#is a pure perfect goody goody sad guy who never does anything wrong

[tardissupremacy]

this is golden

Holds casual Dr who fans by the shoulders. Hey did you know that the doctor isn’t a usually a good person with other people’s interests at heart? Did you know that? Did you know they do terrible things for that they believe to be the greater good all the time? That they aren’t a good person?????

[boilinghunter]

Is he your angel too?

AO3 | 1.5k

At first, Dean -- this alternate Dean, HunterCorps, Trust Fund D. -- didn't really digest what had happened to him. Neither he or his brother really felt the weight of what they had escaped. Too caught up in the excitement that they had actually managed to escape into a different universe, too numb to feel the shock of something so horrible.

Some weeks after living in this new universe, it really, finally hit them. Everyone they knew, everything they knew was gone.

Sure, being told that their universe was destroyed by God was one thing, but understanding such a concept was another hurdle.

It started small. They had no money. No cards and such worked here. HunterCorps' resources couldn't bail them out this time, and John was long gone. Bobby of this universe had died some time ago, and the Bobby that was still here was a whole other can of worms. Traveling in this forsaken world where so many different decisions shaped their environment only served to highlight how out of place they were.

It wasn't too long before the Winchesters of this world heard back from their alternative selves, asking for help, for they had nothing else and no place to go. It was Sam and Cas that ended up convincing Dean to let them in for a time until they could get the two back on their feet and adjusted.

D. -- our trust fund alternative Dean -- sits at the dining table across from our normal Dean, contemplating. He had many questions to ask, but understood that Dean wasn't the patient kind. But he has to ask, he has to ask because every time he sees the angel pass by in the Bunker, making it apparent that they all lived together, something in him churns and broils, and he can't stand the feeling.

Eventually, Dean notices, looking up from his laptop when D. wouldn't stop flipping a bottle cap against the table. His skin crawls at seeing this distorted reflection of himself stare.

"What's wrong?" Dean asks bluntly, eyes darting over the man's face and the cap in his hands.

D. fumbles with the cap. "... A lot," He admits, suddenly not wanting to look at him. He can't tell if it's because the pain of loss was still prevalent, or if because he was embarrassed.

"Apparently," Dean replies, rubbing his face. He pauses for a moment, deciding, then closes his laptop to give the man his attention. "Alright, let's just do this. Talk to me."

D. backpedals. "You know what, it's probably not a big deal--"

"Buddy, I've been through literal Hell and back, I've seen shit you wouldn't even believe, but not my whole universe dying," Dean says, shaking his head. "Regardless of whatever... of however the hell Dad raised you, we're still the same guy, and I know for damn sure things only get worse for us when we don't talk. So, talk."

Funny enough, the bluntness of how this Dean spoke reminded him of his father. Meeting his eyes now, D. could draw even more parallels; this Dean is filled with scars, his skin different and coarse, hands calloused, crow's feet etched deeper into his face than his own, and his eyes -- those eyes carried the weight of the world, a burden he previously only saw in his father's eyes and those of veteran hunters on their last legs. Of soldiers, even. Life on this world did not treat him well, and it was no longer fascinating to be in a different universe.

But still, this Dean had many other good things in exchange, so he has to ask --

"... You guys said your dad died in this world, right?"

The question catches Dean off guard for a second, but he seems to shake it off. "Yeah, a while ago. He wasn't as goody two shoe perfect like yours if that's where this is going."

"So I've gathered. But, no, not my point, I just..." D. leans in, his voice a bit quiet when he finds the guts again to speak, as if imparting some great secret. "If he's not around, does that mean you got to be with... you know?"

D. makes a gesture Dean doesn't quite understand. He furrows his brows, holding a confused hand out. "... you know?"

D. grimaces slightly, drumming his fingers and pointing his head towards the hallway. "You know? Him?"

Dean doesn't want to answer. He feels something in him flip as his mind puts together the question, but he decides to pretend he doesn't understand. He's misinterpreting this, perhaps, and maybe this question is just--

"With Castiel." D. finally clarifies, and when Dean looks back up at him, there's almost a desperate expression on his face.

Immediately, Dean finds himself defensive. He chokes out a dismissive laugh, waving him off. "What? What are you -- Buddy, I don't know what kind of--"

"He lives with you, I noticed," D. continues, resting back into his chair. "You all have this... family. Sammy's here, Castiel's alive -- you guys even have a son --" He lets out a sigh, shaking his head. "I had to hide this stuff from my dad. But you..."

