaving? Or was he just riding off the high of the night and was making hasty decisions that he otherwise wouldn’t dream of?

There’s too many possibilities, it makes her head spin, more so than the apple flavored vodka she’d been sipping on. She needed to get out of her head -- she knows she does -- but it feels impossible when she so clearly doesn’t belong. And without Harry at her side, she felt even more misplaced than she had to begin with. The judging glances from people who couldn’t seem to decipher why she was there, why she was silent unless spoken to, and why it appeared like she wanted to jump from her skin. She had never been more uncomfortable in her life, and she decides then that maybe Harry keeping her away from this was best.

When she’d sought him out to tell him she was going to head home -- make up some excuse about a migraine or something -- she sees him speaking with Kendall, which only seems to further the wrench in her heart. All those teenage glimmers of hope that she could be his right hand are squashed because she’d only proven tonight that she couldn’t handle this side and this was such a large part of him. Not the only part, but big enough that she could understand if he didn’t want to bother trying to acclimate her to it. Why would he want to be with someone who he couldn’t bring to events without them starting to doubt themselves? And why the hell is she even thinking about being with him right now?

She retreats to the bathroom -- just for a little space, at the very least, to calm her down. Tears threaten to crawl up her eyes but she won’t let them. God! Why is she being so melodramatic? What’s her deal all of the sudden? She’s about three minutes from kicking her own ass -- surrounded by celebrities and idols she’s had for years, just to go to the restroom and sit still on the toilet long after she finished peeing? Just because she plummeted herself into her feelings about a boy? It’s like some twisted form of movie high school prom that she’d never, ever wanted to encounter.

Y/N isn’t sure how long she’d been sat there, until her phone dings a bright noise and startles her from whatever reverie she’d thrown herself into. She’s surprised to see Harry’s contact be what she sees, considering she didn’t even think he had pockets to keep his phone, so she swipes right on it quickly.

Where are you? Is everything okay?

And then the bastard had to be so damn sweet! Why should he care if she’s okay? He’d just hosted the damn Met Gala for Christ sake, she should be the last thing on his mind.

She feels her eyes well; here she was in the bathroom, feeling sorry for herself when it was Harry’s night. How could she run off to the hotel? She was here to support him and praise him because tonight is about him and she almost feels selfish for letting her emotions have her feeling like it was even remotely about her.

Deciding to no longer feel sorry for herself, she answers him back letting him know she was in the bathroom, stands up, finally wipes like she should have about ten minutes ago, and goes to wash her hands. She looks at herself in the mirror, very seriously tells herself to buck the hell up only to jump some when she realizes that Katy Perry is beside her in a burger costume. She nods politely, pulls a paper towel from the dispenser and pushes her way out to see Harry was standing and waiting for her, a dopey smile on his stupidly cute face.

“Are ya havin’ fun?”

Y/N musters her best smile and nods, “Loads,” she responds, “Are you?”

He nods enthusiastically, reaching out for her arm and giving her a small tug, “C’mon then, ‘ve been DJ-ing with Mark and I want you to have a go.”

                                                        .                               .                             .

By the end of the night it is very well apparent that celebrities party like college students. After the first afterparty he had taken her to, they went to a smaller one that he co-hosted, and it was a bit slower paced. Y/N felt more comfortable there at the very least -- maybe too comfortable, because several times she caught herself slowly fading to sleep, only brought back to full alertness when the coolness of her glass is pressed against her thigh. She’d done her fair share of mingling here too and met a handful of people that made her mouth dry, but by the time the sun started to rise in the sky, she was curled up on a couch and scrolling through her phone absently, waiting for Harry’s cue that they could go back to the hotel. He’d come to check on her a few times, asking if she wanted to meet someone (she would say yes), or if she just needed company but she urged him several times to go have fun (“You and I will be together for the next few days anyway, y’might as well enjoy your time without me hovering,” she had told him to which he replied with a pout of, “But I like when you hover.” that made her heart flutter more than it should have).

She was in the weird state of drunk-ish but slowly sobering; the last shot she had was an hour or so ago but she still felt buzzy and light. Still drunk enough to think that considering trekking downstairs and hitching a taxi by herself when she wasn’t all too sure of where their hotel was, might be a good idea -- but of sound enough mind to recognize that her feet ached too much to even think about trekking anywhere.

