#now he has to clear three evenings a week to indulge his stupid demon or he gets mopey and won't get anything done

[tcfactory]

i was going through some old asks and now im colluding concepts og!mobei finds out og!sqh is no.1 emergency fuck of the peak. bro is the sect bicycle. mobei is seething and he doesnt know why. sqh also doesnt know why. "WHY ARE YOU MAD YOU USE ME FOR THE EXACT SAME THING?!" the word 'use' makes him more mad. he is sulking and no one here realises its jealousy

Please imagine MBJ somehow arriving to the conclusion that SQH has to have some special magic dick that made them pick him as the best emergency fuck. And ofc MBJ has to try for himself, maybe that will help shed some light on things.

(They are not going to learn anything about why SQH is the sect bicycle, but they do learn that he has sadistic dom tendencies that MBJ enjoys probably more than he ever expected.)

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Tangled Place (Part 1/Preview Chapter)

Prompt(s): Whumptober Day 8 “it’s all for nothing” 

Summary: Zuko tries to prove his strength by summoning a spirit to slay. What he gets instead is a demon that takes the form of a Fire Sage who has taken quite a shine to Azula.

Notes: remember that self-indulgent fic I mentioned a week or so back? It’s late but it is now here; decided that it would fit better with spooky season. It's an Avatar/Conjuring Franchise crossover. Could possibly become a longer fic.

And when all is said and done it is all for nothing. He doesn’t feel stronger or cooler. Father still doesn’t love him. In fact he hates him more than ever.

He had played a stupid game and everyone is paying the price for it. Ozai’s is grief, Mai and TyLee’s is regret, Katara’s and Aang’s is disappointment, Azula’s is…he swallows hard. His own price is a mark on his chest–a big black blight that reminds him of what he has done and that his price hasn’t been fully paid. 

He can feel it inside of him.

The blight will only get bigger.

He sees it everywhere now. 

This Thing from some world far removed.

This Thing that is neither human nor spirit.

It is in the mirrors, in every darkened corner, at the shadowed backs of cupboards left ajar.

It is entirely his fault. 

He has lost the ability to sort out what is real from what is false.

Sometimes when he gazes into those dark places, it isn’t the Thing that he sees. Sometimes it is Azula’s face all twisted in agony a blackness much deeper than the shadows that surround her spews from between her discolored lips.

Sometimes he sees her in the corner, her arms stiff and twitching, her back contorted painfully. He knows that it is painful because her mouth is fixed into a silent, gushing scream. 

But it is her eyes….they aren’t right. They aren’t hers. He has seen malice and hatred in them before. He had thought that he had seen evil in them when they were younger. He knows now that he hadn’t seen evil at all–not in its most authentic, simmering form. Because he has looked her right in the eyes many times before and has never seen this.

Three months earlier

The place is overgrown. So much so that the path can no longer be called such. Stones have long since been cracked and dislodged by trekking feet and harsh weather. From the cracks grow tall grasses and creeping ivies. Invasive plants crawl down the throats of old stone fountains and into the tubes of wind chimes with choked voices and water pumps. Vines choke lopsided stone pedestal lanterns that have long since lost their light. 

The writing etched into these lanterns has been eroded beyond reading and in places where the etchings are clear the fuzz of moss has grown to obscure it. 

The trees have been overtaken by hanging moss and lichen that droops down as if melting off of the branches. A great many things hang in the trees, mingling with the natural overhang of vines; paper talismans mostly, tattered and faded paper lanterns, beaded ropes, dented brass incense burners, and collections of miscellaneous trinkets made of feather, sage, straw, white ash, and egg shells among other things. 

Zuko ducks under a tangle of what could be bird and mink bones. He does his best not to touch anything but the trinkets and talismans seem to outnumber the vines and hanging mosses. Something about that makes him queasy.

“This place is so, so…” TyLee wraps her arms around herself and shivers in spite of the muggy, humid air. 

“It smells rank.” Mai bunches up her nose. A scent that is stirred awake and amplified when Azula’s foot disturbs one of several mushy puddles. “How did you even find this place?”

Azula shrugs. “Things have been so dull lately.” She says as though that answers the question. 

But he can put two and two together. Azula had always loved exploring every nook, cranny, and secret annex in the palace. It was only a matter of time before she ran out of those and started to branch out. He just hadn’t realized just how far she would manage to do so. 

There is something charming about it–one facet of Azula’s softer side, the side that she has only just started displaying more openly and more often. She has an almost childlike curiosity about her that juxtaposes most other aspects of her–all of those parts that have grown up far too soon.

She makes her way around a particularly large sculpted boulder and comes to a halt before the dilapidated entrance of a shrine. She stands before it with her hands on her hips, watching a curtain of  paper talismans swish in the breeze. It isn’t just a curtain, he decides, it is a wall. A wall of paper with elegant calligraphy. He shudders.

For a place so teeming with unrestrained nature, Zuko had imagined that there would be sound all around. The beating of wings, the guttural crooning of toad-squirrels, the rattle of branches and a stirring of leaves as tiger-monkeys maneuver about.

But the place is quiet.

Quiet save for a distant chime.

“Should we be here?” TyLee frowns.

“Why shouldn’t we be?” Azula asks. “I’ve come here many times and haven’t had an issue.”

“You don’t think that this place is just a little…off?” Mai asks. 

“Completely creepy, you mean?” TyLee edges closer to her. 

Azula shrugs again. “It suits me just fine.” 

“Okay.” Zuko grumbles. “You can be intimidating but you aren’t anything like this.” 

She tilts her head and furrows her brows. Parts her lips as if to say something. This is another facet of her softer side–that part of her that truly believes that she is malevolent…a monster through and through. The part of her that seems to hiccup and sputter when someone implies that she is actually not so bad. 

Mai chuckles. “Look, if you feel like this place is a kindred spirit, we’ll leave you to it.”

“You wouldn’t be able to stop me if you tried.” Azula waves her hand dismissively. “At any rate, this is the place that I’ve found and I quite like it.” 

“But why?” Zuko scans the place, hoping to see whatever good she sees in it.

“It’s intriguing!” She declares. He is still getting used to seeing her more bombastic hand gestures and expressive speech. “It’s so…so…” She hums. “Charged. It has its own energy.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure if that’s a good thing.” Mai confesses. 

TyLee nods. “It has a weird aura.” 

“That doesn’t mean that it has a bad aura. Weird and sinister are two different things.”

“Okay, but it definitely has a sinister aura too.” Zuko counters. 

Azula props herself up against the boulder. “I don’t think so. I think that it’s rather peaceful. It’s no different than any other shrine–just don’t be disrespectful. Leave an offering–” she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small pouch of crystals, herbs, and gold coins. “Don’t steal offerings that have been left. Don’t break anything…” she trails off. 

“Fair enough.” Mai agrees. 

He isn’t surprised in the slightest that she is starting to warm up to the place. She has her own ripple of eerie vibes that cling heavily to her. 

Azula smiles, cheered to have swayed someone to her side. 

“So are we going in there?” TyLee asks with a gesture to the shrine. 

Azula shakes her head. “I don’t think that we’re supposed to touch the talismans. I usually leave my offerings on the stairs.”

“So why bring us all the way out here?”

Azula rolls her eyes. “Have a sense of adventure, Zuzu! Haven’t you ever explored something just for the sake of seeing it? Enjoy the view.” 

The sentiment is still so strange coming from her. From the girl who had always done things with a clear sense of purpose. Who had never taken a single step without having an end goal, an idea of where that step would lead. He thinks that there must be a newfound sense of appreciation for the world around her, for just living after having been sealed away from it for so long.

His stomach flutters, sometimes he thinks that he dwells upon her confinement more than she does. And maybe that’s a good thing. She has been through a lot and he is happy that she is doing well again. That they are doing well again.

That his family is slowly but surely, changing for the better. Ozai has a long way to go, but he listens to Azula. He indulges her when she proposes ideas to him. Zuko is certain that he just needs to give her time and she’ll be able to get their father to come around. It’ll give him time to decide how he feels and how much he wants to forgive, if anything at all. It might be a matter of acknowledging that some things are unforgivable, choosing to coexist, and moving from there. He thinks that forgiving Azula is plenty enough. 

It is more worthwhile than forgiving their father will ever be; for all of those hard edges and cold aspects of her she has a sense of loyalty, a protectiveness. She can be impossible to get along with but she has a good heart. A guarded and distant one but he has learned to work with that. And she has learned to work with him. 

“There’s a nice clearing just over that bridge, we can have lunch there. Or, if you’re feeling more formal, there’s a teahouse.”

“Does the teahouse look like it is going to cave in if the wind gusts the wrong way?” Mai asks. 

Azula shakes her head. “It’s actually quite new. I’m not sure if it is actually part of the shrine.” She taps her pointer against her chin. “Come on, Zuzu, you’re falling behind.”

He hadn’t even realized. 

He finds that he falls behind a lot.

These days she waits for him to catch up.

[ordinaryschmuck]

What I Thought About "Echoes of the Past" from The Owl House

Salutations, random people on the internet who most certainly won’t read this. I am an Ordinary Schmuck. I write stories and reviews and draw comics and cartoons.

What probably gets debated the most in the fandom is the legitimacy behind King being the King of Demons. Some believe that there's truth to his statement, while others, like me, like to think that he was just some stray Eda picked up off the streets. Either option seemed likely, especially since Season One never gave an answer that leaned one way or the other.

Then here comes the writers finally answering the question of who King is in episode THREE of Season Two! Because, again, they don't waste time on giving fans exactly what they want.

Fans wanted answers behind King, we got 'em, and analyzing what those answers mean requires going deep into spoilers. So if you haven't checked the episode out yet, I highly recommend that you do. Trust me, it's worth seeing.

Now let's review, shall we?

WHAT I LIKED

Luz Experimenting with Spells: Hey, look! More proof that Luz isn't an idiot like some people flanderize her to be!

But, seriously though, this is a perfect little thread to introduce into the story. Luz collecting knowledge from Lilith's old books and past work she and Eda made adds to Luz's intelligence while also providing a believable explanation for how she gets new spells. It's also nice to see that she has this little notebook (or spellbook) to help see what works and what doesn't. It's a level of experimentation that proves her dedication to becoming a witch while also exemplifying how she isn't stupid. Occasionally reckless, sure, but you can't say that the person who figured out an invisibility spell through showing her work is also an idiot.

Francios with a Knife: How did Francois get a knife? I don't know. But the fact that a random knife plopped out behind him with little to no explanation is funny, and I will not hear otherwise.

I don't make the rules. I just abide by them.

Luz’s Invisibility Spell: I breezed past this, but I honestly love this invisibility spell. More specifically, I love that there's a limiter. It can turn you, objects, and people you're in contact with invisible, but only as long as you can hold your breath. It helps make the spell something the characters can't always rely on, which is appreciated. Because if it works as long as they concentrate, what's stopping them from sneaking into Belos' castle and assassinating him in his sleep? It's a smart way of explaining why they can't always rely on something, despite how insanely useful it is.

Luz: Let's gush about Luz some more, shall we!

"Echoes of the Past" is another episode that has Luz on top form. She is constantly supportive of King, even if Lilith has a point in the dangers of indulging his fantasy as a powerful tyrant. Doing so would cause more harm than good, especially when King finds out Luz doesn't believe him, but her going along with it was all done with the best of intentions. Luz doesn't want to hurt her friend, and even if she did in the long run, she still makes up for it by helping King learn more about his past.

And, as another reminder, Luz isn't stupid. She's the first to say they should leave when it's clear how dangerous the castle is and is quick to figure out there should be more at the top. Luz is a loyal and caring friend who's also guarded and intuitive when the situation calls for it. This episode understood that, so here's hoping other fans will too.

Lilith: Yeah, she's still growing on me.

I feel like this episode shows a better idea of Lilith's place in the group more than the past two. She's a person who's obsessed with knowledge and learning but considers herself above the jovial nature of King, Luz, and definitely Eda. Therefore, she acts as the perfect catalyst for what jumpstarts this week's adventure. It doesn't surprise me in the slightest that she almost instantly dismisses King's claims due to considering herself more knowledgeable than everyone else. Still, I like how she's willing to believe King once she finally sees evidence that seemingly proves he really was the King of Demons, to the point of referring to him as "her lord." Hooty does the same thing, but it comes across as him fearing for his own life and choosing to be friends with someone who could maybe kill him in an instant. For Lilith, her newfound respect comes from the desire to learn more, and it's that desire that makes Lilith an enjoyable character to me. It's adorable to see, and it has some comedic flavor in moments like when she dismisses everyone else and their emotional revelations to take pictures of the carvings around her. I'm sure she'll cause some controversy like other characters with rushed reformations, but for me, I'm more than ok with her addition to the main cast.