Dean's heart stops for a moment, registering the words spoken. D. had been talking about his life in his universe, sure, but never anything personal, always just the broad strokes of their successes and accomplishments, things that made Dean feel more disconnected and able to think of the other man as just a stranger, and not some weird version of himself. Considering how different things were, he didn't even stop to wonder if Castiel had been in this other life, and what he must have been like --

"... Me?" Dean looks around, as if expecting someone to walk in on the conversation. He brings his voice to a hush. "No, I don't know, I mean -- you, ah, you... were with him?"

D. quietly reaches into his pocket, fishing out a black leather wallet with presumptuous sigils embroidered into it. He pops it open, sliding out a small photo that had been tucked away safely in it and sets it down for Dean to see.

His chest flares upon seeing it.

It's a relatively old photo, D. in a nice tux, a bright smile on his face and blurred confetti falling over him, and his arm looped around another. Dean gently pulls the photo closer with a finger, eyes trailing over the other man in a matching tux, unmistakably that of Castiel, planting a kiss on D.'s cheek. The photo radiates a pure joy Dean would only dream of, and he doesn't expect the effect it has on him, eyes stinging as the feeling of longing he'd always buried swung back full force.

"In secret," D. says, his voice strained. "Bobby, Sam, Ellen -- they were witness to our, ah..."

"Wedding..."

D. nods, cracking a sad smile. "Dad would kill me if he found out. It's been the worst secret I've had to keep. And I just... keep thinking about him. We already used his grace to help open this rift, and he didn't even..."

Dean can only stare. D. and his brother had come alone, but he remembers the comments he made about them all going together. Those two were likely the only survivors to make it, and D. was just lucky to be numb enough not to feel the loss immediately. Dean remembers the pain that haunted him when he couldn’t bring Cas out of Purgatory -- he doesn’t even want to imagine what his other self must be feeling.

"But he's alive here," D. manages to continue, searching for that silver lining. "He's... not as happy as mine, but he's here. And he's with you. I can take solace in that."

Even in this alternate universe, Dean loved that angel. Even in this other world he found love in the same man -- same angel. To say Dean didn't love Castiel, well, he knows he's been lying to himself, but it was always easier to repress it and focus on their work and end times and hunting and anything to keep his mind off these feelings that had been gnawing on him for so many years.

But this other Dean had everything, even Cas despite hiding it. He felt guilty, suddenly, that this Dean, who had everything, envied him.

Dean snaps out of his train of thought when he recognizes the body language change in the other man, watching as D. rebuilt walls around his ego and puts on a smile that says 'I'm okay'. Some things were still universal. "Well, sorry to bug you, guess I was just too curious. I uh, hope I didn’t make you feel weird, I realize I don’t know what... you guys are like here.”

“No, it’s okay, I think I just wasn’t, well,” He laughs a bit, scratching his neck. “Expecting that. I mean, it’s not a bad thing, I guess I just kind of...”

D. raises his hands his hands. “If I made you uncomfortable--”

“No. I think I just... wish I had that too.”

[obsessedwithereri-nz]

Stone Cold Chapter 1 (FULL)

Hey guys! I decided to post the full chapters of my first ever fic on Tumblr because why not! Follow the tag #stonecoldfic to find the rest of the chapters! Enjoy!!

Levi x Eren

Summary:  Ever since Levi was a pre-teen, he knew he’d have to marry her, otherwise he’d have to answer to his abusive uncle which never turned out well for Levi’s wellbeing. But after meeting a certain singer at his favorite bar, he knew he was in deep, deep shit.

Warnings: None

SLAM

The polished wooden door slams open. A dark-haired man of short stature bolts from inside the gorgeous ‘American Dream’ home, desperation is written all over his objectively perfect face. A thick layer of pure white snow coats the driveway, almost making him slip and fall as he makes his way to his parked car now also covered with snow.

Reaching into his trousers, he pulls out his keys with shaking hands and attempts to insert the key into the driver door lock.

“For fuck’s sake. Come. On!” the man yells.

“It’s okay, Levi. Calm. Take a deep breath and calm…” The familiar voice sounds inside Levi’s head, but he gasps as if someone were whispering in his ear. He glances around him, however, realizing that, of course, he’s alone.

Levi lowers his grey-blue eyes back down to his still trembling hands. Releasing the furrow of his brow, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. He looks down once more to find his hands perfectly still.

The corners of his mouth pull upwards ever so slightly, which has become an almost foreign feeling to him once again.

“I’m coming. Please wait for me.”

-----

Alcohol and good music.

That’s what Levi would answer with if someone asked him what he thought made a good time. Music can make you feel good, and alcohol can make you feel even better, plus if you drink enough of the good shit, it’ll make you forget about all the bullshit going on in your life. But in Levi’s case, he wishes it’d do more.