Around 7-ish, a gentle hand lies on her shoulder and nearly has her spring from her skin. Harry’s soft, low, sleepy chuckle is her first indication that it’s him before she turns around and sees his bow is a bit askew, his hair has been tousled and combed through to high heavens, and his eyes were puffy and red from his own weariness. “Jumpy,” he’d murmured, and she could tell he had sobered up considerably and was probably far soberer than she was, as he holds his hand out for her to take, helping her rise and leaning over to grab the heels she had kicked off and lied beside the couch, “Y’should’ve told me you were tired. Would’ve gotten you back to the hotel.”

“And what, miss out on some rich hot shot celebrity falling in love with my drunken sleeping form?” She stood, wincing and pouting, taking her heels from his fingers and sliding them back onto her foot, “Speaking of, m’pretty sure Taron Egerton is bringing me home actually, so I’ll send for my things.”

He furrows his brows at her and waves her along, “Yeah, yeah, and Alessandro is signing Gucci over to me -- c’mon now.”

“That’s actually not so unbelievable,” she replies.

The ride home, Y/N demands Harry work through his jaded brain to tell her about his entire night. She hypes him up even after the fact, reveling in his stories with him, all the new people he meant, how invigorating it was to be hosting the very first Met Gala that he attended, how freeing it was to have his nipples out at an event of this high stature, and how much fun he’d had even afterward. Though he still shies from her praise, blushing a pretty pink when she tells him he’s a legend and, “You’re literally doing such great things at such a young point in your solo career, m’surprised you aren’t floating from ego bloat,” makes him shake his head through a laugh.

She had thought she had made a brilliant recovery from her previous, mid-party panic, and was actually patting herself on the back for having it go unnoticed by him (because he notices absolutely everything; people could call Harry a lot of things, but one of them wasn’t dense). This is why she was so blindsided by how he approaches her when she’d plopped down on the hotel bed, kicking the heels off once again and flopping back against the mattress.

“So are you going to tell me what had you bent out of shape earlier?”

Y/N’s brows furrowed, heart sinking to her stomach, “Hm?” She plays dumb but he gives her that look -- that “don’t for a second think that you can trick me” look that almost makes her visibly shudder.

“You know what I mean,” he responds, “Y’think I don’t notice when you’re gone quiet? Or when you disappear for twenty minutes? Did someone say something to you?”

She opens her mouth to deny it but he shoots her that look again and she crumbles beneath it, shaking her head, “It was nothing,” she tells him, “I just got in my head, is all but it doesn’t matter and m’fine, so everything is good.”

“Don’t say you’re feelings don’t matter, because they do,” he responds almost immediately, peeling himself from his outfit and revealing the creamy smooth skin beneath -- Y/N has to tear her eyes from his torso so that she’s listening -- “Tell me what was wrong.”

“You’re awful demanding,” she grumbles, reaching up to take her earrings out, “It was just new and weird; I was surrounded by people I only ever see on a screen and then there were some people that just -- I just realized I didn’t really fit in, and I got in my head, but I got over it.”

His brows furrow, crawling up onto the bed, “Why didn’t you say anything to me?”

“Because it was your night idiot!” She all but snaps at him, not out of anger with him, but from pure frustration with herself, “I wasn’t going to hold you back because I felt weird. That wouldn’t be fair to you, n’I just -- I’m not apart of that world and it was very apparent and I just realized that I could be holding you back from something better when you’re hanging out with me or even that you have to take me places with you ‘cos you feel guilty. And if. . .and someone just -- I said we were best friends and they made a face and I -- it just feels weird. . .I felt weird.” Pushing the heels of her palms to her eyes, she shakes her head, “But it doesn’t matter, stop prying, me head hurts enough and I’m not letting this ruin how amazing tonight was.”

Harry’s fingers are gentle as they loop around her wrist, pulling it at it delicately so he could draw her hands from her face, “Okay,” he murmurs gently, “Okay, okay, I’ll stop, I just --” he pauses for a moment, like he’s trying to pluck the right words from his brain, “You’re so important t’me, y’know that? Right important and I wanted to bring you with me t’night, because I wanted to experience this amazing night with you.” His thumb carefully caresses her skin, and she can feel his eyes boring into her though she doesn’t look up at him, “Y’don’t have to be apart of that world, yeah? I like that you aren’t ‘cos -- well, as selfish as it is, I just want you all to myself. You’re my person. And don’t ever think you’re holding me back, Lovie, if I wanted to hang out with a ton of snobby rich celebrities all day then I would.” He leans in, pushing a kiss to her forehead, “I love you Dummy.”

