#painless fearless reckless

[melasvera]

Painless. Fearless. Reckless. (Bendy x Reader). Part 1

A/N: So, real quick. There is going to be a sort of a prequel I'm writing along side this story about Henry's life called "The Life and Times of Henry." It's not required to read to understand this, because they are both being written at the same time. It's just there to give my little head cannon on Henry.

I have this story pretty much mapped out in my head, just got to get it down.

I'm going to try my best to make sure that the Reader is not OP or Mary-Sueish. I'm giving her flaws to try to even out her inability to feel both fear and pain.

Yes, I am using two characters I used in another, unrelated fic. The two fics do not correlate, I just like my characters and I'm to lazy to create two totally new ones when I want the same personalities. Basically, I'm lazy.

This is pretty much just a setup chapter.

Enjoy!

“The Powers That Be” tended to flip-flop on what kind of hand you should be dealt with. Sometimes the cards they gave you were a blessing; loving and caring parents, good friends, no financial issues, artistic talent, and passing grades. Life would be great, if The Powers that-just-won’t-leave-you-the-fuck Be didn’t turn around and give you a rotten hand; such as your health.

Your body was pretty much in good condition. No failing organs, no abnormal cell growth, nothing truly hospital worthy, but that could change at the turn of a dime.

See, you were born with the inability to feel, or more correctly react appropriately, to pain. Pressure could be felt, so could temperature, but you didn’t react like you should. 

You didn’t cry, you didn’t flinched, you didn’t do anything. In fact, you never could tell when something painful happened to you.

The doctors said you had congenital insensitivity to pain, or CIP for short. This lead to you parents being overly attentive and concerned for you well being. They were always worried you would be one of the people who died in childhood because of your condition. Especially after that one time you fell out of a tree and walked away with broken ribs, and some pretty severe gashes, without knowing anything was wrong with you.

And your health issues didn’t end there.

It was sometime around your seventh birthday when your second “issue” was discovered. It was amazing that it was found out at all, since you didn’t experience many of it’s physical symptoms, and what you did could be easily mistaken for your constant mishaps with your CIPs.

You were just going in for a CT scan to see if you had fractured your skull in your latest incident when an eagle-eyed technician spotted something rare. Or, well, even rarer than CIP.

Calcification centered around your medial temporal lobes. Closer examination showed that your amygdala was utterly destroyed. Tests showed that while you still experienced most emotions you could no longer feel fear.

You were fearless and could not feel pain.

And for a child, for anyone really, that was dangerous to your well-being.

Your friends and family got even more protective of you after that diagnosis.

This lead to your parents deciding it would be best to be brutally honest with you when teaching you about the world, and to not sugar coat anything for you. Despite how much it hurt them they figured it was better to have you worried, which was the closest to fear that you could get, and vigilant than naive and careless.

It was repeatedly drilled into your head what was considered “good” and “bad.”

You shouldn’t go up to hug random strangers without someone you knew, because you never know if that person will use you the way no child should. No matter if they offered you candy or pleas to help find their lost dog. Doing that is “bad.”

If someone points some kind of weapon at you or a loved one that is bad and it would be best to get away as fast as you can, and don’t forget to call the cops because you wouldn’t want that to happen to someone you knew, they, or you, could be killed! And that would make mommy and daddy very sad. Which would “bad.”

If there is anything going through your skin it’s more than likely “bad” and should be dealt with accordingly.

Blood oozing for more than fifteen seconds is more than likely “bad” and should be dealt with accordingly.

No matter how interesting or cute any creature is, stay a good distance away. They may try to hurt you and no one would be able to get you to a hospital in time. Also “bad.”

No matter how much someone bugs you don’t take the drugs or drink they offer, you have enough problems to worry about. Doing so is “bad.”

Going anywhere alone is “bad,” because the world is mean to girls who go to places alone.

If you don’t know if something is “good” or “bad” call the people in your contacts, they’ll set you right. If they can not be reached call 9-1-1 and explain your situation.

Your parents even helped you remember the types of faces people make when scared, uncomfortable, or in pain, which helped you out a lot when it came to figuring out social cues. You weren’t up to par to most people, but you were good enough to function in most settings. And if you tripped up, that’s what your friends were for.

Devon and Ryan, your childhood friends who took it upon themselves to help you not kill yourself. They both understood that you couldn’t truly comprehend some things, no matter how hard you tried, and you were forever thankful for them. You’re certain that if they weren’t in your life to prevent you from doing something “not good,” you’d probably be dead by now.

They, and your parents, all helped you survive to your current age of twenty, almost twenty-one.