“Maybe if I just keep drinking, it will all disappear,” Levi says to himself as he sits in his car, parked outside an old fashioned building covered in white paint. The car is his most prized possession, a beautiful black 1966 Chevrolet Impala. He takes one last long drag of his cigarette before stepping out of his car, throwing the butt to the ground and snuffing it out with the heel of his leather dress shoes.

“Tsk… yeah right. But one can only try.”

Just like any other Monday afternoon at exactly 5:45pm, Levi exits his car, locks it, and walks up to the usual bouncer.

“Ackerman! What a surprise.” Not really. “Another rough day at the office?”

“Does today end with ‘day’, Nile?” It’s a good thing for Nile that he knows Levi decently well after all his visits here, otherwise, he’d probably be shitting his pants at the deathly look Levi never ceases to wear. His cold grey eyes, sunken into his sockets, shadowed by dark circles, and his contrasting pale white skin could make even the manliest of men look the other way.

“Ha- always the jokester, aren’t we, Levi?” Nile laughs alone. “Go on in, man. I think you’re going to enjoy yourself tonight. We got a new face for the stage! He’s a goodie.”

Levi not at all subtly rolls his eyes and enters the bar, which goes by the name The Library and is, in reality, more of a lounge that features excellent live music, delicious food and the most unique cocktails around. The booths have extremely comfortable sofas on either side of black and white marble tables. Hanging from the ceiling are human-sized bubbles filled with cushions and a place to put drinks, and a nice small stage over in the corner furthest from the entrance and right by the bar. What’s better is that the good performers take song requests. Which is why Levi is beyond grateful it’s not a jukebox, because humans can say no to the shitty songs.

It’s a place anybody who is of age can go to do almost anything- relax, drink, eat, study, drink, work, play board games, drink, listen to music… you name it. Levi absolutely only goes for the music and booze; all the other bars in town around are filled with loud, smelly drunk assholes who have no respect for the other people around them, and Levi has no tolerance for people like that. Especially after being around said people at his work, minus the drunk part.

Although he does enjoy a strong drink, or five, he doesn’t do it for the social life, or to ‘let loose’ as some say. He drinks to escape and forget his cursed reality, even if it’s only for an hour or two.

He waltzes through the building over to the bar, takes his usual cushioned stool seat, removes his sleek suit jacket and lets out a sigh when he sees the bartender flirting it up with another customer down the other side.

“Oi, shitty glasses!” Levi projects down the bar, giving them a very unimpressed look. “You gonna do your job and get me a drink or not?”

“Leeeeeviiiiii!!” the bartender screeches like banshee, seemingly forgetting they were just talking to someone not five feet from them.

Levi winces at the awful sound then proceeds to grunt in annoyance when he sees them vaulting over the bar and racing over towards him with their typical ginormous smile that even the Joker would be terrified of. And, before he knows it, he can’t breathe. Shitty Glasses may not look physically strong from the outside, but fucking hell they would break Levi’s back if they hugged him even 0.1% harder.

“Get your fucking paws off me, crazy hag!” Levi groans with all of his might, and shoves them away. They stumble back a few feet, glasses falling down the bridge of their nose, and stare at him.

“Tsk”, Levi says with the tiniest of smirks that only people closest to him would recognize as a smirk, “how you doing, Hanji?”

“You always do know how to keep me on my toes, Levi,” Hanji exclaims as they vaults back over the bar flawlessly after playfully winking toward him. “Well, I am doing much better now that your booty is in that bar seat. Now, what can I get ya?”

“Jameson on the rocks.”

“Oh, going straight for the good stuff, huh?”

“Trust me. If I have to keep going home to all of that bullshit, I need that liquid gold in my system. And a lot of it.”

After hearing the melancholy tone in Levi’s voice, Hanji gives him a sad yet comforting smile then grabs the bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey off the shelf, grabs a glass for each of them and begins to pour.

“Alright tough guy. What happened?” Hanji demands.

“Huh? What makes you think that anything ‘happened’?”

“Do you want them in alphabetical or chronological order?” Hanji giggles. “Well, for starters, you always start off with the strong stuff when you’ve had a particularly shit day. Was it the parents?”

Levi is shocked at how their first guess is spot on. Although, it wasn’t his parents either of them were thinking of or referring to.

Levi works for his girlfriend’s family in their furniture business, but it’s no ordinary furniture business. This shit is all handmade with the finest materials one can buy and majoritively custom orders from very “important” people with very “high net worths”.

Does Levi give a fuck about furniture? No. Does he give a shit about the difference between an Ottoman and a Hassock? Fuck no. Does he give a rats fucking ass about all these very important people? Absolutely fucking not! The only thing Levi does care about is getting through the day without punching somebody’s lights out or getting alcohol poisoning that night.