Her heart pulls in her chest, “I love you more,” she murmurs.

They finish getting ready for bed (despite it being close to 9AM) and Y/N returns from the bathroom to see that Harry had planted himself on her mattress opposed to his own, snuggled up beneath her covers with only his eyes peeking out at her, “Get in,” his words are muffled by the blankets and Y/N rolls her eyes, climbing up into bed beside him. He wriggles his way over to her almost instantly, lying his head against her chest and sighing contentedly as his eyes flutter shut.

“You looked really hot t’night,” she murmurs idly as she combs her fingers through his hair and he hums, nestling closer to her, “Especially in the first outfit. You’re lucky I didn’t jump your bones.”

Harry laugh comes as a soft puff through his nose.

“You should’ve.” He responded.

Y/N stays up for an hour after thinking about it.

[harrystuff]

Green - H.S

Hey guys so this one is about Harry and Y/N being in the same group friends but not really getting along,

It’s pretty short but I was thinking to make this a series tell me what you think about it,

Love you all xx.

——

I’ve grown to hate the color green.

I used to love green, it reminded me of trees, of nature, the color green used to make me feel free.

Right now all I can think about when I see the color green is him.

The color green no longer reminds me of freedom, it reminds me the unwanted feelings that I was having towards a pair of green emerald eyes.

I was trying really hard to push those feelings away, he is the last person I’ve ever wanted to have feelings for, but I couldn’t help it.

I couldn’t help the stomach ache I was feeling every time we talked, or the fact that my brain couldn’t function right when he was next to me, or the way my blood boils every time he is surrounded by other women,

like now.

It was so typical for him to have so many girls around him without even trying, I can’t blame them to be honest, he was gorgeous and he was aware of that.

Usually I’d hate someone like Harry, cocky, full of himself, and the type that always gets what he wants.

I tried to hate him for a long time, every one else think I still hate him, because I can’t admit to anyone else but myself that there is a thin line between hate and love and I’m slowly tearing this line off.

My glass of wine was empty now and I desperately needed more, I went to the kitchen and poured my self another one when I heard Bella behind me,

“Someone in the mood tonight”. Bella laughed while I took a big gulp from my drink,

“I need to get laid” I was determined to get my mind of off Harry.

“Whoa what happened?” Bella turned serious once she realized I was as well, I guess she just wasn’t used for me doing one night stand, but I was ready to do anything in order to forget about him.

“Nothing, I’m just feeling it” I shrugged and started to make my way to the living room with my glass of red wine.

I heard Bella’s foot steps from behind me but I decided to ignore, I knew she would question me about my behavior and I have no excuses left.

Instead of Bella’s voice I heard the voice I was dreading from, making me stop at my place.

“Y/N” he said my name so simply like it meant nothing for him, or maybe it’s just me over analyzing everything he lets out of his mouth,

“Yes Harry” I answered without even facing him, my voice sounded annoyed which was the opposite from what I was, but he couldn’t know that.

“You didn’t even say hello to me, it’s basic manners since I’m the host” he grabbed my hand making me face him and destroying my body function,

“You were pretty occupied” I referred to the group of girls that was clinging around him,

“You know I would choose you over anyone” he said with a smirk on his face, I could hear the sarcasm on his voice and that hurt more than it should, I yanked my arm out of his grasp,

“I’m not in the mood tonight Styles” I replied bitterly and walked away from him.

A few drinks later I was flirting with some very handsome man.

He had dirty blond hair and blue eyes, nothing about him was green and that made me relax, finally I could be with someone else and nothing about him would remind me of Harry.

At this point the handsome guy, which I found that his name is Eric, had his hands around my hips while my hands resting on his chest while he leaned against the wall.

I felt someone grabbing my shoulder, I tried to ignore it but I could smell his luxurious cologne from behind me and it was driving me crazy,

“What?” I snapped at him while turning my head but my anger went away the moment I saw the green emerald color.

“You know man it’s not nice to take advantage of a drunk woman” Harry said to Eric without even glancing at my direction, my blood boiled again and I was so close to punch Harry in the face and tell him to go fuck someone else’s life.