You were in college now, had been for almost four years, alongside your two friends. The three of you had decided upon the same school, one that would suite all of you, and, with some help from your and Ryan’s parents, were renting a decent sized house nearby.

That was a good thing that was dealt you, the fact the your mother was a high-profile defense attorney, and that she was more than willing to lend you three money for a house until you all could get decent jobs.

Ryan’s parents would help when they could, but they needed the money more often than not. Devon’s parents, on the other hand, refused to help their son in any way, shape, or form as long as he continued to hang out with his “hellbound” friends.

Devon’s parents were against the idea of their son living with a women he wasn’t married to, especially one with your….. abnormalities, and with a guy whose “sinned” as much as Ryan has. It was a good thing Devon was old enough to make his own decisions concerning where he lived.

The three of you found it hilarious how many people believed you were sleeping together in some kind of polyamorous relationship.

Well, you and Ryan did, Devon found it a nuisance seeing as any girl he went after either didn’t want to chance the rumors being true or hoped that they were.

You were just good friends who decided it was easier to function as adults together than alone. Nothing more, nothing less, but it seemed not many people were inclined to believe any of you.

Despite everything, your life was good. It just came with a few extra hardships, but that’s what made everything interesting.

And then Life, The Powers That Be, or whatever you want to call them decided to throw another curve ball at you in the form of a dare.

You never should of left home.

A/N: Let me know what you think, or if you have any ideas.

See a mistake? Please let me know! I'm lazy a hell and tend to miss things when I look over chapters. Plus I have moments where it seems like I don't know English.

[dat-town]

bed warm, hearts cold

Characters: Hades!Yoongi & Persephone!You

Setting: greek mythology au

Genre: angsty

Warnings: mild sexual content

Summary: “I wanted darkness… I wanted him.”

Words: 3.7k

inspired by the poem Persephone Speaks, written for @bangtan-bookclub’s February challenge as well as in celebration of my dear @lily-blue‘s bday! ♥

You can read the sequel here.

You had met him, the God of Death, in the deadliest corner of Earth, among withering trees and dying blooms, close to his realm, the kingdom of lost souls that had always enthralled you.

You who had come from the light, a land full of flowers and sunshine and warmth. You who had petals blooming under your fingers, blossoms sprouting out of the ground at the touch of your feet. Spring followed you everywhere but not here, not now when you came running.

Where did you intend to go to? Or was there something after you? You didn’t dare to look, not until you ran into a solid, cold body just when you reached the end of the world known to mortals.

"What’s after you, little bird? Did you get lost?” a low grumble of voice asked, resonating through the chest you fell upon. It wasn’t kind, the man’s tone, nor it put your trembling to a halt but when you stepped back on wobbling legs, he held your arm firmly, steadying you. It felt nice.

“No, I… I just needed space,” you mumbled almost ashamed of your childish act but you didn’t regret it. Oh no! You really weren’t ready to… To what? To admit that you were weak? Or too greedy? Was it so wrong to want something selfishly? To put yourself before others, to not care about expectations and consequences? These reasonable questions echoed in your mind poisoning the obedient daughter your mother birthed and freezing the following words onto your reckless tongue.

You looked up hastily, frightened deer eyes searching for help but you were welcomed with the black pupils of soundless misery itself. Staring straight into the dark, endless pitches, you shivered. His eyes were colder than the kiss of water nymphs and it made you wonder. Were all the tales true? Did he really have a black heart carved out of his chest, lying in a golden box with seven keyholes, locked down deep in Tartarus, keys forgotten way before human history? Did he really feed on the flesh of dead bodies and lived among rotting corpses, enjoying the havoc he caused with every flick of his pale wrist?

But oh, the man before you was nothing like the gossips you heard: he had no horns, no bony skull with bloodshot eyes. No, he wasn’t anything like the farmers who feared him described the God of Underworld himself. Nor he was like the intimidating, ruthless ruler your mother had always warned you about. He was rather beautiful, a masterpiece in a vitrine, hidden from the world unworthy to see. Moonless night-like eyes, velvety-looking hair, snow-coloured swan neck contrasting his dark cape was like an art piece on display. An outstanding being at the border between his kingdom, the darkness and the land of eternal dawn. He was truly a sight to behold, so much different from his brothers, the gods you knew too well, the bloodline that betrayed him and banished him out of Olympus.

"You are not from around here,” he commented nonchalantly, stating a fact with eyebrows cocked, head tilted and silky black strands of hair falling onto his forehead.

With quivering lips you didn’t deny the statement. It was too easy to tell: the flowers in your hair had already withered leaving nothing but dry petals in-between your dark locks, the curls around them hanging like grape tendrils. Your flowery dress was crumpled but still smelled like strawberry fields, your arms bare, exposed and suddenly you felt naked under the curious gaze.