More of Lilith’s and Hooty’s Friendship: HOW DOES THIS WORK!?

ON PAPER, IT SEEMS LIKE IT WOULD BE A BAD IDEA, BUT IT F**KING WORKS!

HOW?!

WHAT BLACK MAGIC DID THESE WRITERS USE TO MAKE A RELATIONSHIP SO UNEXPECTED COME ACROSS AS SO ENDEARING AND ADORABLE?!

And where can I get some for my stories...just asking.

But seriously: HOW?!

Hooty Making Himself Portable: Ah, yes. The classic bit where a character does something horrifically grotesque off-screen, and we have nothing but character reactions and sound effects to imagine what happened between shot A and shot B. It's an oldie, but given how hard I was laughing (mostly because of Luz's gagging), it's still a goodie.

Eda’s Portable Bathtub Boat Thing: I mean...I was expecting Eda would use something to catch up with the others, but...that thing...well...I mean, I'm still laughing just by thinking about it. That should tell you how well executed this joke was.

John Luke: ...I'm gonna go ahead and add him to the list because HOLY S**T was this guy disturbing! From his design to his movements to even the sounds he makes when moving, everything about John Luke screams as something that will stay in kids' nightmares for a while. Now, this might seem like a complaint, but to be honest, I'm more than alright with how creepy John Luke is. I highly doubt adult viewers will consider John Luke scary, but I guarantee he'll terrify some of the youngins that this series is aimed for. And that's fine. It's good to creep kids out a little bit with something somewhat scary, as it might introduce them to more good horror stories later in life.

Plus, the reveal that John Luke was only a guard for King is pretty solid narratively speaking. You can see how John never really meant to hurt King aside from one accident when Eda escaped with him. If you want to read into it, I guess it might be questionable to tell kids that something that looks dangerous is secretly nice, but that's really nitpicky, in my opinion. John Luke was a fantastic threat that is designed and animated well, with a solidly executed twist. Some might hate what he presents, most will fear him, but we can all agree on one thing: His theme is awesome (can I get the track for that, please)!

King’s Backstory: Finally, at long last, we know who King is, thus putting an end to a year-long debate. And I fully mean it when I say that the writers gave the best possible answer. Because in a way, everyone was right. Yes, King was just an animal that Eda decided to adopt, like the nature-loving hippie she is inside (She's got the hair for it). However, while he may not be the King of Demons himself, he is still the son of someone who deserves that title. So while he isn't the King, there's a chance he might be the Prince. Once again, there's no direct answer, but given how the writers came up with something that pleases everyone while still providing more questions for debate, it acts as a brilliant move, in my opinion. So whatever answer we get next, I'm sure it will be just as perfect.

Baby King:

My heart was not prepared for that level of cuteness!

King’s Breakdown: NOR WAS IT READY FOR THIS LEVEL OF SADNESS!

But in all seriousness, a HUGE round of applause to Alex Hirsch for his performance in this episode. He expertly captured the raw emotions of shock, anger, betrayal, and sadness that King must have felt when finding out that everything he believed he was is a lie. It's one of those moments where I don't hear a person voicing lines in a booth (or wherever the hell VAs are voicing characters nowadays), but instead hear a living person being emotionally torn apart. It was heartbreaking seeing King so vulnerable as he's so guarded with his emotions. Seeing him like this adds so much more layers to a character that many would mistake him as a cute, comedic animal sidekick. But just like with Luz, there's more to him than people will tell you.

“I don’t even know what’s real or fake anymore!”: I'm just pointing out this line because I believe it's what convinces Luz to help King learn more about who he is. Hell, not knowing what's real or fake is the main reason why Luz got sent away in the first place, so I feel like she can relate to King when he's in a similar predicament.

Hooty and Lilith vs John Luke: This was just a cool scene with some epic moments of dodging John Luke's attacks and some funny ones, like how Hooty said the word "pain." It's a ten out of ten that I would rewind to watch again.

King’s Other Horn: I'd question the logistics of how a horn that got broken off when he was a baby still manages to fit perfectly in the present...but it is neat symbolism of King accepting his past and letting it be a part of him, so who cares?

(The fact that the colors of the broken-off piece don't match the rest of the horn is nice attention to detail as well.)

WHAT I DISLIKED

It's a Little Too Predictable: I pretty much figured almost every little twist the episode offers. But, I'm willing to say that's because I'm in my twenties, and I've seen enough stories similar to this one, so I'm more likely to know what will happen. The little monsters watching this will see it for the first time, so they'll most likely get more surprised than me...And that was my only complaint about the episode...which is more of a personal problem than an actual issue...I guess that means it's perfect.

IN CONCLUSION

"Echoes of the Past" is an easy A+ in my book. It gives lore and backstory that furtherly develops the characters that episodes like this should. It also tells a tragic story about King that still sprinkles in a few good jokes every now and again to lighten up the mood. Sure, there are some nitpicks I could mention (how did King remember his own birth?). But when the good stuff is done so well, what's the point of dwelling on small, insignificant issues? This is still a phenomenal episode that flew past all expectations I had for it, and it continues the winning steak this season is having so far.

(But that's still three home runs in a row. Meaning that a stinker is coming. Ooiee, is it coming!)

[wrathandgreed]

Idea: Barbatos professing his love for you the first time. Take it however you want with angst or fluff 😘

Surprises

GN!MC x Barbatos (fluff)

Word count: 6.5k

Author Note: Somehow, this took on a life of its own, and now I’m in love with Barbatos.

You wonder, briefly, if this is how Cinderella felt.

Everyone assumes that Cinderella spent the ball floating on air, waltzing gracefully with the prince, impressing everyone with her beauty and charm.

Did anyone ever think that maybe, just maybe, Cinderella felt completely out of place? That huge ball gown, skirts wide enough to knock food off tables. The high heels, so much harder to walk in than bare feet. And everyone looking at her, always eyes watching her.

Maybe she found her true love, sure, but maybe she really just wanted to dash off to the kitchen, where things felt familiar and safe.

As you stand in Diavolo’s heavily decorated ballroom, a smile plastered on your face, pity for Cinderella runs through your head. Couture might look good, but it was constricting. You didn’t dare eat or drink - nothing washes out of this fabric. Also, trying to undo the whole outfit just to pee was NOT going to happen. The ballroom was sweltering hot and you were sweating under your clothes.

To be fair, it hadn’t been all bad, especially not in the beginning. Stepping into Diavolo’s castle was like stepping into a fairy tale. Millions of tiny lights floated all around, little wisps that barely illuminated anything but lent a bewitching aura to every room. The edges of the ballroom were lined with tables full of Barbatos’ cooking and baking. You smile as you passed a tray of cookies you had helped him make yesterday; maybe when the ball was over and you no longer had to worry about your party clothes, you’d steal one.

The music had been fun - instrumental and easy to dance to, and boy had you danced! Every one of the brothers had, at one time, claimed your hand and spun you around the dance floor. Lucifer had waltzed and twirled you expertly, covering the entire dance floor in one song. Satan, somehow, was better - perhaps because he cared more about dancing with you than showing off that he was dancing with you. Mammon fumbled more than anything else but, except for bumping into other demons a few times, his feet were pretty sure. And once he gave up on trying to replicate the fancy moves of Lucifer and Satan, the two of you just whirled around the dance floor with absolutely no concern for your safety or anyone else’s.

Asmo refused to let you go for almost half an hour while he showed off moves the two of you had practiced together. Belphie and Beel pulled you into a strange three-person dance with a lot of hand-holding and ducking under each other’s arms until all three of you were howling with laughter and had to excuse yourself into the hallway.

And in the hallway, you even managed to lure Levi into a little swaying slow dance in the corner. It felt a little like an 8th grade formal, but his eyes shone when you put your head on his shoulder, so everything was good.

The brothers had passed you from hand to hand, protecting you and dancing, laughing, talking, flirting. When you thought no one was looking, you snuck out your phone and took selfies with them, for the scrapbook you were making of your time here.

But like Cinderella’s coach, you felt like you turned into a pumpkin around midnight. It was now a few hours past and your patience and enjoyment were wearing thin. You thought longingly of the room Lord Diavolo had given you here for the night, but Diavolo himself had vanished and demonic etiquette dictates that you not leave without thanking him personally, and perhaps indulging the Demon Prince himself in a dance.

Your feet ache at the idea of another turn around the floor.

“MC, darling, don’t move! There’s someone I want to see, but I’ll be back in just a second,” Asmo whispers in your ear before slipping off into the crowd.

Surprised, you look around and realize none of the brothers are moving to replace him at your side. Lucifer had disappeared with Diavolo, muttering something about paperwork. Mammon and a few lesser demons are playing cards in a game room across the hall. Levi - well, there was no keeping Levi at a formal function full of people for any length of time. Beel was….. yes, Beel was over there by the food tables, and Belphie was probably napping on a couch in the hallway.

You realize you can’t see Barbatos anywhere, either. Through it all, you’d catch glimpses of him, refilling food and clearing away glasses. Once, he caught your eye and gave you his gentlest, friendliest smile. A few hours later, he happened to be in exactly the right place to catch you as you and Mammon tripped over another demon’s tail while trying to waltz.

You would have welcomed his presence, but for the moment you were alone.

Wonderfully, gratefully, blessedly alone.

You gather the extra material of your outfit and in your head you see Cinderella hiking her ball gown to her knees to book down the stairs. Trying to remain unseen, you carefully open the terrace doors and slip out onto the balcony.

The crisp air outside slaps you in the face and you almost whimper in relief. Without stopping to think, you lean your back against the now-closed terrace doors and yank off your shoes.

A noise off to your left startles you, has you whipping your head to the side and clutching your shoes to your chest. If you have to put your shoes back on, you’re going to cry.

But it’s Barbatos.

He’s humming lightly along with the music inside as he passes by more slim banquet tables, gathering empty wine glasses onto a silver tray for washing. His hair catches the moonlight and for a moment you’re bewitched by him, by his gentle demeanor and quick efficiency.

It had been that demeanor and efficiency which allowed you to become friendly in the first place.

Devil’s sake, why are these stupid meetings always so long?!

You hadn’t been in the Devildom long, but somehow you’d had to sit through like seven Council meetings already. And this one was going on forever, but  you weren’t allowed in the room because it was a SECRET meeting and you’re not a Council Member.

And you’re also not allowed to just walk home because you could get eaten by a lesser demon.

So instead, you’re sitting on the floor in the hallway outside the council room. Trying to get comfortable and read your book, but your feet keep going numb any time you settle into a reading position. In a minute you’re going to just say hell with dignity and lay flat-out on the floor, tent your book over your face, and take a nap. You’re getting more and more annoyed when - 

“That certainly does not look comfortable, MC.”

You glance up from your book, and there’s Diavolo’s butler. His name had something to do with islands. Barbatos? Bora Bora? Aruba sounded wrong. You’d spoken to him a few times, but barely knew him at all so, as far as you’re concerned, he’s part of the problem. Right now, every demon is part of the problem.

“It’s not comfortable,” you return tartly. “But I’m stuck here until this meeting is over, since I’m not even allowed to walk back to the damn House on my own.”

The butler’s face clouds over, but all he does is excuse himself and enter the council room. For a second, you worry that you offended him with your rudeness, but then you decide you don’t care. He’s a demon. If he deals with this lot regularly, rudeness shouldn’t be something that bothers him all that much.

You settle into another position - back against the wall, legs straight out in front of you. It’ll relieve the pins and needles in your feet, but you just know your ass will be numb in twenty minutes….and suddenly Barbatos/Bora Bora is back in front of you, bent over at the hips and with an extended hand to help you rise. When you just gape at him, he smiles that small self-contained smile of his. 

“I’ve spoken with Lucifer, and I have leave to walk you back to the House myself, so long as I remain with you until one of them returns.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I’m sure you have way more interesting things to do than babysit me.”

His smile widens, his eyes sparkle just a little at your polite refusal. He doesn’t wait for the little lamb to stand on their own and, instead, grasps your hand with both of his and pulls you to your feet. 

“I insist. I have all the time in the world, after all.” 

Your own smile twists, just a little. You had no idea what he meant by that at the time, and it’s still a little creepy to think about.

The butler did, indeed, walk you back to the House of Lamentation. And he did, indeed, refuse to leave you alone once there. Every suggestion and argument you raised - because, really, you’re an adult and you can stay alone in a damn house - was met with that smile, that patience, and that absolutely immutable stubborn will.