Eric already took his hands off of me making me to take mine off as well, I turned to face Harry with my entire body when he said,

“Especially when she’s taken” Harry’s hand moved from my shoulder to my hip and I tried so hard to not let it effect me but all I wanted to do is shove him against this wall and make him touch my entire body.

Eric mumbled a quiet “sorry” and left right away, I can’t believe he bought it. Harry’s hand was quickly removed after Eric was gone which only proved to me that he did it only to mess with me,

“Can’t you fuck someone else’s life?” I raised my voice at this stupidly handsome man standing in front of me, I couldn’t let his beauty affect me anymore,

“I was helping you!” He said getting quite annoyed too especially after I let out an “Ugh” at his words.

“You should thank me he would’ve probably fuck you and never talk to you again” he raised his voice at me as well,

“What if that’s what I want?”

“It’s not what you want I know you” he lowered his voice and looked into my eyes but that made me only angrier,

“You don’t know me!” I practically shouted only no one but Harry could hear me due to the load music.

“Anyway you are worse than Eric” I wasn’t shouting anymore but I just couldn’t understand how Harry tells me to get away from a guy who fucks you and never talks to you again when he is the biggest player I’ve met, he was so hypocrite.

Harry was getting closer to me, making me hit my back on the wall, looking at me like he’s some predator and I’m the most delicious meat. At this point he was so close to me that I wished I could make a hole and the wall and hide there, because I couldn’t look at his now dark green eyes any longer.

“That’s why I don’t fuck you” He said making my eyes go wide and my mouth dry and I feel like I can’t let the words out of my mouth, “w-who said I-I want you to” I said stuttering, I couldn’t even convince my self at the answer.

Harry’s hands were on my hips now pinning me more against the wall if it was possible while he brought his mouth to my ear,

“Baby I know you always got your panties in a twist only cause you want me to take it off” I could feel his breath on my skin, his lips grazing my ear and slowly down my neck making me almost beg for him to touch me but before I break in front of him I managed to shove his body off of me, proving him and myself that he can’t and won’t control me,

“You know Harry maybe you think I want to fuck you but from the way you look at me you’re the one who needs it” I left him standing there speechless watching my body as I’m walking away from him.

[asleepysailor]

The Meaning of Life? There Isn't One

A Common Question

A question that I'm sure we are all familiar with is "What is the meaning of life?" Similar questions as well such as:

Why am I here?

What is my purpose?

What is life about?

What does it mean to be a human?

All amomg a plethora of others. It's the basis of many stories, films, and for many people it's the question that jump starts an existential crisis and/or a mid-life crisis, something I am too eager to experience.

So, what's the answer? Is there an answer? Many people will find their answers in religious text or faith in a higher power or after tripping on shrooms. Others, not so much. Can there be a definitive answer to such a loaded question? Well, because no one asked me at all I will give my take on this question millions ask themselves.

Definitively

So, Sleepy, what exactly is the meaning of life?

It's forty-two, duh.

Alright, now that the most painfully obvious reference is out of the way...

There is absolutely no definitive answer to what life metaphorically is. Life doesn't have an inherent meaning. There can't be. This is a more nihilistic point of view but bear with me.

There are so many humans on the Earth, born into different situations, cultures, environments, and vastly different regions. One answer can't possibly apply to humanity as a whole. We all have different goals and aspirations as well.

So why bother living? If life has no meaning why not just kill yourself? (Something someone has asked/suggested to me when talking about this.)

Well, okay -- first, damn. Second, I like existing. Just because life doesn't have a definitive meaning to strive collectively toward doesn't mean we can't live.

Let's Live for the Weekend

You give your life meaning and purpose. Why do you choose to live day to day? Is it because you simply enjoy being alive? Do you live for others? Do you live because there are things? Do you live because of your goals and aspirations?

These things and many more are valid reasons to live your life.

Everyone can have that one thing that pulls them forward, to live life day by day.

Does religion give you meaning or some higher power or deity or space lizard king? Does having a family give you drive? Educating others? Raising a work farm? Money? Trying to have a life of luxury? To pass the butter?

Maybe your actual answer is forty-two, however you even interpret that.

Everyone can have that one thing that pulls them forward, to live life day by day.