“You shouldn’t be here,” the man continued when you didn’t say anything. His thin, rosy lips formed a firm line. The grip on your elbow loosened, and his hands dropped back by his sides. His touch had been as cool as it could get, however, you only felt the numbing coldness when he let you go.

You should have been afraid, shaking in fear and yet, hope bloomed in your naive, child-like heart. Because that was when you heard it: the sorrow in his voice, the longing… the loneliness. Your heart ached for him.

“Can’t I stay? Please,” you begged trembling like a leaf in the storm and the god who had fought too many wars to count looked taken aback. He widened his eyes in surprise, his own lips twitching in a silent scolding, mocking him that a young girl like you just found his blindside and attacked where he wasn’t looking? He was dumbstruck to say the least and decided to simply ignore your question. (What a coward, his heartbeat hissed in shame.)

“You know who I am, right? Aren’t you afraid?” He narrowed his eyes looking for signs of a trap, another slap into his face. He couldn’t comprehend for what reason Demeter’s daughter would have been there at the threshold of his reign pleading for entrance. It didn’t make sense at all. The more so as it had been a while since a goddess stepped into his territory.

“Why would I fear death when what life offers is much worse?” you mused over this question, asking yourself from time to time, but this was actually a first to ask it out loud, voicing it out for somebody who you hoped might understand. But was death really that considerate?

You wanted to believe that you were ready to die, to be free of the chains of the life you didn’t want but you knew goddesses didn’t die painless, peaceful death.

“Why is that?” the man asked the right questions, stepping onto your guts, trampling on them, turning your soul inside out.

“A cage can have golden bars and crystal chains but it’s still a prison,” you said voice sad and melancholic, not taking your eyes off of him. You reminded him of cherry blossoms, songs at sunrises and hope but your confession upset him as no truer words had ever been spoken.

The god swallowed, tasting his own poison on the tip of his tongue and he looked away. How could somebody so young and pretty like you know about pain anyway? And why would you want redemption from him?

“Leave,” he whispered yet it sounded like a loaded order. Leave until you can… until I let you.

It was an unsaid threat but it rang in your ears so clearly. Frightened and hurt, you turned around and ran away sobbing.

This was the first time he made you cry and the last time you listened to him and Yoongi had felt weak for wishing you didn’t.

But you came back. A harvest season later, fresh flowers in your hair, still so young and beautiful. You ran until your slippers almost touched the rippling water of river Styx but you weren’t allowed to cross the border. You were stuck there in-between the life you wanted to leave behind and one you couldn’t have. In the one place you knew they wouldn’t dare to follow you, never.

Yoongi had been watching you from the darkness, a girl as fragile as you struggling to find another way to break into his domain. What a fearless, rebellious little one you were! It fascinated him and curiosity grew in him striking root deep down and the leaves of its tree poked his chest, urging him to move, to reveal himself before you.

“Are you looking for me, little bird?” he emerged from the shadows slowly and soundlessly like death creeped up on humans. He appeared right beside you, leaving only a few steps of space between you. Startled you looked up at him with wide, shining eyes but you weren’t crying. By now, you were stronger than that.

“Your boatman didn’t let me in,“ you replied offended, shakiness missing from your tone, not denying his statement at all.

"He had every right to. That land is for the dead. Or are you that desperate to run into death’s loving arms?” Yoongi croaked an eyebrow challengingly, his gaze not wavering at all. It burnt your inside with the flames of hell but you welcomed the warmth and bathed in it.

You had always loved danger and trouble had been a constant companion of you. Maybe that’s why your mother feared for you so much, hiding you far away from the Olympian gods.

“No. But you are there, too,” you retorted finding an exception to the ultimate rule.

Ever since you met him all that time ago, you often wondered: wasn’t he lonely? Down here all alone, only surrounded by ghosts and corpses and dying memories…

“Somebody has to maintain the peace,” the God of Darkness shrugged looking over the river, at the gate made of metal and bones painted crimson with dried blood. One of the entrances to his kingdom, the Underworld he ruled. If Hell set loose nobody stayed put, it would destroy the mountain of Olympus and Tartarus would swallow everything like a black hole. It was a responsibility too heavy to be carried by one person, you thought.

“What is it like?” you let curiosity take the worst out of you, questions recklessly flowing from your mouth like the water in rivers running fast whenever your father and Poseidon had a dispute. “Is it a dangerous place?”