Sometimes he wishes he could purposely mess up these people’s orders just to make sure they don’t come back and buy from them again. But then he would have to deal with his soon to be parents-in-law getting on his ass even more than they already are. And as of this day, he has not made an overly noticeable mistake in years, yet they still find something to pick at as if they don’t have a fucking company to be running.

“Do I really need to answer that?” Levi answers as he buries himself in his glass.

“Oh, hun, I really don’t understand why you don’t just up and quit already. You’re obviously miserable there.”

“You know I can’t do that, Hanji.” He puts down his now empty glass and stares at the freshly cleaned bar top.

“Actually, I don’t know. You’re not exactly one to share details, Levi. Not that I mind, of course, like yes I’d like to know what’s making you so upset all the time but I’m not going to pry.”

Levi finally looks at Hanji again and raises his eyebrow while keeping his stoic expression plastered to his face.

“What? I know my boundaries,” they say, lifting their hands up off the bar to either side of their head.

“Not when it comes to personal space you don’t,” Levi mutters as he returns to look at his empty glass. Hanji sighs, grabs the whiskey bottle again and fills Levi’s glass with more.

“Hey now, everybody needs a hug every now and again. Anyway, you know little ol’ me is here to listen if you need, and I’m not gonna blab. Hell, I don’t know who I’d blab to!”

“Look, it-!” Levi slams his hands on the bar, startling Hanji and other bar-goers around him. Quickly realizing his sudden outburst, he looks around and sits back down in his seat and buries his face in his skinny hands. “I’m sorry, I just… I can’t, okay. That’s all you need to know.”

“Alright, I’ll back off. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed. I’ll be right back.”

He lowers his hands to reveal his furrowed brows, and all they do is wink and walk away from behind the bar and behind the curtains by the stage. Levi rolls his eyes, downs his already filled glass and begins to eye the whiskey bottle Hanji left out in arms reach, considering pouring himself another glass. Yes, this would be his third glass and probably not his last, but he does need to drive home. Sure, he could get a cab, God knows he can afford it, but there’s no way in hell he’s leaving his baby out for drunkards or teenagers to vandalize or steal. Although, this wouldn’t be the first time he’s driven home drunk before. He knows it’s wrong, he knows he could get somebody seriously hurt or worse, but all his cares and worries in the world fade away when that first drop of amber liquid makes contact with his taste buds.

As if out of nowhere, a loud screeching noise sounds from the stage, snapping Levi out of his alcohol-induced daze to see Hanji standing right beside him, blocking his view of the stage.

“What the fuck? You letting some amateur on the stage tonight or something?” Levi says with a big scowl on his face, irritated that his quiet place was disrupted by something louder and more annoying than Hanji’s voice.

“Don’t worry, you’re gonna like this one.” They send him yet another wink and walk out of his line of sight, revealing some snot-nosed kid standing on stage.

However, that not particularly nice thought vanished from existence as soon the ‘kid’ looked out into the crowd. Then all Levi could think and say was:

“Wow.”

[chimchimjiminheadcanons]

Temptation/Chapter 2

Word count: 4,590

Warnings: Mentions of a near death incident (very close to a car crash), cursing, drowning, murder, alcohol, poking holes in religions (specifically Christian) and once again, please mention if I missed anything else I should put here :)

(M)/(1)/(3)

“You haven’t even seen the worst of it yet.”