My Reason to Live

Sleepy, what is your purpose? What keeps you wanting to exist?

I'm glad you asked existential voice in my head and no one else!

I live for people, places, and things. I live for me. I live to experience. I live for validation. I live to try to see my goals through. I live to be be happy or at least try to be. I live to have a full life to reflect on when it's time to die, something that is inevitable.

My personal reason to live is to live.

I like people. I like trying to make friends, to have genuine connections -- friendships and otherwise. I like being around people that I feel like I could have potential connections with and especially being around those that I do have some kind of connection with. I want to and like to feel love and to be loved. Those are things I like. Those are things I want and will continuously want.

I like places. I want to, do, and try to see new places. I love seeing new places and I love exploring. Making little personal discoveries is so much fun to me and gives me fun memories to look back on. It's one reason I love cross-country road trips and stopping by landmarks and small towns. It's why I want to travel through Europe some day and experience that side of the world, among other places. I've already been to more than several countries and those have always been interesting experiences. I want to keep it going.

I like things. Not that things give my life some kind of meaning but there are particular things I want to have and a home with a particular arrangement full of things. Especially when I like having people over and hosting and entertaining. Being able to having things, objects in a particular way is a fun little drive for me. Especially as I get older and try reaching an end goal for how I want to settle for some kind of home base.

Validation? Yes. That's an actual reason. Does it sound ridiculous? Yeah, I'd say a little. Not that I do things and actions for the sake of being validated, that does seem like a bit much butvaldiation is nice. I do like being validated. A lot. It feels encouraging to me. As if I'm doing something right. Whether it is in my work life or more personal among other people. Validation does help me.

To be happy. That's kind of basic, isn't it? Something most people would understandably want? Yeah, absolutely and it's one of my reasons. To reach a point where I feel happy and content for any given reason and not question or doubt it at all.

To reflect at death's door, I'll often joke about how I'll never die. That I'll reach a stage in my late twenties and stop aging. I like to joke about it because the reality, the reality of life not being forever, fucking terrifies me and something I don't think I'll ever feel comfortable about. Some people can say they are okay with death when the time comes. I am not one of those people. It is something that has given me existential dread at one time and another. I accept the logic of death but I don't want it. Especially as someone who doesn't believe in an afterlife. So I don't want to let my life stagnate. I want to keep it going and keep it interesting so that when it comes time for me to stop breathing or if I start forgetting who I am, I can at least take some satisfaction and solace in knowing I lived a full life with people, variety, and interesting moments instead of not really having had lived at all.

All of these things and even a bit more are reasons why I live. These things are mypurposes in life. I'm sure others have similar reasons and others certainly do have different reasons altogether.

[cerastes]

HEY DRIMO it's been a while since you did a big myth post so how about you tell me a cool story about my boi karna

Oh dear me, Hindu mythos, damn, ok, so, first rule of Hindu mythos is that you all have to wear your seat belts while reading this. If you don’t, you are susceptible to immense physical and spiritual damage, enough that it might kick you right out of the cycle of reincarnation, and then the Mythos Retelling Collective (MRC) will revoke my license due to Irresponsible Sharing of Intense Tales (art. 23847). Are you all strapped in? Y’all got your helmets? Alright alright, let’s get this show on the road.

SO, KARNA. I assume most of you are familiar with Karna having Big Strength and being god damn unkillable. Ok, so, it goes beyond that. It goes at least three Milky Ways in width beyond that. Originally known by his other name, Vasusena (and this dude has like 14 different names), Karna is the main protagonist of the Hindu epic, Mahabharata, and–

Oh, right, before I can tell you anything about the Mahabharata, or about Hindu mythos in general, I need to explain power levels. So you know how in Dragon Ball Z Abridged, Vegeta and Nappa use “Raditz” as a unit of measure for power levels and ki? “My power level is 500 Raditz.” “My power level is 23000 Raditz”, the joke being that Raditz was such a weak grunt that his meager total power can be used as a unit as you would with centimeters? Ok, this is actually canon in Hindu mythos. They have a scale of power levels, referred to as “Levels of Warrior Excellence”. The levels are:

Ardha-rathi: The lowest level, meaning literally “Half of a Rathi”. Read the next section for a more elaborate explanation, but this is Yamcha-tier, basically, the weakest of the badasses.