Maybe it was the phasing or the question itself but Yoongi blinked dumbfounded. Staring at you, dressed up pretty, you looked so innocent but he wasn’t somebody to fool. He knew the game you were playing and he had seen enough to know curiosity could kill if you weren’t careful enough.

“For you, it certainly is,” he nodded imagining the colourful valleys full of nice-smelling flowers he associated with you. “You would suffocate there, in the dark, in the cold and in the emptiness. You would fade away like your precious blossoms. It’s always night there, only gemstones are shining instead of stars and the ground is made out of dust, the remains of dead mortals. The food has no taste and you are always thirsty. There’s nothing and everything there, silent cries of the burning ones and rivers of blood. Dreams, hopes, memories, everything people cannot let go and bring with themselves to death, they are always there, constantly like fog and ruthlessly like plague.”

The sight he described was an art in words like stories your mother told you. She thought it would deter you, ease your nosiness but it was like adding oil to fire. You couldn’t grasp the meaning of the realm of eternal night until you saw it with your own eyes, this world totally different from yours, the land of prosperity.

“Would… would you show me?” you asked bluntly, nibbling on your lower lip.

Yoongi couldn’t believe his ears but you certainly earned his interest. The eldest daughter of Demeter coming to the God of Withering to catch a glance of his kingdom? Merely out of sheer curiosity? It was unheard of.

“Why are you asking? Once you step in and decide to stay, there’s no way out of my palace. We don’t welcome visitors,” he said and even though his voice was freezing cold, his eyes were swimming in one particular kind of warmth. You couldn’t help but fall for it.

“It’s different when you choose your own prison,” like an addiction. Like commitment.

You were absolutely convinced in the veracity of your statement. Unlike him who didn’t seem to agree with you.

"You are naïve to think I can save you,” he claimed leaving no place for argument but you would have rather been naive than a prisoner. Nevertheless, it hurt that he thought you were that stupid… or did he really think he was your last option? You wanted to curl up in your bed in shame but instead you kept your chin high up proudly.

“Are you telling me you are like them? Would you hurt me too?”

Yoongi’s throat closed up hearing the blame and he was looking at the rosiness of your cheeks more closely, searching for cuts and marks and imprints of a palm on your sensitive skin but he knew that physical pain and wounds weren’t the worst.

“Why would anybody want to hurt you, little bird?” he asked quite stunned, barely believing anybody would have had the heart to do so. You seemed so pure.

“Ask your brothers,” you bit out casting your eyes down, nails sinking into your palms forming half-moons.

They were cruel, you both knew. Your father, Zeus had never seen you as anything else than an asset waiting to be sold for the highest bidder. Alliances between gods, their holy and almighty plans, politics you couldn’t care less about while they thought it was so important. More important than your free will or your feelings. Just like Yoongi’s. He didn’t choose to rule over this part of the world, the unliving and unforgiving. But if he left, it would have been chaos.

Therefore, he couldn’t leave but what he could do was to let you in. To let himself have company, to lose himself in your presence trying to solve the mystery of you, this living paradox.

He stared at you for a long while, eyes like black stars and something that couldn’t be comprehended flickered through their skyline. Then he took a step back, towards the river and bent down to put his hands over the water nobody should touch. It stirred, ripples tearing up the surface, pulling a small boat with them to the shore out of nowhere. You gaped at the sight while your heart, that stupid, was already fluttering in excitement. But you didn’t move, you couldn’t. Not until the man allowed you to do so.

“Remember the rules, right? You can’t eat or drink anything from the Underworld,” he warned you, glancing behind his shoulder. His deep voice was stern but still light enough for you to not really pay attention to. All you did was nodding without much care and took the hand he offered to help you onto the unsteady watercraft. It was just another proof of the lies your parents told you. He was so gentle, so reserved, so broken-hearted… How could he have been so bad they were that desperate to keep you away?

“You are cold,” you shivered slightly, involuntarily but hold onto more tightly as you stepped onto the unsteady boat.

“The weather isn’t quite lovely down there. Living things don’t usually survive the harshness of death,” he explained plain and simple but looking at him, you wanted to argue: even if they were only ephemeral beings, they were beautiful. Maybe they were meant to be like that because everything had a definite end. Unlike suffering.

You settled on the boat comfortably as Yoongi showed you around in his realm. Your pretty gown got soaked in the misty fog but you seemingly didn’t care. You were a lot more fascinated by the scenery and the  sights you had never seen before.

“Is that a pomegranate tree?” you pointed at a branches growing close to the river, the fruits’ shiny burgundy colour resembling of blood and rose petals. On this barren land it was the first specimen of greenery you saw.