"Hey there little miss perfect."  Finally after six hours of working, you're out of that hell hole you call a job. Said hell hole was busy today, meaning you went without a lunch break and your stomach was growling like an angry bear, begging for some kind of food in it. "For the last time," you groaned, "don't call me that." "Then what would you like me to call you?" "Chulgi I would rather die than talk right now."  It's kind of your fault Chulgi is even talking to you in the first place. You knew he was working here at the diner tonight and you haven't spoken to him in half a month. You doubted he'd let you get away with that. Yet he did. His shoulders rose and fell and he swung around, back facing towards you while he busied himself cleaning a milkshake glass. "The usual grumpy pants?" You groaned again. "What? You told me not to call you miss perfect, this is the only other nickname that suits you." "I'm not grumpy just... Tired." "You get grumpy when you're tired." "No I don't!"  Chulgi snickered, shaking his head and pouring the freshly made (F/F) milkshake into the tall glass and pressing a candy straw down into it. "Since when did you guys start using these?" You poked said protruding straw, Chulgi moving to sit up on the counter beside you. "Since customers started complaining about paper straws falling apart in their milkshakes." "Oh," you made a face at the sugary taste the straw brought to the drink. As if there wasn't enough sugar in it already. "Yeah. I told them all it was your fault we even had paper ones in the first place." "Hey! I just wanted to save the poor innocent sea turtles!" "We're literally as far away from the beach as possible here!" "Doesn't mean the straws won't end up in the water!"  Chulgi rolled his eyes. "Fine, but what are we supposed to do about the straws when someone wants one for water?" "No one drinks water with a straw," you retorted. "Plastic bottles are actually half of the problem too so plastic on plastic means dead turtles." "Do you really think people just dump their stuff in the ocean for fun?" "Some people do and whether they like it or not, sometimes it ends up there."  Chulgi let out a sigh. The two of you always have conversations like this because of your polar opposite personalities. For some reason being so different means that you get along so well. You suppose all of that opposites attract bullshit might actually be true. Still, Chulgi doesn't do much for his environment, claims to be leaving it for the 'hippies and professionals.' He sees you as the former purely because you like turtles and hate the images people use to guilt trip you into feeling bad about using straws and buying oranges in those weird orange net bags.  You suppose the nickname Miss Perfect really did suit you in a way. You've always been a good kid, a goodie two shoes whom most people hated purely because you're good at everything and nice to everyone. Though you find it difficult to believe in higher powers and what they seem to think is right and wrong, you've always tried to do what is good for the world and everyone in it. You like to make as much of a change as you can. "You know," Chulgi slid off of the counter and took the glass for you once it was empty. "Maybe you shouldn't try so hard."  Chulgi's words confused you and yet still sent a pang of pain to your heart. You weren't trying too hard... Right? "What do you mean?" "To be perfect y'know? People have flaws and," he paused. "And you don't always have to hide yours with good things like saving turtles." "I'm not trying to hide anything Chulgi." "Yeah well, it really feels like you are. You're not the same as you were in high school, in fact, it feels like you're not the same - even after a month." "I..." "We're closing soon," Chulgi turns his back to you. Inside of his mind, he's insecure. He feels so little compared to you and it feels like being friends with you is only you showing him how much better he could be. But he can't be better, he can't change because it's not who he is. You make him angry - partly because you're so much better and partly because you push every good thing you do on him. "You should probably go." "Chulgi-" "We can talk later."  Chulgi untied his apron from behind his back and hung it on one of the hangers and when he turned around again with an apology he should have said dancing on his tongue, you were already gone. He could tell from here that he had hurt you, he had fucked up and he had said the wrong thing. He should never have brought that up, he knows it's just a part of who you are and he also knows that you'll forgive him far too easy. He knows you let people walk all over you. You're too perfect and you're too kind.  You're beyond upset. You're sad and angry and confused all at once and all of this piles up when hot tears start leaking from your tired, (E/C) eyes. You didn't even care anymore, storming out on to the road and wiping your eyes at exactly the wrong time. You hear the screeching of breaks and light makes you squint when two large, round headlights shine light on you in the dark of the night. You can't move, paralysed with fear and suddenly, your feet no longer feel the comfort of the ground underneath, someone's picked you up.  Things are fading in and out and as you spin you noticed the driver jumping from the seat of his truck. His jaw is dropped, fear and confusion leaving him breathless as he searches for you on the road, but you're not there, you've disappeared and now all you can see is the bright white gummy smile of someone. Nothing else is visible except darkness and that smile. You can still feel arms around your midriff and suddenly, there's nothing and you fall, hard. "Ouch!" There's a lump on your forehead and you can feel it with the soft palm of your hand. You've landed somewhere, somewhere hard yet soft. Something is tickling your nose and when you lift your head and the rest of your body so you can sit upright, you glance around you and notice thick walls of leaves and... Grass? "What the..."  