Rathi: It almost sounds like Raditz, doesn’t it? Well, Rathi is the unit by which all the other levels of Warrior Excellence are measured, as well as a rank by itself. A Rathi is an individual so powerful and skilled, that they can do battle with 1000 regular warriors simultaneously. This is the “Dynasty Warriors Playable Character” tier: Strong, but still susceptible to frames per seconds drops and getting stunlocked by arrows.

Atirathi: HERE is where things get spicy. An Atirathi is a warrior that can fight with six Rathi simultaneously. This is the level of strength possessed by Kevin by the time of Home Alone 2.

Ekarathi: You thought six was impressive? TRY EIGHT RATHI SIMULTANEOUSLY. We are entering Popeye-with-spinach levels of world-ending strength now.

Maharathi: The top level, the cream of the crop, the true definition of “Fuckhouse”. Those who reach this level are immensely powerful, and can do battle with 12 or more Rathi simultaneously. That is 12000 asses worth of whoopings. This is where you favorite Touhou is, obviously, and fuck what everyone else says.

Their measure of unit is basically “How many thousands of dudes can this person fight, or how many people that can fight a thousand people at once can this person fight?”, which, in other words, means that India has not fucked around a single day in it history.

So you might be wondering, “where’s Karna in all of this?”. Well, Chili Con Karna is SO MINDBOGGLINGLY STRONG AND SPICY that he is, literally, a Double Maharathi. Karna is stated to be “in terms of strength and skill, equal to two Maharathi warriors”. These peak jokers made this elaborate power level chart just so they could say “AND KARNA IS DOUBLE AS STRONG AS THE STRONGEST”. He is Two Gokus. Karna could literally look at you, without the laser, and you would just be atomized, restructured, and atomized again in the span of minus three seconds, and you would thank him for it. And damn RIGHT you would thank him for it, because he probably didn’t mean to do that to you. That’s because Karna, despite having more powers than Superman and God combined, is the Ultimate Good Boy. This dude is Puppy Kiss Central, this dude chips in on Pizza Thursday every week, and makes up for those who didn’t chip in. Karna lets you take the last chicken nugget. Karna lets you use Player 1 when you hang out at his place. Karna tells you to text him or call him once you get home after hanging out and he gets worried if you don’t. That dashing guy you saw doing volunteer work at the homeless shelter the other day? Probably Karna. The owner of Old Friends Dog Sanctuary? Definitely Karna.

He’s GOOD.

And that’s why the Mahabharata is so painful: I don’t speak Hindi, but I am pretty sure “mahabharata” translates directly to “Karna Has Bad Day :(”. Today, we’ll be talking about Karna’s Three Curses, with a little bit of his childhood for context on the first one, and because I just want to talk about his dumbass mom. Also that one time he clowned Arjuna and Planet Fucking Earth got mad at him.

SO, there was this lady named Kunti, princess of the Kunti Kingdom (yeah), and this one time she was the host to a sage named Durvasa, who was visiting. She is a most Excellent Host, and provided Durvasa with the best of services, the most delicious food, the most luxurious of drinks, and every volume of Detective Conan, and Durvasa was so stoked at this 10/10 Would Come Again service, that he gave Kunti a special boon: With a mantra he taught her, she now had the amazing power to get knocked up by any deity of her selection. Kunti was really happy with her new pregnancy powers, and couldn’t wait to try them out, so she did to call upon the Sun God Surya, and guess what fucking happened: That’s right, fucking happened. It was a violent and intense cyclone of sex so kinky that the baby was born with armor and earrings (in some versions, Surya “handed” the child to Kunti, but in others, which I opt to believe, Kunti bore his child, and his fat solar load was so powerful that the fetus was armored). And then Kunti was like “oh fuck it worked lol but I am not wed” and since she didn’t want to be an unmarried mother (refer to Hindu tradition for this one), so she did like many other Mothers In Mythology and she put Armor Baby on a basket and set him afloat on the rivER LIKE A REAL KUNT, IT WAS IN HER NAME ALL ALONG, WHY DO YOU ASSHOLES KEEP DOING THIS.

THE REST IS UNDER THE CUT BECAUSE THIS IS TURNING LONG.