“Yeah, that’s the only fruit that grows here,” Yoongi hummed and quickly changed the topic as you arrived near the Meadow of Asphodel and the place where the dead were judged. Then you stopped by at the gateway of Underworld, the lookout post of Cerberus and the hollow where the Sun never shone. All of it was utterly different from the world you had grown up in, the world you didn’t miss one bit so saying goodbye had never been so hard.

You kept coming back running with wide smiles and more questions. You never talked about what was after you, chasing you straight into his arms, and he never questioned it, just took you to the outer fields of Underworld and told you everything you were curious about. He fell deeper and deeper into you, the forbidden fruit, a bride promised to one of his brothers, so he decided to scare you off, sparing both of you the pain. He showed you his worst side: full of rage and rampage, ripping out hearts just like the king they whispered about, the nightmare everybody feared. You saw the monster they told you about, the merciless god but it didn’t scare you. How could it when you looked into your own soul and saw the same horror and ambitions?

Once you came in a dress of white and gold, the colours of weddings, and he took you to his palace like he had promised long ago. He watched you marvelling at the silver decors on the bare wall standing a couple of feet away, in a safe distance even though his hands itched to touch, to feel your warmth on his cold skin.

“Why are you always calling me little bird?” you blurted out another point of your endless list of questions and you managed to take the god by surprise once again. He felt guilt and want building up in him as his gaze followed your perfect bodyline under the sacred wedding dress. He couldn’t stop thinking about it: had you left before Zeus could bless your union with another man? Or had you only run away after? Who had dared to claim you as his?

“Because you’re just trying out your wings but one day when you learn how to fly, you will leave,” he replied caught up in his own emotions, the lies he couldn’t tell you and he looked you in the eye when you turned towards him.

“What if I don’t want to?”

“I would say you are lying,” Yoongi shook his head ever so sure of himself, eyes not even twitching. It was the saddest truth he knew: everybody left. Whether by accident or intent, alive or dead, with or without saying goodbye but people left one by one. A habit nobody could shake off.

You wanted to prove him wrong, to prove that you were meant to stay not caring about rules, expectations and responsibilities. So you dared to ask for the most reckless thing:

"Feed me,” you pleaded. Oh how much you yearned for the taste of bitter pomegranates in your mouth!

But no, he didn’t feed you, he didn’t bind you to him to stick with him in this rotten hell. No, he did worse: he broke his own damned heart.

He squeezed your hand and lunged forward so fast your eyes couldn’t quite follow the movement. He was like lightning: unexpected and blindingly bright, a flash in the dark. Then he was on you, his body so impossible close to yours, you felt his trembling, you saw the freckles on his cheeks, his dark lashes, his chapped lips and the way his gaze dropped to your pink mouth, slightly open, wet with saliva. It was a new kind of intimacy, one that shouldn’t have happened but you enjoyed every bit of it. The silky texture of his cape under your fingers, his hands grabbing on your waist over the lacy material of the dress and even his breathes hitting your own lips, his inhales stealing your oxygen.

“What do you want from me?” Yoongi asked in a hoarse and desperate voice, clinging onto the last bits of his sanity.

“You. I want you.”

You told him bold and honest because why would you have settled for nameless gods if you could have a king? You deserved a king! And you wanted him.

The crash of lips on your own came as expected but tasted twice as bitter. You melted into him like snow on a hot day, gradually. His kiss reminded you of a rose with thorns: pretty and soft but leaving painful scratches behind. You didn’t enjoy it any less though, oh no, you were hungry for more! You didn’t care about the cold floor under you, his marble throne digging into your back and the baldachin bed not made to be slept on. You stroke down his chest, fingers only stilling on his belt, looking up, asking for permission. He was still the king you adored after all. And he worshiped you like nobody before, touched you like nobody could. You spent your wedding-night with him instead of your should-be-husband, the man your father had chosen for you and you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

It was all about passion, power, rebellion and for the sake of not being lonely. It didn’t have anything to do with your cold, unloving hearts. Flowers long forgotten in your hair sprayed all over the bed with pitch black duvet, a lovely contrast of day and night, you and him. He treated you like a gift wrapped up in silk as he striped you bare, out of the gilded dress. You arched into his touch and it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen: you on his sheets, ready to give and take, lacking the slightest of fear in your opalescent eyes.

When he loved you, he loved you so well only a king could, giving you exactly what you wanted: harder and rougher when you asked and slower and softer when you were close in order to savour the moment. He called you pretty names despite the burn of your nails on his back and when he moaned your name, it was the most beautiful litany you had ever heard.