But, hey, after passing on the information that one of the brothers would grab dinner from Hell’s Kitchen and bring it home, Barbatos insisted that the two of you make dessert.

You knew what he was doing. You’re not stupid. You’d barely been in the Devildom two weeks, and you knew no one trusted you on your own yet. You were to remain, both under guard and guarded against, until trust could be established.

And it fascinated you to watch Barbatos work. It wasn’t exactly a punishment to sit in the warm kitchen and watch a master doing his thing. Initially, he had insisted you help, but…..

“You are truly hopeless, aren’t you? And I thought the rumors of Solomon’s cooking were alarming.”

“Yeah, well, cooking’s boring.” When Barbatos shoots you a look, you shrug, refusing to back down. “If you like doing it, cool, works for you. I don’t. It’s just…. it’s FOOD. You spend two hours making it, and everyone will eat it in under fifteen minutes. Less if Beel is around.”

“I find it soothing,” the butler returns, amusement evident in his voice.

“Awesome for you. That’s not a dig, really, it’s great that you enjoy it. I like to knit; everyone has something. But I can’t do any of this stuff in the first place, and DEFINITELY not in silence. It’s too distracting.”

“And what music do you listen to when working?”

“Oh, uh, not music. Audiobooks.” You FEEL yourself blushing. “I’m a Lit major. Well, I was. I’ve probably been thrown out of college for non-attendance at this point.”

Barbatos smiles as his hands move effortlessly through the ingredients. “I believe Lord Diavolo has ensured that your education will continue as you desire after this year is over.” He hesitates just a moment, then continues, “I believe Satan has mentioned audiobooks in the past, but he has to go to the human world to get them. They are what they sound like?”

You hitch yourself up on a high kitchen stool. “Yeah, exactly. A recording of someone reading a book out loud. Usually it’s more of a dramatic reading, sometimes like a play with a bunch of people taking different parts. Not a Devildom thing, huh?”

“No, but I shall bring the idea up to Lord Diavolo. Perhaps we could interest more demons in the Royal Library this way. Humans enjoy them?”

“Until we had stuff like radio and TV, most entertainment was someone reading to the family while everyone did their own thing. They’re not as big now, but yeah, some humans like them.”

Hands still clutching your book from earlier, you watch Barbatos in silence for a few minutes, then blurt out before you can stop yourself, “Maybe you might like it? I feel bad that you’re doing all the cooking and I’m just sitting here.”

A brief expression - it might have been surprise - flits across the otherwise placid face before Barbatos murmurs an assent. And, a little nervously, you open your book and start over, reading aloud from the first page.

Of course, you had less than an hour of quiet time with Barbatos before the brothers brought their chaos home. Enough time for the cake to be in the oven and for the butler to make you a cup of tea to soothe your voice. But it was nowhere near enough time to enjoy the book, and the company. 

A few days later, an incoming text from your DDD surprised you.

ButlerBarb: MC, it is Barbatos. Might I request a favor?

MC: You need a taste-tester? I’m sure anything you’re making works, but I’m absolutely willing to sacrifice my life for some more of that cake.

ButlerBarb: I am flattered! And you are always welcome to sample my food. 

MC: Awesome. So what’s this favor?

ButlerBarb: I have been mulling over the book we shared the other night. I don’t like to start things and not finish them. Might I borrow the book when you are done with it? 

MC: Of course! I’m almost done myself, so I can get it to you soon.

ButlerBarb: I must warn you, I have little spare time for reading. It might take me some time to return it.

MC: That’s not a problem! 

MC: Actually…..why don’t I come by and read some more to you while you cook or whatever?

MC: You could get more of the story at a time and I’d have someone to discuss the book with.

MC: I miss having smart conversations about books. Satan’s probably my only option and he seems to think I’m really sus right now. Literary criticism doesn’t seem to rank high on anyone else’s list around here.

ButlerBarb: And what makes you think it’s high on mine?

ButlerBarb: Forgive me, I forget how curt jokes can look over text. I am uncertain what “sus” means, but I would like to listen to and discuss the book with you. Perhaps tomorrow, after your classes? Lucifer and Lord Diavolo have a meeting and I doubt Lucifer would object to walking you over.

ButlerBarb: And perhaps you could taste-test some pastries for me. I would never want to serve anything substandard, after all.**

And that had been that. As time went on and you began to trust the denizens of the House of Lamentation, to laugh and joke and flirt with them, you also made sure you spent a few afternoons a week reading to Barbatos and debating story arcs, narrative choices, and character motivations. You also discussed these things with Satan now, but Satan was more like one of your professors - he had very definite opinions, and they were usually the old, staid opinions that every professor over the age of 50 had. Truthfully, it was fun trying to inject queer theory, feminist theory, and all sorts of modern interpretations into the discussion. Anything to shake him up a little. He absorbed them and found them interesting, but he was more comfortable with interpretations that had centuries of influence.

Barbatos was different.

Barbatos wanted to know what you thought. He was curious about the human interpretation of the events of the novel, the human understanding of character. You weren’t sure if he was interested on his own behalf or Diavolo’s, but his questions made you think about your own opinions and thoughts of the novel - of storytelling in general - in ways you hadn’t before.

He would then contrast your opinion/human opinion with a general demon opinion, and then his opinion. And when he offered his own opinions…..hoo, boy, you would have paid good money to see him argue down some of your more uptight professors. He was a little scary, sometimes, and he often made you remember, sharply, that demons definitely had their own morals and values.

Like when he defended Iago and his jealous meddling in Othello’s life. (“If Othello had any strength of mind at all, he never would have fallen for it. It was a good test for him - a man in charge of armies should not allow himself to be undone by a single jealous rival.”)

Like his absolute judgement on most of the characters in Sense and Sensibility. (“Frankly, Willoughby would wind up being tortured for a few millennia for his deceit and vanity, the greedy branch of the Dashwood family - well, there is a very interesting way of dealing with the greedy down here….”)

Like his amusement in Medea’s vengeance. (“A strong woman who refuses to allow herself to be cowed or tamed. Oh, damned for sure, but an admirable woman nonetheless.”)

You loved the discussion and debate. He stretched your mind in ways you had never considered.  But what you loved more was how relaxed Barbatos become.

Inch by inch, he loosened up. When the food was cooking or the bread was rising, he began to sit with you at the kitchen island. Initially, he would sit ramrod-straight, his hands often cutting vegetables or decorating pie crusts. After a few more weeks, he would sit and listen to you read with his head resting on one hand, absently plucking grapes from their stem with the other. Eventually he simply stood, leaning on the table next to you as you discussed the latest chapter over a cup of tea. Watching the slow, cautious relaxation in his posture was almost as interesting to you as his literary opinions.

Discussions of literature became discussions of life. Of choices, and the consequences of them. You learned far more about his powers as he detailed one choice in one life and the ramifications across multiple timelines.

His matter-of-fact discussions on time, the nature of reality, and the links between them tortured you and kept you up at night. For the first time, you truly abandoned fiction in favor of books of science. And still you knew you’d never really get it.

But that brought up new topics - what other consequences might there be for the actions taken in the books you’d read together?

You remember one fascinating night, after dinner at Diavolo’s, you sat with Barbatos in the kitchen as he cleaned up. Instead of reading to him, you were both throwing out ideas about other potential action-consequence links from Middlemarch, a book neither of you had really enjoyed. The suggestions got more and more ludicrous, helped along by a bottle of wine left over from dinner, until you saw something you never thought you would ever see.

Barbatos was laughing.

Not snickering, not giving his small amused smile, not even his occasional sarcastic smirk. But full-on, eyes-sparkling, belly-laughing. Almost, but not quite, hooting with it. It was the kind of laughter you can’t really stop, the kind that becomes contagious. You start chuckling with him, then laughing yourself, and now you’re both laughing simply because you’re already laughing.

He tried, very hard, to stop when Lucifer entered the kitchen with some request or another. He stood quietly, hand over his abdomen as usual, but you could see his body quivering as he held in his laughter. He tried to ask what Lucifer wanted, but every syllable threatened a chuckle so he remained silent. Lucifer looked at the scene, both you and Barbatos struggling to appear calm, eyes and faces shiny with laughter, and he started to lecture you on taking up Barbatos’ time.

Without thinking about it (also kind of drunk, so there’s that) you leaned over to Barbatos, put your hand on his shoulder, and sing-songed in a stage-whisper, “Uh-oh. Daddy’s mad.”

And Barbatos broke. Both of you were gone again, laughing so hard that the only reason you were standing is that you were holding each other up.

You assume that Lucifer went and tattled to Diavolo, covering it up by “apologizing” for how you monopolize Barbatos’ time, but all that came of it was an open invitation from the Demon Prince to come over to the castle whenever you wanted, as Barbatos could use some more laughter in his life.

And so you did.

The more time you spent there, the more you realized not just how important Barbatos was to the running of the castle (and, thus, the Devildom), but also how nice he could be. He always had your favorite treat or tea on hand. You started accompanying him on many of his chores. In fact, you saved the best discussions for when you were both out of the kitchen. Nothing made weeding the garden or polishing the silver go quicker than a bright and easy discussion. 

One of your favorite times with him was riding the train to the market. He insisted on turning the tables and reading to you. It was one of the only times where no one could expect him to have other chores to do, so he read instead. 

Maybe because of how generous Barbatos always was with his time, you started bringing little things with you. Some cut flowers from the House’s garden. A single box of rare tea that you know Barbatos said was out of stock (of course, it wouldn’t occur to him to ask Levi to track it down online). And once, browsing a used bookstore with Satan, you found an ancient recipe book that you couldn’t wait to bring to the castle.

Each of your little gifts had been received with surprise, then a smile that seemed really genuine. The flowers had been arranged in a pretty glass vase and placed by the kitchen window seat, the tea immediately prepared for you both, and the recipe book declared a wonderful find — apparently, it had a recipe for Newt-Spiced Devilbread that he had never seen before.

You had beamed with pride over his pleasure in the book, and been touched when a small package containing Devilbread (modified, according to the note, for human tastes) was found on your desk in the House a few days later.

Everything about him made you feel appreciated. Which is why you were so happy to see him there, otherwise alone on a balcony.

Of all the people at the ball, it was the upright, too-correct butler that you weren’t afraid to have see you in bare feet. He’d seen you covered in dirt, covered in flour, and, on one occasion when he’d dropped by the house unexpectedly, in ratty pajamas and toe-spacers with a face mask on. That one was Asmo’s fault.

You want him to see you now. You want him to turn around and see you, to have a moment, any kind of moment, while you were dressed in couture at a ball. You want to be the reason he genuinely smiles, the reason he laughs. 

I mean, look at him! Decked out in demon form like the rest. But instead of being scary or intimidating, his demon form was….comfortable. It suited him, far more than the human-look. While his clothes still looked butler-ish, something about the ruffles and falling folds looked like a modern Victorian-style suit. It fit his fussiness without being uptight.

That was it. His demon form was still “correct” in the way a butler was correct, but it wasn’t stuffy or uptight, the way the normal butler outfit was.

You’d been around demons so long that wings, tails, and horns looked absolutely normal instead of strange. The delicate crown of black-bone horns, instead of looking demonic, looked like a regal frame for his face.

Something about him being buttoned-up from head to toe made you want to jump on top of him.

Okay, so you had a crush. No way were you going to ruin one of the best and most equal friendships you’d ever had by making a move on a thousands-year-old demon for fuck’s sake.

Even if just watching the surety of his hands made you weak sometimes. But you could handle it. It was fine. You were fine.

While you were watching him oh-so-efficiently stack glasses (you would be drooling right now, if you weren’t dehydrated from avoiding drinks in this outfit), he finally glances up and notices you.

“Ah, MC,” he says, and you take heart in his obvious pleasure in seeing you. “Taking a break?”

“It’s a little hot in there. And a little crowded.”

“And you tire of them following and leading you around,” Barbatos finishes with complete understanding. “If that is the case, come over here a moment where there are no windows; everyone can see you through those glass doors. It is only a matter of time before one of them comes looking for you.”

You get a split-second image of being railed against the wall there, just inches away from the glass doors, but stifle it instantly. “Sure,” is all you say as you walk over as casually as you can. “Want some help with the wine glass collection?”

The look he shoots you is amused and his voice is (you think you hope) full of affection. “As you are dangerous around glass at the best of times, and we don’t want broken glass and wine while you are both barefoot and in that outfit, I believe I’ll carry on on my own.”

An awkward silence fills the air. At least, it feels awkward on your end. The two of you had been silent together any number of times, but for some reason you can’t stand the silence right now. Just for something to say, you gesture at a small tray with assorted cookies.

“How did the pomegranate-jam alfajors turn out?”