You could've sworn you were just at the diner. There's no grass near there for miles, it's in the middle of a city. Yet still here you are wearing the same thing you were wearing before when you almost got hit by a truck. Black sweater and jeans with a pair of docs, laces tied tightly enough to cut off the circulation in your feet (they're a size too big for you, so there's not much of a choice) and hair slightly messy from the long day of stress.  You know it can't possibly be the same day, it's so bright here that it's almost blinding. Little do you know its all a chimera, an illusion you are yet to have poked holes in and that's when you notice the figure that has been sitting in front of you this entire time.  You speedily jump to your feet, eyes almost falling out of your head at the sight in front of you. A man with blondish silver tinted hair sits on a throne. That's right, a throne and not just any throne either but one just as silver as the strands of hair mentioned previously. The throne had snakes for armrests, fangs dripping a green substance onto the pavement below, pooling in puddles of green. His eyes don't meet yours in fact - he seems completely uninterested in you, instead focusing on the glass in his hand, filled with the same green substance.  This particular part of what you can only assume is a maze is on a flat surface while that particular part has stone stairs leading upwards. The throne is higher than all of the maze, almost so high you can't make out the features of said man. Part of you wonders if you should attempt to speak to him or turn the other way and run.  Jimin watches you from here. He's perched upon one of the mazes high walls, almost completely invisible to you. Curiosity and wonder are his drives for being here, wondering what you'll do before watching you walk towards an exit. Just as you reached it, a silver gate grew from underneath the earth and blocked your path, shining snake head lock (you have to risk putting your hand in it's mouth to unlock it) protruding from it's bars, spikes making it physically impossible to climb the gate without getting hurt. There is no other escape and it is this shaking of the earth beneath him that disturbs Namjoon. "You're awake," Namjoon simpered. "It's been a day and four hours." Namjoon placed his glass on one of the snake's heads which out of the blue moved and curved around the crystal glass, snake's mouth clasping it and holding it safe, green liquid still dripping from it's fangs and now into the glass. "Come here."  You didn't move. Something about Namjoon was sinister, something about him made you fear him and you didn't want to get any closer than what you already were - as far away as possible. It was like your feet were glued to the ground, you wouldn't dare take a single step. Namjoon chuckles at this display of fear. He's never been feared before he's even begun before. "You are already a pain in the ass," he sighs, "it's no surprise that you ended up here."  He stands from his throne and you watch as the steps in front of him move to suit each step he takes. It's almost like he's gliding on ice all the way down, he doesn't even need to bother walking. You wonder what he means by ended up here. "W-where," you curse your stutter. Namjoon is getting closer, making your heart beat rapidly in your chest. If it weren't for the gate behind you, you would run. "Where is here?" "Where is here?"  Your voice echoes back to you, though it doesn't make any sense. Tall walls of leaves and thorns with twisted black roses should not echo. Yet it does, playing back to you in a way that makes you shiver. Soon enough you notice that Namjoon isn't the same as he was before, his eyes have changed colour from a dark pooling red to (E/C). The same exact colour as your eyes. "How..." Again your voice echoes and Namjoon grins at this. "You're in a maze and one that won't be easy to get out of."  You figured as much already so to this you nod. "In order to escape, you need keys. Keys for gates just like the one you seem to think will bring you safety," Namjoon stalked even closer than before and he wasn't wrong, you had backed so far away that your back had almost hit said gate in attempts to get away. "Each gate is different, each key is different and each person you will encounter is different." "W-what do you mean?" "What I mean is that," he points to the snake near your neck. "You need a key from me to get out of here. One that goes right in there and in order to get it, you have to beat me." "Beat you?" "Did I stutter?"  You gulped feeling a lump forming in your throat. Namjoon had no intentions of harming you and has made it very clear by now judging by the fact that he hasn't attacked you and though he is getting closer, he brings no weapon with him. Yet that daunting sound of your voice bouncing off the walls is caused by him, an attempt to mimic you for future purposes, said purpose he is trying to explain. "I'm not sure how much you humans believe in heaven and hell nowadays," his hands press into the pockets of the tight black jeans gripping his thighs. "It seems you've all strayed from your path. None the less, you've been dropped right into the maze of the six sins." "Aren't there supposed to be-" "Yes I've heard it before," Namjoon sighed, extending his hand beside him and you watch in terror as the snake - still holding Namjoon's drink - comes alive and slithers towards him. "There are supposed to be seven of us. And that's why you're here." "Why I'm here?" "In a nutshell, yes." He pauses for a moment, lifting the glass to his lips and smirking as you watch the hot, green liquid pour down his throat. "It's a long story that I don't feel like explaining but, if you make it out of here alive, there remains six of us. If you don't, we will gain a seventh." "Will that," you gulped, "will that seventh be me?"  Namjoon doesn't answer, only drops his glass as the snake recoils. The crystal shatters and the floor beneath you morphs into a smooth marble. "I think that's enough questions for now."  When your head lifts from staring at the tiles, you realize Namjoon is gone. Instead of that grassy maze, tall pillars stretch to hold the high roof and as you look back down again you realize your docs have been replaced by a pair of heels. It feels painful to walk in them you realize as you take a step forward, yet as you continue to walk, it becomes easier to do so. You notice that there's a mirror against the wall on the opposite side of the house and you break into a jog to reach it.  