Rumours said you were kidnapped, chained to a boat, kept as a slave or a hostage. Nobody knew or believed you were a queen, having a throne, your righteous place beside him, being the only one who made the God of Death weak. They thought you were the victim, innocent and weak but oh how wrong they were! You were more than willing to stay there, in Yoongi’s arms eating the fruit he offered on a plate alongside with his heart. It was all your doing after all, because you had darkness in you and for that, he loved you endlessly.

[melasvera]

Painless. Fearless. Reckless. (Bendy x Reader) Part 2

A/N: Real quick. This is the set up chapter to get you to the studio, so bare with me please. You'll be at the studio next chapter.

Note, Ryan is supposed to be drunk, so I tried to make it seem like his speech is slurred. Devon has... some kind of accent. Devon is based off a friend of mine, and Real Life!Devon speaks like Fiction!Devon. RL!Devon has, like, some odd blend of a southern and Boston accent, I think. I don't think his accent can be classified. But I shouldn't talk. Apparently I have a French/British/Scottish accent, and I was born in Colorado!

Anyways!

Thank you to everyone whose liked and checked out this story!

Enjoy, and remember the story (should) picks up next chapter.

Chapter 1- Dare

It all began with a dare. A stupid dare made by stupid college kids at an equally as stupid party.

And you were just stupid enough to allow Ryan to take it.

You weren't even drunk! Why did you go along with it!?

Well, at least you weren't alone….

It was a Friday night when your roommate, Ryan, dragged you and your other roommate, Devon, to a party at some frat house. Usually you and Devon refused to go to such places, seeing as those type of things just weren't your scene. Plus, on those rare occasions when you did decide to go to out, it was almost a guarantee someone would make a lewd comment about you living with two dudes and they would usually always ask if they could ever join in.

It wasn't even like that! You trusted Ryan and Devon, loved them as brothers, and you knew them since elementary school. You all were just good friends who decided to live together to alleviate the cost of living as true adults.

Better to live together and suffer together then to suffer and struggle alone, was your logic.

And it was working out pretty well. The only downsides were Ryan's drinking and partying, Devon bringing home all types of bugs and plants, and your excessive buying of art supplies. At least Ryan didn't bring his vices home, Devon kept his stuff in his room, and you all made sure you could still help with the bills. Bills none of you truly had to worry about, due to your parents paying them, but still tried to help with nonetheless. None of you were comfortable being moochers.

That brings you to your current situation.

It had been a very stressful couple of weeks full of exams, working, and just general attempts at trying to be real adults. Ryan believed you all needed to relax, and what better why than to go to an end of exam party?

You and Devon just looked at each other, both thinking of several hundred things that would be more relaxing than a party, but in the end you both relented and got ready to go out, to the delight of your shaggy-haired friend.

It took less then ten minutes for you to get ready. You didn't care enough to change out of your outfit that consisted of a t-shirt, jeans, and an old pair of converses. Grabbing your favourite shoulder bag, you collected several items your father gave you the day you left for college; a can of police grade pepper spray, a pocket sized first aid kit, and a portable charger.

Once in you bag you looked around your room, debating if you needed anything else before you went to go wait by the door. Devon took twenty minutes longer than you, and the drive over was filled with idiots on the road, but eventually you and Devon begrudgingly walked behind Ryan into the frat house.

Crappy music was blaring, bodies were swaying, and alcohol was flowing.

Sweet heaven almighty, you could almost taste the hormones in the air.

Your eyes narrowed and you frowned as you briefly debated about going back to the car, not wanting to deal with so many alcohol, and maybe even drug, addled people. But you decided you made it this far, might as well go all the way, what did you have to lose?

Devon immediately hooked his arm around yours as you both dodge around the crowd, Ryan already lost within it (which was amazing because the dude was just over six feet), to find a semi-quiet spot. You both decided on the living room where a game of beer pong was being played. Together you sat by the fireplace, thankful that it wasn't on and that is was clear of both trash and people.

It took around five minutes of watching uncoordinated drunkards trying to toss a ball in a cup before someone offered you a drink and an eye wiggle.

Thankfully they left you alone after your first denial. Either those PSA's lied or you were just lucky, but you never were pressured into drinking or doing drugs. The only thing people tried to push you for was sex, and you weren't afraid to give those types of people you're two cents.

Devon sighed heavily, as the intoxicated man finally left you alone, pulled out a rubber band bound packet of note-cards from his hoodie jacket and handed you to them.

You huffed out a small laugh at what you guessed was vocabulary for one of his classes. Understanding what he wanted, and not wanting to drink and mingle, you began quizzing your friend. This gained you both some odd looks, but no one did anything about it. It was actually rather peaceful, once you got used to ignoring the noise.