“Excellent, and I thank you again for helping me make them. Would you like one?”

“Barbatos, we both know I did nothing more than hand you the jam and read another Sherlock Holmes story. Besides, I can’t risk this,” and you gesture to your clothes.

A mischievous look - not the first you’ve seen on his face - comes into Barbatos’ eyes. “Well, we must protect your sartorial savoir-faire. But we also can’t have you perishing from hunger, can we?”

He picks up a cookie and closes in on you. He’s not tall, not really, but he always seems tall when he stands so close to you. He holds the cookie at your mouth and cups the other hand under it, to catch crumbs.

“I can feed myself,” you mutter sullenly, ignoring the tingling of your body as his proximity. You don’t know why you’re resisting, he’s popped tidbits of all sorts of food into your mouth as you’ve cooked together in these past months. But this isn’t his well-lit kitchen, and it doesn’t feel like an innocent moment.

Barbatos merely lifts his brows a little, his smile widening imperceptibly. With a sigh, you take a bite of the cookie. “Happy?”

He brushes his thumb over your lips, dislodging a few loose crumbs. You know you’ve stopped breathing. “There.”

His face is so close to yours; you can feel his breath against your skin and see the swirling melding colors in his eyes. He still has his fingers on your face and you’re so close, so close….

You wait a moment. Every book you’ve ever read says that after a gesture like that, there’s a surprise kiss. It’s such a fairytale moment. But Barbatos just pops the other half of the cookie in his own mouth and turns away, returning to his work.

Confused, let down, you drift to the balcony railing to look out over the grounds. The last thing you want is for him to be able to read your face in the dim light. In fact, right now, you’re just wishing you were alone again. Now you’re in constricting clothing, barefoot, hungry, thirsty, somehow both warm AND cold, exhausted, and, thanks to that misleading cookie moment, bordering on depressed.

You glance at Barbatos quickly, but he’s just working as always. He’s always hard to read, and the flickering lights here make it even harder, but something about his face looks wrong. He’s not smiling. If anything, he looks - you want to say frustrated. Or angry. At what? At you?

“Barbatos?” You ask quietly. “Are you ok?”

He looks up sharply and you see another first. His hand fumbles on the glass he’s holding and it tumbles to the ground, shattering. You turn to help him gather the pieces and - 

“Stop,” he snaps out, and for the first time since you’ve known him he actually sounds mad at you. A moment later the wine glass is back on the table, whole and unbroken.

A few breaths, and his face softens. “I apologize. I had to be sharp or you might have kept moving and hurt yourself. Or have you forgotten your feet?”

You glance down at your bare feet, your shoes forgotten on the ground a few feet away. You were just about to walk over broken glass to get to him. Symbolic, much? 

“Barbatos….are you mad at me?”

“No, MC.” Why did his voice have to be so kind? It’s almost worse. “I’m angry with myself. A mistake I made earlier. You would think, with my knowledge of time, that finding a good moment….. But never mind.”

“Is it something I can help you with?”

He stays still a moment, as if thinking about it. “Perhaps. But it still requires the right moment, and I must find it myself first.”

“One of those demon things? A thousand years from now, maybe?” You’re trying to joke and you know it’s going to fall flat, but the uncomfortableness of this moment is getting to you.

“Oh, not that long. Soon, I’m sure.” His normal voice and face are back, and you envy his equanimity. 

You nod at his pronouncement. You’re never going to argue with him about time, that’s just a losing battle. There’s also no way to get something out of him if he doesn’t want to talk about it. If he needs your help, you hope you’re friends enough that he’ll ask. Instead, you just turn back to the garden view. 

The silence stretches out, and you wonder why Barbatos is still out here. The glasses are on the tray. The cookies and cakes have been refreshed. And now that you feel awkward, uncomfortable, and rejected, the desire to be alone is even stronger.

“MC, now it is my turn,” you hear from behind you. “Are you ok?”

You just nod. Time to evade. “Tired. It���s a late night for me. It’s beautiful here though,” you continue bravely, trying to get back on the right foot. “I love the gardens around here. I kind of wish I could see them in sunlight, though.”

A short laugh from Barbatos. “As that is unlikely to happen, I’ll have to show you around the grounds the next time there is a full moon and a cloudless night. There are many areas that are fully lit. Be prepared for a walk, though, the grounds are extensive.”

“Do you ever get used to it?” you ask suddenly. You’d only half been listening, instead you were thinking about the depth of the grounds, the amount of space here.

“Get used to what?”

“This,” you say, sweeping your arm to encompass everything around you. “This place, the castle, the grounds, this…..this luxury and beauty and, and grandeur.”

A moment passes and you feel him step up to the balcony railing on your left. The crispness of the air seems to fade as the demon comes to stand close to you. You want to step away, but you’re afraid he would misinterpret the movement, and maybe even be hurt. Quietly, as if revealing something, he says, “I have, I think, gotten used to it. Mostly. What’s the human expression? Not seeing the forest for the trees? It is difficult to see beauty and grandeur when you’re the one responsible for keeping it polished and clean. The number of details, the sheer magnitude of things to do…..it keeps your eyes focused only on what’s in front of you.”

But now his eyes rove over the grounds, taking in the garden and its sparkling lights, the endless expanse of sky and stars. His smile was, as always, slight, but there was satisfaction in his eyes. “Sometimes, though, when someone reminds me….it is a wonderful thing to allow myself to be swept away by it all again. It is beautiful. Thank you for reminding me of that.”

There was a moment of silence  - and it felt like comfortable silence again - as the two of you survey the garden, so dark that the glittering fairy lights become almost indistinguishable from the night sky itself.

“But then,” Barbatos says, so softly his voice was almost a whisper, “you constantly remind me to look at things in new ways. And when you do, I always find something beautiful or interesting. Often both.”

His gloved hand reaches out and covers yours, where you had it on the balcony railing. You straighten and turn your eyes to him - the two of you had touched before, but never so deliberately. His hands over yours as he attempted to help you roll out pastry dough, holding each other up while laughing, and even an ill-advised flour war that would have been manageable had Diavolo not stepped into the kitchen and insisted on joining. For a moment, the pressure on your hand subsides, and you imagine you’ll simply have to power through the new awkwardness with a joke, but instead you find your hand suddenly clasped even more tightly in his.

“I can see everything, if I choose. The past, the present, the future. Any past, present, or future. So how is it that you always surprise me?”

“I’m sorry,” you say automatically.

He turns you suddenly and for one of the first times you truly read surprise on his face. “Don’t apologize!” It comes out stern and sharp and his voice immediately softens. “It has been….centuries, I think, since I was surprised at all. And I have never met someone by whom I was so constantly surprised. I….appreciate it.”

There’s something in his eyes, and you try desperately not to read too much into it. You’ve been disappointed once tonight already. Your own heart will break if you’re wrong. So you smile and joke instead. “Really? Lord Diavolo surprises me almost every day. They all do.”

Another smile. “The Young Master is impulsive, that is true. But I have served him for millennia. I have known all of them for thousands of years. And while I cannot predict everything they will do, even the strangest choices are no longer surprising.”

“So maybe I’m only surprising because you don’t know me well yet. Because I’m new here, or because I’m human.”

“I have known a lot of humans.” His gaze holds yours steadily and that word - bewitching - comes back to you again. “MC, you came here against your will and the first thing you did is begin to heal those brothers in there. Heal their wounds and heal their bonds. Who could have predicted that? How is that not surprising?”

“But that’s just - I mean - I just wanted to help?”

“It is help they needed. I hear from the Young Master that Mammon is passing most of his classes, albeit barely. Satan doesn’t rage as he did. Leviathan attended a party, and stayed for almost two hours!” A chuckle escapes him. “You have improved their lives immeasurably.”

“Yeah, well -“

“You have also improved my life. Immeasurably.”

The first instinct is denial, to brush it off. Laugh it off. But his dark eyes are still holding yours and you realize, belatedly, that at some point he captured both of your hands in his. This isn’t a moment to brush off. So if he’s being serious and honest, so will you. You drop your eyes, though, because serious and honest also makes you awkward and hesitant.

“And you’ve improved mine. More than I can say.”

He takes a breath, and a small step forward. “I think….the most surprising thing about you is how I feel. I have lived longer than I can truly count, and I had thought I had seen and experienced and felt everything. But I had never loved - until you. I had never even known that I hadn’t loved. And I hadn’t ever feared how empty my life would feel without it. It was truly a surprise to realize how little I knew myself.”  One of his hands leaves its hold on yours and you feel the soft leather of his gloves as his fingers wrap gently around your chin. A tiny bit of pressure, and he lifts your head so you can look eye to eye again. “Do you think, MC, you could come to love me in return?”

His face is calm, his eyes steady on yours. So calm and steady, just like his voice, that you could almost think you were just discussing the weather. If it were anyone else, you would suspect a prank. But - and it’s a strange thing to notice - his tail is swishing, just a little. If you’ve learned anything about living with demons, it’s that their wings and tails express what their faces don’t. And that little back-and-forth swish, at least in Satan or Levi, would be agitation, uncertainty. 

You feel a ghost of a smile cross your face. “Don’t you already know my answer, Mr. Time Travel?”

“I didn’t look. That would be cheating. Besides….I’d rather you surprise me.”

And so you lean forward and up, Cinderella in borrowed finery, barefoot at the ball, and kiss your prince softly on the lips. 

“I fell in love with you a long time ago,” you murmur as you pull back just a little. “And it didn’t surprise me at all.” You look into his eyes, dark and sparkling like the garden. “Is this the moment you needed to find?”

He only smiles and leans down to kiss you again, and you feel his hands on the small of your back, pulling you closer. You’re pretty sure you feel the end of his tail wrap around one of your ankles, but you’re more interested in pressing against his chest, kissing him while the music from the ball fades from your hearing and the dirty wine glasses sit forgotten on their tray.

Suddenly, a sound makes you jump. Fireworks, the traditional end to a Devildom ball, erupt over the garden and  lake. The demons inside the ballroom come out to watch them, jostling against you and Barbatos. You find yourself carefully, subtly guarded from them by his body. And instead of slipping off into the crowd as he normally would, Barbatos turns you to watch the fireworks, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

You realize, awestruck, after a moment of the display, that the fireworks, all of them, were variations on your favorite colors combined with Barbatos’ signature teal. Tilting your head slightly, you see him smile that little smile as he meets your eyes.

“Surprise,” he murmurs into your ear, and presses a soft kiss against your hair before resting his head against yours to watch the show.

[moondustis]

killjoy (m)

pairing: johnny + reader genre: angst, smut, band!au / word count: 4,7k  summary: He looks at you with his dark eyes and as his hand run lazily on your thigh you realize that Seo Johnny is a demon. A demon messing with your head and you’re letting him. warnings: age difference, kind of asshole johnny, mentions of drinking and drug use, intoxicated sex (both people)

The first time you see him you’re too drunk to stand still and you’re high off something that you can’t remember exactly what it is. 

It was a sketchy bar, filled with college students that just wanted to do something to take their minds off stressful lectures and exams, and Doyoung had brought you to it to celebrate something about an internship that you also can’t remember quite exactly after your sixth shot of the night. He, as a good roommate, had paid for all of them so you weren’t afraid to go all out.

The him in question was Seo Johnny. You don’t know that the first time you see him, of course, but here’s what you know:

He’s in the band, called The Killjoys, that is performing tonight at the bar and they are currently playing some weird indie rock song that is pleasant enough and suits the whole alternative kid atmosphere. He’s the drummer and he moves with such ease that you can’t look away from his hands. Lastly, he’s so beautiful, even with hair covering his eyes, that you wouldn’t mind getting on your knees for him.

Your mind is spinning and your vision blurry when you look at him, almost shining and moving so fast you feel like you’re dreaming. That’s the last thing you remember when you wake up with your head pounding and on the couch.

✱

The second time it happens, you know you’re going to see him. Had invited Doyoung to the bar again for this very purpose. 

The thing is, you are not an obsessive person, not at all. But once something got into your mind, it was a little hard to just drop it. And it's not hard at all to find out that the band played on the sketchy bar every friday night, an ugly flyer posted to their instagram page tells you that. So what else were you supposed to do but put on your best short dress and drag your best friend slash roommate along to your impending downfall? 

The lights in the bar are dim, a few red ones swirling around near the stage  in a cheesy way. It’s more crowded tonight than it was that day, probably something to do with spring break approaching but that's the last thing on your mind as you scan the room looking for something that you know exactly what it is. Doyoung gives you a weird look as he hands you a beer. 