It looks like you've travelled back in time, diamond earrings falling from your earlobes and hair long, smooth, shimmering and tied back into a bun on the side of your head. In this bun, a feather is placed in the center and you notice that your chest feels tighter than usual. A corset. It's uncomfortable but luckily, the skirt brushing against your thighs wasn't one too huge to move and instead was made of a kind of black silk trickling down the skin of your legs, showing only the front of it. It felt different, but not bad.  Beside you, there's a few oak tables and on the wall there's what you can only assume is a phone. It's different, a dial - one that you recognize from a long time ago - on the side and strangely bulky. Painting's littered the walls, ones with incredible details. This would have to be the house of someone rich a loooong time ago.  You glance around the room some more and notice a portrait sitting upon a table and reaching out to it curiously, you lift it from the table and notice a familiar face. It's Namjoon and he's sitting there with his mother and father and by the looks of it, a younger brother. The two boy's hands are folded in their laps, parent's hands on their shoulders and fake smiles pulled as they stare into the camera. Namjoon's eyes look as sinister as you remember, pooling with anger and a red as dark as fresh blood. It makes you shiver and when you look up, you're no longer alone.  Namjoon looks exactly like he does now - you suppose that means the sins never age - except in different clothing. It's a suit of some sort and suspenders stretch across his front. You have to admit, he looks incredibly handsome. No. You shake your head. You should not be thinking like this about someone like Namjoon. He's probably - no - definitely at least a hundred years older than you. Gross.  Namjoon places the jacket he had slung over his shoulder on a coat stand near the door and pushes a hand through strands of dark black hair. There's whiskey on the table and he pours it for himself, clutching it in one of his strong hands and swirling the liquid around, staring out the window at the beautiful gardens of flowers and grass all around his house.  His family is definitely rich. So rich that he's spoiled so then, why does he stay here rather than getting his own home somewhere else? Why is he still with his family? Before you could work out the answer for yourself, a young boy who looks about the age of twelve walks out from the hall. His dress shirt isn't tucked in his pants like the older boy's is, instead it's out and messy and he's holding a stuffed animal to his chest. "Brother!" The child smiles and runs towards Namjoon, bringing a similar smile to your face before you notice how coldly Namjoon addresses his brother. There is no 'hello,' no 'how was your day,' no 'isn't it nice outside today brother?' Just cold. Silence. The younger male wraps his tiny arms as far around the older's torso as possible but Namjoon doesn't move, only sips his whiskey and stares out at the view. "You've been gone for so long! I'm pleased that you are home now."  Namjoon turns towards his brother. "You're a mess child, have you been running around in the garden again?" Namjoon's voice is laced with something unfamiliar and angry. His smirk is menacing, yet the child doesn't fear him, only smiles the brightest smile you've ever seen. "I wanted to get flowers for mother, her and father argued this morning and I felt like it might brighten her spirits." "She hates it when you kill all of her flowers," Namjoon hisses and turns back towards the window. "You're so inconsiderate."  This makes you frown. Namjoon's younger brother is innocent, trying to do what he thought would make things better and Namjoon has brushed him off, made him feel bad about it. The younger boy's arms slowly grow limp and drop from Namjoon's torso, a notion which makes you almost want to cry. The younger's smile had dropped, instead solemnly looking out the same window Namjoon was. "If you want to do something for mother that will make her happy," the older starts, "start yourself a bath and be clean when she arrives home."  To this the younger nodded and disappeared from sight, back down the hall and then into a room on the left. Namjoon stood there for a moment and then a moment longer until he heard water rushing from the faucet and into the bathtub. It scares you how quickly he drops the glass of whiskey to the ground, bronze liquid spilling on perfect floors and again just like you had seen when he shattered the glass earlier, said glass spread beneath his shoe-less feet. He did not care. He continued to walk forwards through the glass and you followed as he stormed down the hallway. Terror and curiosity makes you shiver, especially when he swung the door of the bathroom open and allowed it to hit against the wallpaper covered wall.  Namjoon's younger brother was sitting in the bath. His stuffed animal was sitting on the sink and he was talking to it while covering his face with bubbles. It seemed so innocent, so adorable and you nearly screamed knowing exactly what Namjoon was planning. "Oh hello brother, I'm doing fine you don't need to-"  Namjoon lent on the edge of the bath and grabbed his brother by the shoulders. Tears leaked from his eyes - much to your surprise - as he pushed the adolescent's head underneath the water. There were screams from underneath the bubbles and the floor was wet from water that had spilled from all of the thrashing and fighting the younger did. Namjoon was relentless, you covered your eyes in fear for the nightmares you would see for the rest of your life as the younger boy's lungs filled with soapy, warm water. "You are the little rat who took everything from me!" Namjoon's voice came out in a yell, almost loud enough to shake the roof above the boys. "They only care about you! They allow you to do whatever you please! They give you more than me and all for what brother! You are the most disgusting creature I've ever known, I'm going to take the life they gave you just to torture me away with my own two hands!"  