It was after someone belly flopped on the beer pong table, over an hour later, breaking it that the people around you began a game of truth or dare. You thought it was all rather juvenile of them, but then again you didn't make a habit of going to parties, so maybe this was a normal frat party activity.

You and Devon both tried your best not to sneer in disgust at some of the dares, not wanting to catch the eye of a short tempered drunk looking for a fight. But, honestly, some of those dares were just….. did they seriously have no shame? There was a fine line between bravery and stupidity, and you should know seeing as you frequently flirted with that line. Besides, you were certain some of the things they were doing was illegal in several states.

The two of you continued to ignore the idiotic people close to you, hoping that no one would include you in someone's dare, when you heard Ryan's name being called. Devon and yourself looked over to see what your taller friend was doing.

A girl you didn't know was giggling and hanging off Ryan's arm, who didn't look as drunk as usually did this far into a party (aka he wasn't passed out, stumbling, or slurring words), and was loudly daring him.

"R~y~a~n!" The way she attempted to make her shitty, sing-song voice sound sexy made you shiver unpleasantly, "I-I dare you *giggles* I dare you t'go to….to Drew Studios. An' ya godda stream it too." The girl giggled, as if she said the most amusing thing in the entire world.

Ryan grinned, a look of pure determination taking over his face as the people around him agreed with the dare, egging him to take it.

Devon paled, you sighed heavily in resignation.

You knew that look. There was no way either you or Devon were ever going to deter him, but you didn't trust his drunk ass alone.

Devon quickly jumped to his feet, a worried look plastered on his face, and three shaky fingers in the air, "We volunteer as tribute!"

Apparently Devon didn't either.

You sighed again and stood, slipping the flashcards into Devon's back pocket. Guess you were going to try and keep your mildly drunk friend from dying in an abandoned studio in the middle of the woods.

Eh. You've done harder things before.

'Besides,' you thought as you eyed the young alcoholics in the making, 'this could work out for you.'

Without pause you stepped up onto the litter ridden couch and hollered to get everyone's attention. "HEY!"

Remarkably you got their attention and no one threw anything at you.

"If Ryan's going to do this dare," the idiots cheered and jostled each other with their back slapping, "we're going to need somethings so we don't get caught, and, or, so we don't die. And no one wants to be blamed for either of those, right?"

The people were either really drunk or really stupid to believe anything you said. Or both.

You were inclined to believe that it was probably both. Which was a good thing, seeing as they were more inclined to do as you said.

Then again, most people knew who your parents were, so maybe that motivated them?

"First, off, we need backpacks or bags, then we need gloves, at least fifty dollars, maybe some masks, some food, water bottles, flashlights, and that man's pocket knife!" You counted off each item with a raised finger then pointed with your sixth finger to a young man with an obvious lump in his pocket.

The young man blinked slowly and hesitantly pointed to himself, "Me?"

You nodded, still pointing. "Yes. You all want Ryan to get into Drew Studios, right? A knife will make it easier." Not really. You just wanted his knife. You've never seen the building outside of pictures your art teacher showed the class, but you were sure that there was someway to get inside without having to pick a lock.

Nobody moved. You raised an eyebrow and crossed your arms. "Well, you want a show or not? Get going!"

You stepped off the couch as the part of the crowd that wanted to see something illegal happen scrambled to gather the things you said you required, while the rest of them either tried to convince Pocket Knife Guy to hand over the knife or watched the chaos.

It was the girl who was hanging off Ryan who eventually persuaded the guy to give you the knife.

What she did to do that left you in awe and mild discomfort. That girl was either really drunk or really confident in herself, kind of inspiring, in a way.

Fiddling and got acquainted with your newly acquired weapon, which turned out to be a red Swiss Army knife with a yellow dog on it (fucking score! ), you waited next to your friends. Devon, in all of his four foot ten glory, was berating and trying to get Ryan to back out of the dare.

"Come on man! It'll be fun! Where's your sense of adventure! Think of the views dude . "

It wasn't working out so well.

Devon's eye twitched as he gave his deadpan answer, "Left 'em back home with Teresa."

"Your pet spider doesn't count, Short-stack."

"Think of the jail time."

"We have a kick-ass lawyer on our side if we get caught, we'll be fine."

The shorter one of your friends groaned and turned towards you, "[Name]! [Name], do somethin', talk 'im outta this craziness!"

Your shrugged as gently dragged your index finger down the largest blade of knife, unable to feel it kissing your skin, "Nah."

Devon sputtered, you grinned.

"N-nah, ya say? Fuckin' nah? The dude gonna get 'imself caught or somethin' an' all ya can say is 'nah'?" His incredulous tone of voice made your lips twitch in amusement.