Now, a disclaimer. All of this will sound like you are some silly girl with a crush but that's not what you are. What you are is a girl with a purpose, or at least that's what you tell yourself for comfort. But you believe in going for what you want, even if it is a cute boy you saw once and had to see again. 

The band comes on stage one hour after your arrival and you’re literally shaking from excitement, or the three beers you had, when you see him take his seat by the drums. The song starts and you’re tipsy, mind so clouded that it feels like a scene from a movie with his hands moving fast as another dude sings about some girl that broke his heart. He has a gentle face you think for a second, and whatever girl made him sad was probably mean.

“That’s my friend Taeyong.” Doyoung says excitedly close to your ear but you don’t really pay attention to it at first. “On the keyboard.” 

When it finally dawns on you, your mind feels like it’s swirling. “Oh my god, what? Do you know the rest of the band?” Your voice is just shy of being desperate.

“Not really, but we can go talk to him after they’re done if you want.” He offers but there's a look on his face that tells you he knows exactly what's going on in your mind. Again, it wasn't hard to know when you had such a clear goal.  You’re nodding excitedly even before he finishes talking.

You finish your last beer as the last song is ending, as if to gather some confidence and Doyoung assures you that you look fine when you ask him, but you can’t help but run your fingers through your hair for the fifth time. 

The introductions are simple, Doyoung hugs Taeyong like he hasn’t seen him in ages but they banter playfully as if they have been friends for a while. Then proceeds to tell them about how you two met in high school and became so close that being roommates was just a natural choice. You keep your eyes on Johnny the whole time and he seems bored, like he wants to leave already.

That’s what he does when Doyoung starts talking to Taeyong exclusively. moving from the crowd and you follow him.

✱

The outside of the club is mostly dark, the only light coming from a streetlamp that flickers every now and then. It’s too cold to be here now, your bare legs protesting at your dumb decision of wearing a dress this short. Theres a feeling in your stomach that this would not be the first dumb decision you make tonight.

Johnny lets his back press against the wall, hand disappearing inside his pocket and retreating with a pack of marlboros and a lighter, because of course he had to smoke. You shiver a little from the cold air. 

“You don’t look old enough to be in a bar, pretty girl.” He says, lighting up the cigarette in his hand and bringing it to his lips. The pet name makes your legs feel like jelly at the same time it makes you cringe. 

“Well, I am.” Barely, but still, you are.

“Oh, really?” His voice is teasing, like he doesn’t believe you. “How old are you then?”

He moves closer to where you are standing next to the door, your own back pressed against the wall. When his eyes meet yours with an eyebrow raise you don’t look away. “I’m nineteen.” It makes him scoff.

“That makes me almost 8 years older than you.” He says, the traces of laughter on his lips. “What are you? Fresh outta high school or what?”

You watch as he takes a drag of the cigarette, holding the smoke for a couple of seconds before letting it out in the cold air. The smell doesn’t bother you that much you realize. “I graduated two years ago.” Is your reply and he just hums, like there’s nothing he can add to that. It makes you antsy and a little annoyed. “What are you an asshole or what?”

That makes him laugh out loud. “You're funny.”

You give him a fake laugh at that as he continues to smoke, eyes fixed on you as you watch his tattooed hand bring the cigarette to his lips. It’s quite embarrassing, really, how you just met Johnny today and barely exchanged words with him, but there’s already a tingle of excitement inside of you when his eyes run through your whole body. Is almost as if he’s pondering what he should do. Doesn't help that his confidence is as hot as it makes your blood boil in an unpleasant way. 

“Well, are you just gonna stare at me while I smoke?” He asks cockily.

“You could offer me one then.” You don't even smoke, but that's the coolest thing you think of saying. 

“Ha! I don't think I should be indulging you in that.”

“Why not?” 

“Smoking is bad for you.” He says in a funny voice and you scoff again. How many times exactly is this dude trying to make you do that.

“Wow, how much more patronizing can you get?” That makes him laugh again. 

He watches you for a moment, taking another drag of his cigarette. It feels like he's analyzing you, thinking of what else to say to get under your skin and a part of you hopes it's a good one. What is it about bantering that just made a thrill go through your body? Maybe it was the fact that nothing that came easy was as good as the things that took a little pushing.

“I think you came outside for something but here you are still watching me.” Is what he decides on saying, again with the teasing voice but now cuter as if to annoy you further. It only makes you smirk.

“We could be doing something else.” You suggest, maybe too confident and he lets out a raspy incredulous  laugh as if he can’t believe your nerve.

“You really are something else.” He finishes the cigarette then, throwing it in the ground and stepping on it with his black vans.

Your breath hitches when he moves even closer to you, a tiny smirk on his lips. You can smell the tobacco on him and you don’t know if you are dizzy from the drinks you had or from the proximity. Your hands go to his shoulders when he stands in front of you and it makes him laugh. “You want me to kiss you?” It’s embarrassing how your head moves quickly with a nod, a small smile on your lips. So embarrassing that your face gets warm and you can do nothing but stare at him. “But you look so cute, angel. I don’t think your little virgin ass could handle it.”

He’s so close that you could just do it yourself. The hand he has on one of your thighs, drawing little circles, makes you shiver and you probably look pathetic right now, eyes pleading as he hovers over you. “I’m not a virgin.” You bite back and he has the nerve to laugh again, that’s all he seems to do.

“Aren’t you grown up, huh? Still, girls like you always get too attached.” He slaps your thigh softly and then moves away from you. You wish you could punch the perfect smile on his face, want to scream in frustration at his teasing, You’re not underage, not an innocent little thing so you don’t understand why he’s denying you. Why he’s playing this stupid game of going back and forth for nothing. “You should go for someone closer to your age. I’m sure Mark, or I don't know... Jaehyun would die to get into your panties.”

Then he opens the door and gestures for you to get inside the club again.

✱

If you look at the bigger picture there is the thing you should have done and the thing you do. The thing you should’ve done is forget about it and continue to live your life peacefully. And you do that for two weeks in total. But after those two weeks you get bored, and in your defense you’re stubborn, like a challenge maybe a bit too much. So you find yourself at the club again, alone this time and with a shot of tequila running through your system.

After the band performs you move quickly, congratulating the boys like you've actually known them for more than a day and replying casually when they ask about Doyoung. Then you are eyeing Johnny for a good minute, him smiling at you knowingly, before you’re moving to chat with Mark.

And Mark, bless his soul, he’s so sweet it could make your teeth rot. You are not the most experienced at his, but you know by now what a guy looks like when he's flirting and Mark goes all out with it in his own shy manners that make you want to have fun with him. He calls you pretty, blushes when you call him handsome, asks if you want to get high and tells you about the band in an excited way. He's fun, someone that you would genuinely want to befriend and share a joint with, and in the back of your drunk mind you have half a mind to feel guilty about what you are doing. 

But here’s probably a reason why you do all of it, a very stupid one, but still a reason. Why you chose one of the shortest skirts you own to come tonight, why you laugh and touch Mark more than necessary when he tells you an unfunny joke. Why you grab Mark’s hand and drag him to the dance floor with him weakly protesting and blushing at your forwardness. 

You hate the song that’s playing, something that plays all the time on the radio, but still you let Mark move his hands to your hips as you dance, almost grinding against him. Johnny is watching you, standing next to the bar with a glass of something in his hand, and it makes your insides tingle, like you achieved something. You’re not sure what you expected from this,. for him to be jealous or just to get his attention, but the way he’s looking at you dance while he downs his drink is enough for you.

You don’t expect Mark to kiss you but you still let him. His hands move to the back of your neck as he eyes you with care, pupils blown for the alcohol that you can taste on him when he kisses you. His lips are soft as they move against yours and not for the first time tonight you feel guilty for using him like this, because it feels nice enough to have your head cloudy.  

But it's short lived and when the kiss ends you can see Johnny smirking as you look behind Mark, his eyes still on yours as he raises one eyebrow when you look at him.

You feel bad when Mark asks if you would like to go spend the night at his house, voice low and fingers brushing at your hair. So you lie, tell him that you are not feeling very well and that you should probably head home. Guilty takes over you again when he tells you to text him when you arrive home safely.

✱

“Well, look who it is.” Is what Johnny says the moment you step outside the bar. He has a cigarette between his lips this time too and a t-shirt on from a band you never heard of. “Left poor Mark hanging?”

“I told him I was going home.” You say, letting your back touch the wall. You feel tired and your mind spins a little when you close your eyes.

“Still, I’m glad you followed my advice,” he flicks the cigarette somewhere in the dark. “And went for someone your age.”

“Sure, let's put it like that.” Is your reply and it’s embarrassing how you are here right now instead of with a boy that actually gave you indications he wanted you.

“Well, then why are you out here and not with him? Trying to steal my high again?” He sounds bored almost, cocking an eyebrow at you in what seems like a challenge.

“Oh my god, are you really this annoying or is it an act?

“It's fun making you pissed off.” He laughs, deep and genuine and you hate it. You don’t understand why, after all the things he has said and done, you still want it. “And still here you are with me, in the back of this club for the second time.”

You scoff. “You’re an asshole.” You should’ve left already. You move to get your phone on your purse and order an uber so you can leave and never have to look at Johnny again.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He says laughing again, his eyes not leaving you. “Never been called an asshole and annoying at the same time, it’s very considerate of you.”

You don’t reply, just roll your eyes and wait for the uber to arrive in silence. The cold makes you shiver and you curse yourself for even getting out of the house today.

When the uber arrives you get in without a word and you promise yourself you’ll never talk to Seo Johnny ever again.

✱

Obviously, you have never been good at making coherent decisions, making the right choices. You had a thing for danger and things that seemed out of your reach, a challenge. That’s why you do what you do when Saturday night comes.

While you put on your skirt you think of the time you decide to smoke a blunt inside of your room thinking your mother wouldn’t be able to smell it later. It felt dangerous and stupid but it sent a thrill in your stomach that felt good. 

That same thrill pumped inside your veins as you walked inside the bar for the third time in the span of two months.

It's not a friday, so the band isn't playing you know that for sure. But still, you feel your eyes search for him as you stop by the bar and like a magnet you find exactly what you are looking for. Seo Johnny stands there, in all black and chains on his hips as he talks to Taeil while the music plays loudly. The red lights swing around the bar and there’s so many people dancing that you get overwhelmed, wanting to escape because you shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be chasing for someone that clearly didn’t want you.

The shot you take is bitter against your tongue and your dress keeps riding up in an unpleasant way. The girl sitting next to you looks as distressed as you are and you decide to observe her to clear your mind. She’s drinking something red that looks sweet and matches her lip while checking her phone every 2 minutes. You wonder if a boy stood her up, thinks that she should just tell him to fuck off and go home.

It gets boring after a while and you take another shot. The song has changed three times already and you turn to look at the dance floor. The magnet pulls again and your eyes fall on Johnny, except this time he’s looking right at you and you can feel your body on fire. His eyes are low, like he’s high off something and you wish you were too.

It’s automatic, almost. He raises one eyebrow at you and then starts moving toward one of the more secluded areas of the bar. So you follow, like your body is not your own and you’re blinded by the meaning of it all. You pass the dancing bodies, a slight buzz in your head from the shots and the loud music and the lights. You wonder if you’ll finally get what you want.

When you finally reach him his back is against a wall and he looks at you lazily, a tiny smile on his lips. The music is not as loud here but somehow the red light is stronger. “Found your way into the rabbit hole again, pretty girl?” He asks and you’re once again between liking the pet name and wanting to punch his face.

“I was busy the last few weeks.” It’s not really a lie, you were busy trying to convince yourself you didn’t want to come here and find him. You stand a few steps away from him, not wanting to give him the luxury yet. 

He just hums and signals for you to come closer. You shouldn’t, nothing good will come out of it but the way he smells when you get as close as possible is intoxicating, causing your mind to twirl even more. His hand moves to put a strand of your hair behind your ear in a manner that is too  sweet. “You’re so lovely.” He says, voice as low as his eyes and you feel like your whole body is melting. “Tell me, baby, did you come here tonight to see me?”

You shake your head. you won’t give him what he wants, not so quick at least. Trying to pay back in the same coin he gave you. It’s stupid and silly, something inside of you says that this is just proving his point. That you are too immature for him. “No, I came to have a good time.” Is your reply.

His laugh still pisses you off. “Come on. You’re really gonna lie to me?” The song changes and someone passes the both of you on the way to the bathroom. You feel self conscious for a second, like you got caught doing something you shouldn’t. “But you know, I have to admit that I have been waiting for you to show up again.”

You don’t understand why he’s acting like this. Like he hasn’t denied you just weeks ago. He looks at you with his dark eyes and as his hand runs lazily on your thigh you realize even in your drunk state. Seo Johnny is a demon. A demon messing with your head and you’re letting him. “Shut up.” Your voice is weak, barely convincing.

