Chapter Text
In the dimly lit council chamber, the grandest, most feared villains of the SJM universe gathered—not to plot mayhem, but to lament a common foe that had broken them all: paperwork.
Maeve, seated at the head of the table, dark and regal as always, stared at the mountain of parchment in front of her with thinly veiled disgust. “I ruled worlds,” she began, her voice dripping with disdain, “I conquered the greatest warriors, manipulated entire realms, and yet…” She rubbed her temples. “Here I am, trying to authorize a simple shadow legion deployment. Why are there six different forms just to get one dark army to march? Six!”
Erawan grunted from beside her, his Valg-infused presence somehow diminished by the stack of papers he, too, was battling. “Six? I would kill for six.” He slapped the top of his pile. “Do you know what it takes to balance the Valg invasion budget? There’s inventory, conquest receipts, expenses for every soul-sucking creature in my army. Who thought that was a necessary detail? And taxes—taxes, Maeve! I can barely keep track of which kingdom I’ve conquered, let alone file quarterly reports for each one!”
Amarantha, leaning back in her chair with a dramatic roll of her eyes, twirled a lock of hair between her fingers. “Oh, please, you think that’s bad? Try overseeing the Under the Mountain Compliance Department. Do you know how many permission slips I have to sign just to torment someone? Feyre’s torture alone took an entire department of paperwork. I keep misplacing the soul-shredding request forms because, apparently, there’s a specific one for each type of torture. Nothing spontaneous anymore. By the time I’ve sorted through it all, the thrill is gone.”
The room filled with murmurs of agreement, though Koschei scoffed loudly. “At least you all have something resembling fun. I’m trapped in a cursed lake for eternity, and even I have to deal with the monthly budget meetings. Do you know how hard it is to explain ‘miscellaneous curse expenses’ to Hybern’s treasury? They made me create an Excel spreadsheet for my hexing plans. Excel, Maeve. Excel.”
Beron Vanserra, slouched in his chair, arms crossed and looking even grumpier than usual, spoke up. “You think your army is bad? I have six ungrateful sons who demand an itemized budget for every bonfire festival. Every. Damn. Year.” He sneered, flicking imaginary ash from his coat. “Do you know how long it takes to fill out 'Autumn Court Firewood Requisition Forms’? The paperwork required for ruling the Autumn Court is worse than being attacked by my own family. At least that I can handle with fire."
Arobynn Hamel, smirking, gave a slow, dramatic clap. "Congratulations, Beron. You've just described every family reunion I’ve ever attended." He leaned forward with a wicked grin. “I feel your pain. You all know I run the most feared Assassin’s Guild in Erilea, right?” He looked around for dramatic effect. “And do you know what really breaks an assassin’s will? It’s not death. It’s not a blade. It’s payroll. 'Arobynn, where’s my paystub? Arobynn, I didn’t get reimbursed for poisons'—reimbursements? We’re assassins! Hazard pay? Are they kidding me?”
Erawan leaned forward, his dark gaze locking onto Arobynn. “Assassins… with benefits?”
Arobynn nodded grimly. “Oh, it gets worse. I had one assassin file a formal HR complaint because they felt the job description didn’t accurately warn them about 'moral ambiguity.' I am this close to burning the whole guild down.”
Amarantha snickered, “I’m glad to know we’re all defeated by the same monster. I once tried to send a Fae to her doom, and I had to fill out a Doom Authorization Form. By the time I got approval, she escaped.” She crossed her arms, grumbling. “Killed my vibe.”
Keir, High Lord of the Hewn City, finally spoke, his face twisted with frustration. “You think that’s bad? Try managing the treasury and the Hewn City’s army. Every soldier I recruit needs three different approvals from the treasury. I tried deploying forces to aid in some ‘personal projects,’ and they made me justify every copper spent. As if I don’t have better things to do than argue over the cost of new armor.” He threw his hands up. “And don’t even mention the paperwork when Mor whisks half of my best soldiers to the Night Court. I have to write a detailed report on why they were taken!”
Vargas, the Valg general, muttered darkly, “HR complaints, armies, budgets... Try summoning a demonic legion and having your work stopped because the ‘Infernal Entities Permit’ wasn’t filed in triplicate. I lost half my army to Aelin while waiting on that permit.” He sighed. “The paperwork is endless.”
King Nolan, sitting in a corner, groaned, “At least you don’t need permits to wage war. I had to file an ‘Intent to Exterminate’ form with three councils just to start my campaign. Do you know how long it took? By the time I got approval, my enemies had already mobilized!”
Maeve raised an eyebrow. "At least you don’t have to deal with immortality claims from Fae soldiers. 'Oh, Maeve, I lost an arm during the last battle, does that count as a permanent injury?' And I had to fill out a 22-page form just to reject his claim!”
Erawan sighed, nodding sympathetically. "I once tried conquering an entire continent and the Adarlan Legal Council sent me a cease-and-desist letter because I didn’t have the right invasion permits. And do you know how hard it is to conquer and file an appeal at the same time?”
Arobynn, amused, leaned back. “You’d think assassins would be low-maintenance. But no. 'Arobynn, can I get my poison allowance raised?'” He mimicked a whiny voice, his dagger spinning idly in his hand. “I’m about to start assassinating the paperwork.”
Koschei groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can’t we all just admit it? We’re not defeated by heroes. We’re not stopped by rebellions. We’re brought down by bureaucracy. This—” he waved a hand at his towering stack of documents, “—is the true enemy.”
The group fell silent for a moment, each one stewing in their shared misery.
Finally, The King of Hybern, ever the brooding figure, grumbled, “I spent centuries planning to tear down the wall between human and Fae lands, only to be stalled by one thing. Paperwork. Who knew you needed permits to install magical barriers? And combining courts? That’s not just conquest—that’s merging departments. Do you know how many signatures that requires?”
Maeve, nodding solemnly, raised her goblet. “To paperwork, the true bane of our existence.”
Around the table, dark figures clinked their glasses in grim agreement. Even the most terrifying beings in existence, it seemed, had been brought to their knees by the cruelty of paperwork.
Koschei sighed. “Maybe I’ll just give up and open a bakery. Less paperwork.”
Arobynn snickered. “I’d give anything to see you filling out flour orders.”
Nolan groaned, slumping lower in his chair. "At least flour orders wouldn’t need three layers of approval."
And so, the most feared villains sat in shared, exhausted silence—temporarily united by their truest enemy: paperwork.
. . .