Tears began to leak from your eyes as the fight the younger boy was putting up started to become less and less intense. Water no longer splashed over the edges and though Namjoon's eyes leaked tears too, he continued to push the boy under. "I cannot let things go on like this brother. I will be the center of their attention again. They will only care for me. They will spoil me and love me and never give time to you any longer for a dead boy is no fun is he?"  And then the thrashing stopped. There was no more splashing, no more yelling, no more screaming, just daunting silence. Namjoon's breath came out in heaves. He wouldn't allow himself to feel guilt for this. Not now, not ever. He was the one who deserved the attention. He was the one who deserved to inherit his father's company, not that boy. That boy was nothing. Not to him and as selfish as it was, it benefited him so why should he care. A smirk stretched across his face, one that disgusted you when you noticed it.  His younger brother only ever gave him love. Only ever cared for Namjoon and his parents, he never cared for himself. Everything he did was right, everything he did was perfect and Namjoon killed him because his parents cared more about the younger, gave more to the younger, payed more attention to the younger. It wasn't fair, so he killed the purest creature to ever grace his life, and now he leaves the bathroom, hands covered in water after draining the tub and leaving the twelve year old boy's lifeless body there to dry and shrivel before his parents arrive home.  You shiver, yet notice that you're back in front of the mirror. Thoughts about what happened make you gag and this eventually leads to you shivering, legs wobbling and struggling to hold you up as you throw up into a potted plant near that very window Namjoon kept glancing out.  After composing yourself, you look at your reflection again, it morphs to one that looks exactly like you except... Better. This version of yourself is slimmer, eyes glimmering and when she smiles, dimples dig into her cheeks. She stares at you through the mirror and looks you up and down. You find yourself suddenly covering your stomach with your arms and turning from the mirror.  Your stomach churns, suddenly feeling lesser than the reflection of yourself in the mirror and soon you realize that the corridor you had taken to running down - heels clacking against the marble and skirt twisted in your palms as you attempt to move as fast as possible away - had thousands of mirrors lining it and in those mirrors was that same reflection, that same version of you that was so much better. She's miss perfect, you're miss boring and suddenly a familiar feeling of jealousy twists in your chest.  Pieces of the puzzle come together now. Envy. That has to be Namjoon's sin, that has to be why he mimicked you and why he stole your eyes. He has to have been a normal person once but the scene you saw before explained everything to you. He was jealous of his brother, so jealous that he killed him. And that's how he ended up as the sin of envy. That has to be why your reflection cackles and giggles as she watches you run by, moving from mirror to mirror because no matter where you go, she'll always be there and always better than you. Some sort of twisted understanding dawns on you now. Chulgi must feel like this when you talk about the things you do to him. He must always feel like a bad person and that you're so much better. And it's this that makes you stop at the end of the haul, paired with exhaustion. "You," you glare at the girl in the mirror who seems shocked by the way you address her between broken up huffs. "You are not me. You are not perfect and I don't want to be you."  The girl in the mirror's smirk has long dropped from her face as she stands there arms crossed against her chest. "I'm not jealous of you!" Your brain works on overdrive and you start to analyse each and every thing Namjoon has shown you earlier. After all, he's a smart man - you've realized - and he's hidden hints with each word he says, each action he does and maybe it's a lie. Maybe you are jealous of that reflection, that projection of you that is everything you wish you were and more, that reflection of you that is you but without all the things you're insecure about but no one is perfect. Again you realize something that Chulgi has said to you before, you don't need to work so hard to hide your flaws. You're perfect as you are and though it may hurt you to know you'll never be that reflection, you realize that you don't want to be. You really don't want to be.  Before you ended up here, Namjoon dropped his glass. He drained it of liquid and dropped it to the ground and as it shattered, you ended up here. Suddenly you realize the way out of here is to do exactly the same thing. Destroy the glass - or you guess in this situation, the mirror. Without thinking, your luckily gloved fist collides with the smooth surface and you come to the conclusion far too late that this action brings with it so many years of bad luck, but it was so worth it to see that false reflection's face shatter, and now you can see the shards scattered on the ground coming back together again. You can see your true reflection and you look so beautiful. At this you kneel, careful to avoid any shards that haven't connected back to the main mirror and stare. Except... Something is different. A key is hanging from the roof, one with a snake shaped handle and you gasp, reaching up and tugging it from the thread it was hanging on. This had to be it. It had to be the key. "I have to say," Namjoon laughed, "you did a pretty great job."  You flinched hearing the man's voice. You were back in the maze again, key clutched in your hand except now instead of cowering in fear at the sight of Namjoon, your eyes thin and rage seeps through your body. "You... You killed him!"  Namjoon grins and sighs, turning - his back was facing you beforehand - and facing you. "I'm one of the six deadly sins my dear, you haven't even seen the worst of it yet."