His smile is perfect, you notice and it shouldn’t be from how much he smokes. He smells like some expensive cologne and cigarettes, making your mind clouded and he looks like a boy who would ruin your life. A boy who you would let ruin it. “Now tell me this, baby, and don’t lie this time.” Honey melts on your ears. “Do you want me to kiss you?”

Yes, is what your lungs want to scream. You want it so bad, want to taste him and to make him feel as ruined as you do. Your head moves on its own accord.

“Come on, use your words, ___.” He says teasingly and you lose your patience. You press your lips against his a bit too forcefully, the thrill of confidence running through your veins frenetically. As if he predicted what you were going to do he kisses you back just as forcefully, his hand gripping at your neck, not letting you have any more control.

It’s good. So good your mind spins and you think you might pass out. The wait and anticipation making it all better. He drags his teeth against your bottom lip, biting softly before he’s dipping his tongue inside your mouth and letting it move against yours.

Your mind starts to wonder what changed, why he finally gave in but you’re interrupted when his free hand moves underneath your short skit, moving to press against your damp panties and you can’t help but moan a little. You’re shaking against him, you are sure, and the way he smirks against the kiss only aggravates it.

He breaks the kiss then, eyes staring at you as he swipes his thumb on your lips. You must look a mess. “It’s adorable how desperate you act for me, baby.” His voice is husky. “Makes me want to take you to that bathroom and fuck you.”

He smiles at the way you whimper. “Then do it.” You are good at putting on a brave face.

“Would you like that, huh? Want me to fuck you nice and good in the bathroom like a dirty girl?”

It’s embarrassing, really. How you dumbly nod and almost go as far as saying please. How he has such an effect on you, that you just let him take you to the bathroom. Him immediately presses you against the wall after closing the door.

Something shifts and he kisses you so softly, with no rush and you melt against him. The sound of the music is muted, only the beat vibrating on your body and you let your mind fall numb. It feels like something you shouldn’t be doing but so right and perfect at the same time.

You feel his hands everywhere, on your neck then down your waist and gripping tightly on your ass, your front  pressing closer to his. And he's so tall he practically hovers over you, making your mind wander with thoughts of what he could be doing. It isn’t until he hikes your skirt up and dips a hand inside your panties that you are moaning. The mere touch of his finger on your clit sets your body on fire and you’re gripping at his shoulders. “You’re so cute, baby.” He coos “All wet for me. Has anyone else ever made you this wet before?”

“No…” You sigh as he massages your clit, lips pressing on your collarbone and you can feel the smile on his lips against it. You’re so on edge that the moment he presses a long finger inside of you, with some difficulty due to the angle, you feel ready to come. 

He hums pleased and moves to kiss you again, this time more desperate and messy. You grip tight at his hair, earning a moan from him against your mouth. Someone knocks on the door and yells something but you don’t care, all your mind can do is chant Johnny’s name over and over like you’re intoxicated with him.

Your experience at this runs short and he can probably tell with the way he looks a little gone when he inserts another finger inside and your walls clench as pleasure washes over your body. It's a tight fit and realizing that he seems to spur him in trying harder to get you ready. “I don't think you are going to be able to take me, baby.”

He punctuates the words by pressing his fingers deeper, fucking you with them so nicely that the moment he adds his thumb to your clit you’re coming with a deep whine that makes him chuckle.

Then he removes his fingers, following with the fumbling around to get his pants down with the chains clanking around. When he finally enters you it’s pure bliss, with a little resistance from you from how big he is but despite it with a little try he manages to bottom out. He fucks you deep and slow and whispers the most filth and lovely words. The only thing you can do is grip his shoulders and moan like you’re losing your mind because he hits so deep inside that you have to bite your lips to ground yourself from coming too fast. 

“You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?” He says against your ear as he pounds into you. He sounds raspy and breathless “Taking me so well, bet no one will ever fuck you this good.”

It’s cocky and makes you feel dirty but you still nod, agreeing with every word he says. “Yes, Johnny, please, please.” You cry out pathetically. “I’m so close.”

You want to fall apart, to reach heaven in his arms and he takes you there, fucking you so good that your back hits the wall repeatedly, his grip on your thighs so hard you’re sure it’ll leave a bruise. It’s raw and nothing like you imagined your second time having sex would be and for a moment you remember Johnny’s words about how girls like you always got attached so easily. How could you not get attached to this? To the way he brings you to your orgasm praising you in the dirtiest way possible. All you see is white and your mind goes blank, his name falling out of your mouth.

After he comes too, discarding the condom and pressing a kiss too sweet to the corner of your mouth, he guides you outside of the party and asks if you’d like an uber to take you home. Your tired mind agrees, the tiniest bit of disappointment that he won’t take you to his house there.

✱

He didn’t give you his numbers, didn’t promise to call or to take you out someday. His intentions were as clear as glass but still your mind still made you think the opposite. Hope, or whatever it was took you to the club on another friday night. With another dress too short, Doyoung by your side and butterflies in your stomach. You arrive just in time for the band to perform the last song, your eyes stay on Johnny exactly like the first time you saw him up there, playing like he would die if he didn’t. The chains on his neck bounced just a little and his hands moved as fast as possible. It’s a scene you could watch forever.

A while after the song finishes you move closer to the dressing room to get to him but you wish you didn’t. He's there, with a dark haired girl in his arms and laughing at something she says. The scene moves fast and then his lips are on hers.

You blink and storm out of there. 

[robininthelabyrinth]

I need to know what u think of an AU where JC is the one who dies (sacrificing his life to save WWX) instead of JYL, he’s not as angry with WWX bc JYL is still alive so when he sees his brother about to get murdered he just steps in front of him while JYL and WWX see :) I don’t even know what I want u to do with this? Give me some headcanons? Is it a prompt? Idk I just want u to to see what u make of this (I promise JC is my fav but my mind likes to make me suffer :p)

1

It wasn’t a matter of conscious thought when Jiang Cheng threw himself between that cultivator’s sword and Wei Wuxian’s unguarded back, all his defenses down in the face of Jiang Yanli’s pleading, same as always; it was just instinct. Wei Wuxian was always the troublemaker, the crazy one, and Jiang Cheng always the one being dragged along; he’d long ago learned to spend all his time watching his shixiong’s back, keeping him away from dogs, away from angry shopkeepers, away from any harm. It was instinct, just as it had been the day he’d thrown himself out into the street to distract the Wens, and he’d always justified that instinct because he knew that Wei Wuxian would do the same for him.

Though – he didn’t know that anymore, not after everything that happened recently. Wei Wuxian had made him all the promises in the world, to stand by his side through wind and lightning, and he’d seemed to have no issue abandoning those promises, picking the remnants of the Wen sect over the remnants of the Jiang sect without a moment’s hesitation and not even the courtesy of an explanation.

The Yiling Patriarch was all but a stranger to him, and Jiang Cheng still didn’t understand why.

So it was probably stupid of him to react as if the person being stabbed at was Wei Wuxian, not the Yiling Patriarch – stupid of him to give up his life for someone who didn’t care about him nearly as much as Jiang Cheng cared for him.

But that’s why it wasn’t a thought. It was instinct.

He heard someone scream “Jiang Cheng!” as if their heart were breaking, and he thought for a moment that it was Wei Wuxian again, the one who loved him best. Wei Wuxian, not the Yiling Patriarch, who threw him to the dogs over and over again, put his sect at risk of utter destruction a second time over, just to indulge himself and his bizarre fixation on saving the Wens at the expense of everyone else. Who didn’t care about their duty to their sect, to their parents - who didn’t care about him at all.

Jiang Cheng’s heart hurt. It was probably just the sword that’d just been driven through it, though.

Hands grasped at his clothing, pulling him back; his sister’s face had lost all blood, and Wei Wuxian looked as if his world had ended – he wasn’t sure why. Jiang Yanli had her son to care for, a new life in Lanling that she refused to abandon even if Jin Zixuan was now gone; Wei Wuxian had his Wens, his new cultivation – perhaps it was some little regret, far too late, for the Jiang sect that would now come to grief, leaderless, the end of their family line and the disappointment of their ancestors. Jiang Cheng’s final and most absolute failure.

Jiang Cheng looked at them both, the ones he loved the most and who had left him without a single glance backwards, and found with his last breath that he had nothing to say to them.

He closed his eyes so they wouldn’t have to.

2

The battlefield was full of corpses, and Jiang Yanli didn’t care about a single one of them.

“Do you think he can be brought back, the way Wen Ning was?” she asked, holding the corpse in her arms as if it were still the baby brother she sang songs to as a child, the little crybaby who was so fierce on the outside and so soft on the inside. She had been able to lie to herself with Jin Zixuan’s body – he almost looked as though he were sleeping, head on the pillow beside her own – but Jiang Cheng had never slept well in his life, his brow always furrowed as if he was worrying about something even in his dreams, and the blank peace on his face was so wrong that she couldn’t bear to look at him.

She wasn’t asking Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian had only stopped the massacre when Lan Wangji, of all unlikely people, had bodily tackled him; everyone had always said that the Second Jade was like oil and water with her A-Xian, but he’d unexpectedly taken their side in this battle and was even now letting a barely-conscious Wei Wuxian sob Jiang Cheng’s name into his collar. He looked silently at her, his gaze a quiet reminder that her question was inappropriate – one Ghost General had already been enough to cause all of this tragedy, and certainly no one would ever accept another as a sect leader.

She looked steadily back at him, indicating in return that she didn’t give a damn about the standing of the Jiang sect if it meant she wouldn’t have to bury her baby brother.

Lan Wangji hesitated, looking down at Wei Wuxian. “You cannot stay at Yiling,” he finally said. “After this…”

They’d killed people from virtually every sect; no matter who had sympathized with Wei Wuxian before this or how much they felt he was wronged, they would have no choice but to raise up arms against him.

Jiang Yanli understood. They would be fugitives, condemned by all. She didn’t care. “Will you help us?”

He nodded and stood, Wei Wuxian cradled as gently in his arms as she held Jiang Cheng in hers.

“Will you come with us?” she asked. Anyone who loved her brother enough to defy his sect, to stain his untainted blade with the blood of his own kin, deserved a chance to court him properly, if she hadn’t misunderstood his intentions; she didn’t think she had, not with the expression so clear on his silent face.

“I will help you,” he said, and that wasn’t an answer, wasn’t the one she wanted, but it would have to do for now. “Let us go.”

3

It was Jin Zixuan who figured it out, oddly enough. Perhaps it was because he was an outsider, looking at the situation without affection to blur his eyes.

“You gave him your golden core,” he said, less than a week into his resurrection – Lan Wangji had been very efficient in his help, not only finding a new place to hide Jiang Yanli and the remaining Wens but also returning to Lanling to steal Jin Zixuan’s corpse and little Jin Ling before returning to his own sect at the first sign that Wei Wuxian would awaken from his coma. He hadn’t sent word since that time, whether from regret or other reasons; their only consolation was that there was no news of his death. “That’s why you couldn’t do anything other than demonic cultivation – is that right?”

Wei Wuxian looked at him through blood-red eyes. “Get lost,” he said; the phrase made up the majority of his vocabulary, these days, and because he refused to curse his shijie he mostly ended up not talking to her at all.

“Wen Qing was a famous doctor – she could have figured out a way to do it, and that would explain why you felt so indebted to them,” Jin Zixuan continued. “You never told him because you didn’t want to burden him. But instead you left him without any reason, any explanation: he must have felt that you abandoned him because you didn’t want him.”

“Get lost!”

“You broke his heart,” he said, and looked down at Jiang Cheng’s body – still perfectly preserved, but unmoving. The resurrection spell had already failed three times. “No wonder he doesn’t want to return.”

“I did it for him!” Wei Wuxian screamed, tears of blood dripping down his cheeks. “He didn’t – he wouldn’t – he has to come back!”

Jin Zixuan said nothing.

4

They ended up back in Yunmeng, rather unexpectedly; the new leadership of the Lotus Pier, a distant branch cousin who’d survived the massacre because he’d been night-hunting elsewhere, had all but begged Jiang Yanli to return. Against all odds her reputation had survived the massacre at the Nightless City; the loving wife, sister, and shijie that nearly sacrificed herself to save what lives she could and to banish the dreadful Yiling Patriarch who was never seen again from that day forth –  she was very nearly regarded as an incarnation of the goddess of mercy.