Ryan laughed and slapped Devon's back, "Two 'gainst one, we win!"

Devon ignored him and looked at you in disbelief, waiting for your answer.

You snapped the knife back into it's home and clenched your fist around the four inch handle. With a smile you looked at your worried friend with a small reassuring smile, "We volunteered as tribute."

"B-but, [Name]!" Devon whines as he floundered to try to think of something that would make you convince Ryan to back out.

"B'sides," your shrug, placing the knife into your bag, "can't make Drunk Ryan do anything he doesn't want to," here said drunk young man began nodding in agreement, "might as well tag along and make sure the drunken dumb-ass doesn't do anything to illegal or off himself in some stupid way."

Ryan kept nodding for a few more seconds before what you said hit is alcohol soaked mind, "Wha- Hey!"

Devon snorted, a smile fighting its way onto his still worried face.

"And you can go home, or stay in the car or something if you really don't want to go. I'm can handle him, we won't make you."

Devon laughed hysterically, and sarcastically, at that.

"Yeah, no," he finally said with a look of pure incredibility, "leave my drunk friend with zero inhibition with the friend who woulda know what danger was if it punched her in the kisser, I'mma not livin' with that kind'a guilt, m'kay?"

Ryan swung an arm around the both of you, pulling you two into a three way hug, "Great! Now I need help coming up with a YouTube name."

It was official then. The three of you were going to break into an abandoned animation studio from the twenties and live-stream the proof to a YouTube channel that Ryan made as you and Devon argued. All for a dare.

It was decided, with no real input from you or Devon, that the channel's name would be DrewStudiosLive.

…...

Drunk Ryan wasn't a very imaginative Ryan.

Throughout your conversation, and about fifteen minutes after, all the items you requested had be collected, plus some.

Apparently the host of the party were very generous when intoxicated.

The items were all in a pile before you, consisting of an ugly neon green drawstring bag, an old soccer duffel bag, six mismatched winter gloves in varies colours and sizes, a butt load of washcloths, some bandannas, some left over, half full, bags of chips, water bottles, a pack of canned beers, and a plastic baggie with cash (fucking yes, they did it!). In lieu of a flashlight someone was smart enough, or drunk enough, to throw in a tub of glow sticks. On top of all that some smart-ass donated a small first aid and condoms with a note that said, 'have fu die :P' on it.

Your rolled your eyes at the last item and threw the condoms up into the air so they fell into the crowd. You heard a few cheers at that.

Turning back to the small pile you happily divided you're haul between the duffel, drawstring, and your own shoulder bag. You palmed the first aid kit, wondering if you should be the one to carry it, before placing it in the duffel and with the beers. Meanwhile, Ryan wrote the name of the new YouTube channel down so that people knew where to tune in, and Devon left to get the car ready, bemoaning his fate the entire time.

You and Ryan left the house with people cheering you on, wishing you luck, and throwing more glow sticks in the air, like people used to throw rice at weddings.

The laughter bubbling in your chest couldn't be stopped, even once your were in the car and on your way to the studio. You just couldn't believe that you got a houseful of your drunken peers to give you stuff all because you said you'd need it to complete some stupid dare. You continued to chuckled to yourself as you counted the money they collected. Maybe you should go out to parties with Ryan more often, who knows what you could convince people to give you if you said it was for their entertainment.

"Sooooo….." Devon drawled, not taking his eyes off the road, "what do we need fifty dollars for? It's not that far, so it's not for gas."

Snickering you answered, "We don't need it." You waved the bag of money around, "This is merely….. a…... donation. A wish for good luck."

Quite, then Devon snorted and briefly looked in the rear view mirror at you. "You just wanted their money, didn'tcha?"

You nodded once with a giant smile on your face, "I just wanted their money. And the knife. Got me a pretty sweet knife. I think it has, like, ten functions, at least." You looked back down at the money, the smile growing into a smirk, "They did good. Got more than fifty here. After this is over with we're eating out someplace that's not Jack in the Box."

This time it was Ryan who spoke, who had been silent until now because he found the beer in the duffel. "'ow much yo-you got there?" He ended with a burp, which he blew into the driver's face. Devon wrinkled his nose but otherwise didn't react.

Humming happily, and placing the cash into your bag, "Almost eighty. And stop it, save those for later!"

Groaning in disappointment, Ryan tilted his head back to chug the rest of his drink before crushing the can and tossing it on the floor.

"Ei-eighty bucks?" Devon threw his head back and cackled at that, then continued to grumble about how maybe the night wasn't so bad after all.

A/N: Make sure you tell me what you think, what I should improve on and what not.

Thanks again!

Part 1