Like many other Babies In Mythology, Armor Baby was found by someone, this someone being a charioteer named Adhiratha, but not just ANY charioteer, this was the chief charioteer of King Dhritarashtra, who I hope will forgive me if I wrote his name wrong, and was adopted by the charioteer and his wife, Radha. Armor Baby was given a name, Vasusena, and his pet name was Radheya among the locals. Being born an armored baby, it should come as no surprise Vasusena was interested in the military arts, and so he approached this really cool dude named Dronacharya who taught princes about warfare, BUT Drone told the armor kid to fuck the off because he only taught Kshatriyas (the military social caste in Hindu culture), but he was very impressed by Vasusena’s guts because this shit ass kid more or less just strolled into his house and said “HEY TEACH ME HOW TO BE A BADASS”, so he suggested to his father to change his name to Karna, which means “one who peels his own skin”, as a reference to his guts and totally not any sort of foreshadowing to anything NO SIR WHY WOULD YOU THINK THAT.

So ok he got a cool name and whatever, bUT SEE, he still got told to fuck off, which he DIDN’T LIKE, so Cartman, not one to be daunted, sought out Dron’s own teacher instead, because fuck you, that’s why. So Kane finds him, name of Parashurama, and asks him BUT FIRST he disguises himself as a Brahmin, because Futurama only teaches Brahmins, and Karlos was not gonna make THE SAME MISTAKE TWICE. Panasonic agrees, seeing potential in this Double Goku kid and so begins the training arc. Result: Parashurama proudly announces that Karna is his equal in the art of warfare and archery. All this heaving and hoing gets my man Parmesan tired, though, so Karna, ever the good boy, offers his sensei his lap so he can sleep, sensei says fuck yeah and he uses his lap pillow. While he is sleeping, however, a very angry bee goes and stings the hell out of Karna’s thigh, but he’s got his sensei on his lap, which is like when you have a cat or a puppy on your lap and it falls asleep and you do not DARE move. So he didn’t, and this leads to a very important lesson to be learned in the Mahabharata: NO GOOD DEED GOES UNPUNISHED. When he woke up, Parashurama saw the wound and the blood that flowed from it (and from this, I take bees in India are Cazadores from Fallout New Vegas) and immediately realized that Kane was NOT a Brahmin. This lie meant he had ILLEGALLY STOLEN INFORMATION, and so he cast a curse on Karna that made him forget everything about how to wield the divine weapon Brahmandra-astra, an immensely powerful divine weapon he learned to use, but Karna pleaded to please be reasonable, at which point Par realized, hey, maybe this is kinda excessive and impulsive, so he reduced the curse to make it so Karna would only forget it when he needed it the most against an equally powerful warrior, which IS NOT ANY FUCKING BETTER, and then he felt EVEN WORSE because Karna had basically been his best student ever and is a Good Person, so he gave him his own divine weapon, the Bhagavastra, as well as his bow, Vijaya. I mean, you could’ve just. Undone the curse. But hey. New weapons!

So Karna, a dedicated and excellent archer, was VERY HYPED to try out this new legendary bow he had come to own! There’s a thing in Hindu martial arts called “Shabdavedi Vidhya”, the art of hitting a target by detecting the source of the sound. What Karna didn’t consider is that shooting things by just detecting their sound, you know, means you are not REALLY LOOKING AT WHAT YOU ARE SHOOTING, but hey, like eager-to-try-new-toys mother, like eager-to-try-new-toys son. Three guesses as to what happened. You are RIGHT, HE SHOT A FUCKING COW. And it’s not with a little arrow or a harmless stick, this was with the Vijaya, which means that cow was obliterated off the face of this god damn planet. My dude was practicing “shooting at sounds” with a tactical nuke launcher. What the tits did he expect to happen. SEE, I’m sure you know, but shooting cows in India is not exactly something you just apologize about. But Karna, albeit not the brightest crayon in the box, was still Ultimate Good Boy, so he went to apologize to the owner of the cow, who happened to be an actual Brahmin who had performed the Agnihotra rite daily, which made him extra holy. Brahmin, of course, was pissed, and since apparently people in India just have a full moveset of curses ready to sling at a moment’s noticed, cursed Karna AGAIN, with this curse being “fated to die a helpless and callous death”. Not the best series of days for Karna. He could’ve just walked away, but he’s a Good Boy, so he had to take responsibility. NO GOOD DEED GOES UNPUNISHED.