She had no idea where that ridiculous notion came from, but it did mean that she could live in Lotus Pier again, with Jin Ling by her side – she’d told Jin Guangshan to name someone else as his heir, or at minimum as regent; the Jiang sect needed her and her son more. It wouldn’t have worked if Jin Zixuan hadn’t snuck into his mother’s room to convince Madam Jin to throw her support behind it; officially he was still in his tomb, since Lan Wangji had been very subtle, but in fact he lived within shouting distance of the Lotus Pier, spending his days playing with his son.

They all did, actually, the whole lot of them resettled into a tiny adjacent water town populated largely by civilians that relied on the Jiang sect for their prosperity. As long as Wei Wuxian never did anything, which he didn’t, the illusion that he was gone for good in a cloud of self-destruction after his terrible massacre could be maintained; no one expected they could possibly be so daring as to simply go home after all of it.

Lan Wangji was in seclusion, they were eventually told; Wei Wuxian hadn’t believed it for one second, smuggling himself into Gusu to check – he’d come back unconscious, slung over Jin Zixuan’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Struck by the discipline whip,” her husband, the fierce corpse that wasn’t fierce at all, said, and didn’t comment when she instinctively reached out to touch Jiang Cheng’s body, to trace the scar he had; she often spent her days next to the bed that preserved his corpse. “Many times; his body is ruined. It will take years for him to heal – the Lan sect saying he was in seclusion was their way of saving face. Wei Wuxian wants to bring him back to the Lotus Pier to hide him.”

Jiang Yanli rubbed her face, thinking not for the first time that the world would be an easier place if only her two brothers weren’t so stubborn. One who wouldn’t wake up, his spiritual consciousness all in pieces; the other who wouldn’t give up – “The Lan sect wouldn’t accept that.”

“He wasn’t planning on asking. That’s why I knocked him out. Anyway, they’re distracted with the Xue Yang matter now – my father’s still insisting on protecting him, and the Nie sect gets angrier about it by the day; without the Jiang sect, there’s only the Lan to play peacemaker, stop there from being another war.”

Jiang Yanli, who was very nice but also very much not the goddess of mercy, tilted her head to the side; something of her mother was in her eyes. “A war would be a good cover, though, or at least the rumblings of one. If we were going to steal Lan Wangji away from his sect, that is.”

He kissed her forehead. “I’ll sneak into Lanling to talk to my mother, maybe see if I can follow Xue Yang and see what he’s up to. You go talk to the Nie.”

5

Jiang Yanli’s visit to the Unclean Realm turned out to be more fruitful than anyone had expected. The moment she walked into Nie Mingjue’s receiving room, her Jiang sect bell rang so hard that it shattered, which it definitely hadn’t done during the war – they both stared at it wordlessly for a while.

Eventually, he cleared his throat, averting his eyes. “You know my family history,” he offered as an explanation, embarrassment at the public revelation of his problem already turning to anger but suppressed by his strict adherence to etiquette.

“That’s no family history,” she said, bemused, as she crouched down to poke at the pieces. “The silver bell of the Jiang sect can steady focus and calm the mind, and the ones made for the family are the strongest by far; it would only shatter like this in the effort to resist a spiritual poison…how are you feeling now, Sect Leader Nie?”

He considered for a long moment, and his face grew black with rage. “Better. I feel – like my mind has been filled with fog, and a clear breeze has blown it clear.”

She smiled up at him. “Perhaps you should visit Yunmeng.”

He scowled, and she realized he must know about Wei Wuxian’s presence, though she wasn’t sure how; despite that, in the end, after a roaring argument with Nie Huaisang in another room, he agreed to go, even if the idea of staying willfully blind clearly pained him to the core.

Jiang Yanli quietly approved of his decision to put family over principle.

When they put their mind to it, the Nie sect  had an underrated talent for saying ‘I don’t know’ to just about everything. Neither brother blinked an eye at the Wen sect remnants that still teetered every time they went on a boat, very clearly not Yunmeng locals; they politely greeted Jin Zixuan as if he’d only been gone a while and not murdered; much to his older brother’s very evident irritation, Nie Huaisang even leapt over to give Wei Wuxian an enthusiastic hug while Nie Mingjue was still talking with Jin Zixuan about what it meant that Jin Guangshan had hidden away the still intact Wen Ning, who Jin Zixuan had found in a hidden part of Koi Tower during his most recent visit and immediately liberated.

“Definitely a case of spiritual poisoning,” Wei Wuxian said after a short examination, and the most reliable doctor they had left in the Jiang sect concurred. “The silver bell can help a little –” 

They’d already shattered seven of them, but Nie Mingjue had actually cracked a smile for the first time in months, to hear a sobbingly relieved Nie Huaisang tell it. 

“–but it can only help so much; that technique is really only meant for acute cases. And you really need to figure out what was doing the poisoning; there’s no point in curing you if you’re only going to get poisoned again.”

“A matter for a later time,” Nie Mingjue, who clearly had some suspicions that made him look as though he’d been stabbed in the back, said. “Now that we know it’s a poisoning, and my mind is clearer, I can take some action myself – the Nie have plenty of techniques to stabilize the spirit.”

Wei Wuxian’s smile was full of self-hatred, as it always was these days. “I don’t suppose any of those are designed to work on the dead.”

“Actually,” Nie Huaisang said. “Several are. Why do you ask?”

6

Jiang Cheng opened his eyes.

[letterstothemidnightsociety]

It’s 2020 and my anxiety level is so high, I grind my teeth while I’m asleep and awake!  But let’s ignore all that and instead focus on critically analyzing America’s premiere soap opera for monster hunting! It’s Supernatural! 

As you may have already guessed, I watch a lot of TV. And in the Year of Our Troubles, 2020, when I’m encouraged to stay home and indulge in my favorite pastime for the health of the nation, I watch a hell of a lot of TV. When you watch that much TV, you start to notice the rhythm and the flow of how seasons of television progress. You probably notice it too, even if you don’t think about it as much as I do. 

Like, you know that episode that happens right near the end of the season where all the characters are happy? They’ve overcome a whole bunch of obstacles and they’re finally winning and they can see that light at the end of the long tunnel? You know the one I’m talking about. That’s the moment that you, as an audience member, know things are about to go downhill very quickly

Like when Poldark smiles over something and you’re just like, ah yes, I’ll prepare for the funeral. 

Season 1 of Supernatural is like a case study of the rhythm that makes a network show work. There’s this wave effect throughout the season, building the tension up for a few episodes and then sliding through the next handful. Look at the first five episodes: they’re all about holding our breath, we’re gasping at every new turn - death and ghosts and monsters and Family Drama and Bloody Mary and PREMONITIONS AND THEN we let it out over the next three. 

Aaaaaaand exhale!

This first season especially, but I’d argue the first three definitely, you can see this pattern repeated over and over again - building the tension, ramping the horror, bringing it to a major Mythos or Series Arc Moment and then releasing all that tension with a cool-down filler/self-contained episode. 

And that’s where I am in the show now. We just had a major series arc episode with “Shadow” - John finally reunites with his sons, the villain is revealed (Meg and also the demon that killed their mom), and the endgame (for this season at least) is in sight. BUT! We’re a network show with 22 episodes to fill, and we can’t just head straight into the Finale Fight now, we’re only on episode 17! I mentioned in my last post that getting the team together again for all of 6 minutes and 44 seconds (yes, I did go back and count) felt like a slap in the face. I assumed it would have something to do with Jeffrey Dean Morgan’s shooting schedule, but looking at it again, it probably had more to do with the fact that it was too soon to bring John Winchester back as a major player.

So our next episode, our breather episode after all this High Drama, should feel a little disappointing to anyone caught up in the arc of the season. But. BUT. But. The next episode is “Hell House."

Yes, this is a filler, but this is filler done RIGHT. I mean maybe it’s just cuz it’s 2020 and I’m very tired and sad and scared all the time, but I was SO HAPPY to see Ed and Harry again, guys you don’t even know. Guys, the GHOSTFACERS ARE HERE!

And man, I am SO glad that this is a recurring side team that shows up throughout the series. Pease no one tell me that they die in a later season, I’ll find out eventually, I just can’t handle it now. 

They are the anti-Sam and Dean. They have no idea what they’re getting into, they have no idea how to hunt anything, but they’re here to get famous and that’s just...it’s beautiful guys. Just beautiful. 

Plus, you have this soft b-story line where Sam and Dean get to be Real Brothers for a hot second and prank the shit out of each other the whole episode. It’s like even Sam and Dean are saying, yeah, we need a break from all the feelings, let’s put itching powder in each other’s boxer briefs. I want to say that I was really annoyed the first time I watched this and did not care for these shenanigans, but this time around, it was a REAL JOY. 

I’m also not mad about this.

And this breather feeling sort of carries over into the next few episodes. Sort of.  

“Something Wicked” is another feelings-heavy episode. Backstory! Child-eating Monster! Tiny!Dean! I think Dean maybe cries again? Or just does that thing where he stares into the middle distance, all pain and torment and chiseled jaw line and I’m doing it again, I’msorrynotsorry. 

You know. THIS face.

All of these things lead to an episode that has a lot of character development and strengthens the bond between Sam and Dean. Sam literally validates Dean’s whole existence by apologizing for fighting him on this job and then saying “I know I’ve given you a lotta crap for following Dad’s orders, but I know why you do it.” It’s a lot. It’s a big moment from Sam, who hasn’t really reconciled with John yet and who’s still hoping for a future that isn’t all about killing every evil sonuvabitch they can find. It’s a big moment for Dean, too, since his main motivation is protecting his family and (from his limited point of view) that family keeps trying to leave him. And while we do get some insight into the f-ed up childhood that was forced upon our eponymous heroes, there’s nothing really driving the season’s plot forward in this episode. 

Same goes for “Provenance”. This episode is another good horror episode. I mean, even if that painting wasn’t possessed by a murder orphan, it is deeply haunted and I hope props burned it when the production wrapped. And what is it about ghost children particularly that’s upsetting? Is it the size? Is it the fact that their eyes are too big for their heads at that age? I mean, it probably has something to do with perverted innocence and goodness blah blah blah, but also their hands are tiny and so all the knives look bigger.

Same, Sam.

Aside from that, Sam gets another nice growth moment where he gets to imagine a world after Jessica. He’s been so fixated on finding Jessica’s killer - I’d argue more so than his mother’s killer albeit they are the same entity. That’s not a judgement against him, mind. He knew and loved Jessica, he did not know his mother, so I’m not mad about that character decision. But the show is really wrapping up the Jessica plot line because that won’t have legs in a season 2. And that’s harsh, so I’ll temper it with the fact that Sam, as a human being, is getting to the final stages of processing his grief and starting to move on with his life. Plus, I think that Dean wingmanning his brother is adorable and I love it. Good Brothering, Show! 

But nothing in this episode has anything to do with the killer Sam’s been fixating on, so there’s no progression for the season’s main arc. 

Last but certainly not least on this disc of my season 1 box set is “Dead Man’s Blood.” My notes on this episode include the key phrases “I’m pretty sure this episode is...dumb?”, “ I...do not care for vampires,” and then like, two lines later, “Nope. Still don’t care for these vampires.” They’re just making up some random-ass lore and their fashion sense is SO 2006 and I just...I just hate them. 

I hate them SO MUCH.

BUT! That’s not the point of this episode. The point of this episode is to point us towards the season finale. FIRST, we start to see a little bit more of the world that the Winchesters inhabit. We actually meet another hunter, Daniel Elkins. He dies immediately, but that’s a cold open for ya. And when Sam and Dean go to investigate Elkin’s death, John comes back, this time for good (haha, lol). We get a real taste of the family dynamics in this episode - John and Sam fight and come together and fight and come together and Dean’s standing there kinda like, SPONGEBOB! 

You know, Plankton! Krabs! Dean Winchester! Right? Anybody?

All sides have good arguments, and I appreciate that none of the conflict between the the three of them feels forced, or at least, it doesn’t feel forced this watch. The fights all come from deep character places that have been established through the whole season. They’re natural progressions of what we’ve come to expect of these characters. 

And finally, most importantly, John knows how to defeat the demon that killed their mother. Enter Deus Ex Colt Revolver. 

Colt Revolver Ex Machina?

CAN I just take a break for a second to say that BOTH Elkin AND John were ready to WASTE PRECIOUS COLT BULLETS on VAMPIRES, who can be killed IN OTHER WAYS?? Listen, you make a magic gun that only works with these  like, 5 BULLETS, and then you just THROW AWAY A BUNCH OF SHOTS, GUYS??? ALSO, what the HELL does Haley’s Comet and The Alamo have to do with this STUPID GUN??? I JUST- you know what, we don’t have time for all that. 

Attaining the Colt is the brick they drop on the gas pedal to drive us into the season finale of season 1. 