So I want to call attention to this bitch of a life for a second: Baby is born because some cunt used her super pregnancy powers to see if they worked without considering the consequences of, you know, getting super pregnant, Baby is chucked into a basket and sent to fuck off on the rapids, is picked up, immediately tries to enroll with a fighting master, instead enrolls with a SUPER fighting master that taught the previous fighting master, and gets double cursed for being a good boy and having bad trigger discipline.

Now, let’s skip a couple of chapters, and we arrive at the moment where the Pandava princes, all demi-gods, hosted a “tournament” of sorts to show off their skills to the people and to their guru, Drona. They were all having a good time, being badass and superpowered WHEN SUDDENLY Karna shows up and arrogantly challenges them because he knows he can do better, from what he has seen. One of the princes, Arjuna (kept you waiting, huh?), who was regarded by Drona to be the most powerful and skilled on the Pandava, told him to maybe fuck off, and that they couldn’t compete because they were above him, as his caste was no doubt lower than theirs. A certain pair of ears DID NOT LIKE THIS and jumped to Karna’s defense: Duryodhana is the name of the owner of said ears, and he’s got Authority. How much of it? Well, he just up and named Karna King of Anga then and there, just so he could compete. Holy SHIT. Now, see, Duryo hates the Pandava. Duryo REALLY, REALLY HATES the Pandava, and he was 100% behind supporting this random stranger if it meant he could possibly maybe humiliate these ugly sumbitches. Maybe. Ok, see, here’s where it gets a bit weird, but depending on who tells the tale, Duryo and Karna actually already knew each other and were childhood friends, but most tellings make this their first meeting, and I am absolutely on board with that, because it only goes on to show how much Duryo hated the Pandava, and divine people in general. He just fucking HATED gods, man. Can relate. So Karna goes and UTTERLY OUTDOES AND UPSTAGES the Pandava princes. Outright beats all their highscores and writes “ASS” in the 1st Place billboard on each entry as his name. They are all FURIOUS at him, especially Arjuna, who had aced every single event, and now had to wear a nice 2nd place on all of them because this absolutely nobody (no one knew Karna was the sun’s son yet) showed up and utterly pulverized them. This also starts his relationship with Duryo, with whom he’d become fast, and eventually, best friends.

BUT, SEE, HE KINDA GOT MADE A KING, SO HEY, HE HAD TO GO, UH, TEND TO THAT. He was checking his brand new sudden kingdom, when he came across a WEEPING CHILD. If there is one thing Ultimate Good Boy can’t stand, that’s the tears of children, so he approached the girl and asked what’s wrong. See, the girl had accidentally dropped her ghee (kinda like butter but less dense) and she was going to get her ass whooped by her step mother. Karna kindly offered to buy her new ghee, but she said it had to be THAT SPECIFIC ghee with the dirt on it, and that she didn’t want any other. Karna, in his infinite kindness, said “oh, sure, lol”, so he grabbed the dirt and squeezed it with all of his extremely godly might, extracting the ghee back into the jar as if squeezing water out of a sponge, because that’s just the kind of solution you come up with when you are the strongest person in Ever.

hey

hey

you guys remember what I said a while ago?

WHY YES

NO GOOD DEED GOES UNPUNISHED.

Guess what happened. Guess whose anger he incurred. He got Bhumi Devi/Mother Earth herself pissed at him. And what was her beef, you ask? Well, see, Karna squeezed that soil SO DAMN HARD that she took offense. Yes. Really. And guess whSHE FUCKING CURSED HIM TOO, OH MY GOD, CEASE THIS, YOU CAN’T JUST HEX A DUDE FOR SQUEEZING DIRTY, COME ON. The curse this time was that she would one day trap his chariot’s wheel during a crucial moment in his life. All because that little girl wouldn’t make do with a new jar of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter.

WORST. WORLD. EVER.

And guess how Karna dies.

Yes.

His chariot’s wheel gets trapped on the earth (third curse) during a crucial confrontation with Arjuna, he attempts to defend himself with his astral weapon, but forgets how to conjure it (first curse), and is decapitated by a shot of Arjuna’s Gandiva as he helplessly leans against the chariot’s wheel, unable to free it (second curse).

The moral of the story is don’t fucking help anyone, ever, and don’t own up to your mistakes, because if you do, you’ll be triple cursed.

                                                                                       Karna deserved better.