Wasting a some PRECIOUS F*CKIN’ BULLETS, GUYS.

When you look at the season’s pacing at the outset, it seems like it shouldn’t work. I was that person who felt disappointed in each episode where it became clear we were definitely on a side quest, not the main quest.  Watching it now, though, I think that pacing is important. Yeah, the Monster-of-the-Week episodes are a little hit and miss, but sometimes you have to think of a TV season like a marathon and not a sprint. There will be times when you pick up the pace, yes, but it’s a long race and you’re gonna need some periods of recovery if you’re gonna make it to the finish line. And frankly, a lot of those side quest episodes ended up being my favorite episodes of the entire series. 

NOW. I doubt you would see this sort of structuring in a show today, specifically in shows that don’t get a 22 - 24 episode order. You MAY get, MAY, a Ghostfacers-type episode thrown in after a major emotional climax for that breather effect. MAY. But if Supernatural was made today - probably for an online streaming site, probably with only 10 - 13 season order - I don’t think you’d see episodes like “Something Wicked” or “Provenance” or “Faith”. The nice thing about short seasons is that you can keep the storytelling focused and tight, but I also think that can be a weakness as much as it is a strength. What do those three episodes all have in common? They’re strong on character and relationship development. We, the audience, get a deeper understanding and appreciation of the Winchesters and how they work and grow as a unit in these episodes. So if we’ve watched this far, through bugs and ghost trucks, through all their little victories and major setbacks, we’re well and truly invested in how the season is going to end. 

I’m not saying you can’t have big character moments in a shorter season. And I’m not saying that a show more focused on plot, on the What Happens rather than the Who It Happens To, is a bad thing. But watching this season over again in comparison to present day television seasons, it’s highlighted what Supernatural did right. On this side of the series, it’s easy to see why the show went on for another 14 years.

[peppymint1986]

Who needs a laugh, or some advice

Source: http://www.eviloverlord.com/lists/overlord.html

I highly recommend going to the site and checking out the ones that did not make the top 100 list.  

Peter’s Evil Overlord List

My Legions of Terror will have helmets with clear plexiglass visors, not face-concealing ones.

My ventilation ducts will be too small to crawl through.

My noble half-brother whose throne I usurped will be killed, not kept anonymously imprisoned in a forgotten cell of my dungeon.

Shooting is not too good for my enemies.

The artifact which is the source of my power will not be kept on the Mountain of Despair beyond the River of Fire guarded by the Dragons of Eternity. It will be in my safe-deposit box. The same applies to the object which is my one weakness.

I will not gloat over my enemies' predicament before killing them.

When I've captured my adversary and he says, "Look, before you kill me, will you at least tell me what this is all about?" I'll say, "No." and shoot him. No, on second thought I'll shoot him then say "No."

After I kidnap the beautiful princess, we will be married immediately in a quiet civil ceremony, not a lavish spectacle in three weeks' time during which the final phase of my plan will be carried out.

I will not include a self-destruct mechanism unless absolutely necessary. If it is necessary, it will not be a large red button labelled "Danger: Do Not Push". The big red button marked "Do Not Push" will instead trigger a spray of bullets on anyone stupid enough to disregard it. Similarly, the ON/OFF switch will not clearly be labelled as such.

I will not interrogate my enemies in the inner sanctum -- a small hotel well outside my borders will work just as well.

I will be secure in my superiority. Therefore, I will feel no need to prove it by leaving clues in the form of riddles or leaving my weaker enemies alive to show they pose no threat.

One of my advisors will be an average five-year-old child. Any flaws in my plan that he is able to spot will be corrected before implementation.

All slain enemies will be cremated, or at least have several rounds of ammunition emptied into them, not left for dead at the bottom of the cliff. The announcement of their deaths, as well as any accompanying celebration, will be deferred until after the aforementioned disposal.

The hero is not entitled to a last kiss, a last cigarette, or any other form of last request.

I will never employ any device with a digital countdown. If I find that such a device is absolutely unavoidable, I will set it to activate when the counter reaches 117 and the hero is just putting his plan into operation.

I will never utter the sentence "But before I kill you, there's just one thing I want to know."

When I employ people as advisors, I will occasionally listen to their advice.

I will not have a son. Although his laughably under-planned attempt to usurp power would easily fail, it would provide a fatal distraction at a crucial point in time.

I will not have a daughter. She would be as beautiful as she was evil, but one look at the hero's rugged countenance and she'd betray her own father.

Despite its proven stress-relieving effect, I will not indulge in maniacal laughter. When so occupied, it's too easy to miss unexpected developments that a more attentive individual could adjust to accordingly.

I will hire a talented fashion designer to create original uniforms for my Legions of Terror, as opposed to some cheap knock-offs that make them look like Nazi stormtroopers, Roman footsoldiers, or savage Mongol hordes. All were eventually defeated and I want my troops to have a more positive mind-set.

No matter how tempted I am with the prospect of unlimited power, I will not consume any energy field bigger than my head.

I will keep a special cache of low-tech weapons and train my troops in their use. That way -- even if the heroes manage to neutralize my power generator and/or render the standard-issue energy weapons useless -- my troops will not be overrun by a handful of savages armed with spears and rocks.

I will maintain a realistic assessment of my strengths and weaknesses. Even though this takes some of the fun out of the job, at least I will never utter the line "No, this cannot be! I AM INVINCIBLE!!!" (After that, death is usually instantaneous.)

No matter how well it would perform, I will never construct any sort of machinery which is completely indestructible except for one small and virtually inaccessible vulnerable spot.

No matter how attractive certain members of the rebellion are, there is probably someone just as attractive who is not desperate to kill me. Therefore, I will think twice before ordering a prisoner sent to my bedchamber.

I will never build only one of anything important. All important systems will have redundant control panels and power supplies. For the same reason I will always carry at least two fully loaded weapons at all times.

My pet monster will be kept in a secure cage from which it cannot escape and into which I could not accidentally stumble.

I will dress in bright and cheery colors, and so throw my enemies into confusion.

All bumbling conjurers, clumsy squires, no-talent bards, and cowardly thieves in the land will be preemptively put to death. My foes will surely give up and abandon their quest if they have no source of comic relief.

All naive, busty tavern wenches in my realm will be replaced with surly, world-weary waitresses who will provide no unexpected reinforcement and/or romantic subplot for the hero or his sidekick.

I will not fly into a rage and kill a messenger who brings me bad news just to illustrate how evil I really am. Good messengers are hard to come by.

I won't require high-ranking female members of my organization to wear a stainless-steel bustier. Morale is better with a more casual dress-code. Similarly, outfits made entirely from black leather will be reserved for formal occasions.

I will not turn into a snake. It never helps.

I will not grow a goatee. In the old days they made you look diabolic. Now they just make you look like a disaffected member of Generation X.

I will not imprison members of the same party in the same cell block, let alone the same cell. If they are important prisoners, I will keep the only key to the cell door on my person instead of handing out copies to every bottom-rung guard in the prison.

If my trusted lieutenant tells me my Legions of Terror are losing a battle, I will believe him. After all, he's my trusted lieutenant.

If an enemy I have just killed has a younger sibling or offspring anywhere, I will find them and have them killed immediately, instead of waiting for them to grow up harboring feelings of vengeance towards me in my old age.

If I absolutely must ride into battle, I will certainly not ride at the forefront of my Legions of Terror, nor will I seek out my opposite number among his army.

I will be neither chivalrous nor sporting. If I have an unstoppable superweapon, I will use it as early and as often as possible instead of keeping it in reserve.

Once my power is secure, I will destroy all those pesky time-travel devices.

When I capture the hero, I will make sure I also get his dog, monkey, ferret, or whatever sickeningly cute little animal capable of untying ropes and filching keys happens to follow him around.

I will maintain a healthy amount of skepticism when I capture the beautiful rebel and she claims she is attracted to my power and good looks and will gladly betray her companions if I just let her in on my plans.

I will only employ bounty hunters who work for money. Those who work for the pleasure of the hunt tend to do dumb things like even the odds to give the other guy a sporting chance.

I will make sure I have a clear understanding of who is responsible for what in my organization. For example, if my general screws up I will not draw my weapon, point it at him, say "And here is the price for failure," then suddenly turn and kill some random underling.

If an advisor says to me "My liege, he is but one man. What can one man possibly do?", I will reply "This." and kill the advisor.

If I learn that a callow youth has begun a quest to destroy me, I will slay him while he is still a callow youth instead of waiting for him to mature.

I will treat any beast which I control through magic or technology with respect and kindness. Thus if the control is ever broken, it will not immediately come after me for revenge.

If I learn the whereabouts of the one artifact which can destroy me, I will not send all my troops out to seize it. Instead I will send them out to seize something else and quietly put a Want-Ad in the local paper.

My main computers will have their own special operating system that will be completely incompatible with standard IBM and Macintosh powerbooks.

If one of my dungeon guards begins expressing concern over the conditions in the beautiful princess' cell, I will immediately transfer him to a less people-oriented position.

I will hire a team of board-certified architects and surveyors to examine my castle and inform me of any secret passages and abandoned tunnels that I might not know about.

If the beautiful princess that I capture says "I'll never marry you! Never, do you hear me, NEVER!!!", I will say "Oh well" and kill her.

I will not strike a bargain with a demonic being then attempt to double-cross it simply because I feel like being contrary.

The deformed mutants and odd-ball psychotics will have their place in my Legions of Terror. However before I send them out on important covert missions that require tact and subtlety, I will first see if there is anyone else equally qualified who would attract less attention.

My Legions of Terror will be trained in basic marksmanship. Any who cannot learn to hit a man-sized target at 10 meters will be used for target practice.

Before employing any captured artifacts or machinery, I will carefully read the owner's manual.

If it becomes necessary to escape, I will never stop to pose dramatically and toss off a one-liner.

I will never build a sentient computer smarter than I am.

My five-year-old child advisor will also be asked to decipher any code I am thinking of using. If he breaks the code in under 30 seconds, it will not be used. Note: this also applies to passwords.

If my advisors ask "Why are you risking everything on such a mad scheme?", I will not proceed until I have a response that satisfies them.

I will design fortress hallways with no alcoves or protruding structural supports which intruders could use for cover in a firefight.

Bulk trash will be disposed of in incinerators, not compactors. And they will be kept hot, with none of that nonsense about flames going through accessible tunnels at predictable intervals.

I will see a competent psychiatrist and get cured of all extremely unusual phobias and bizarre compulsive habits which could prove to be a disadvantage.

If I must have computer systems with publically available terminals, the maps they display of my complex will have a room clearly marked as the Main Control Room. That room will be the Execution Chamber. The actual main control room will be marked as Sewage Overflow Containment.

My security keypad will actually be a fingerprint scanner. Anyone who watches someone press a sequence of buttons or dusts the pad for fingerprints then subsequently tries to enter by repeating that sequence will trigger the alarm system.

No matter how many shorts we have in the system, my guards will be instructed to treat every surveillance camera malfunction as a full-scale emergency.

I will spare someone who saved my life sometime in the past. This is only reasonable as it encourages others to do so. However, the offer is good one time only. If they want me to spare them again, they'd better save my life again.

All midwives will be banned from the realm. All babies will be delivered at state-approved hospitals. Orphans will be placed in foster-homes, not abandoned in the woods to be raised by creatures of the wild.

When my guards split up to search for intruders, they will always travel in groups of at least two. They will be trained so that if one of them disappears mysteriously while on patrol, the other will immediately initiate an alert and call for backup, instead of quizzically peering around a corner.

If I decide to test a lieutenant's loyalty and see if he/she should be made a trusted lieutenant, I will have a crack squad of marksmen standing by in case the answer is no.

If all the heroes are standing together around a strange device and begin to taunt me, I will pull out a conventional weapon instead of using my unstoppable superweapon on them.

I will not agree to let the heroes go free if they win a rigged contest, even though my advisors assure me it is impossible for them to win.

When I create a multimedia presentation of my plan designed so that my five-year-old advisor can easily understand the details, I will not label the disk "Project Overlord" and leave it lying on top of my desk.

I will instruct my Legions of Terror to attack the hero en masse, instead of standing around waiting while members break off and attack one or two at a time.

If the hero runs up to my roof, I will not run up after him and struggle with him in an attempt to push him over the edge. I will also not engage him at the edge of a cliff. (In the middle of a rope-bridge over a river of molten lava is not even worth considering.)

If I have a fit of temporary insanity and decide to give the hero the chance to reject a job as my trusted lieutentant, I will retain enough sanity to wait until my current trusted lieutenant is out of earshot before making the offer.

I will not tell my Legions of Terror "And he must be taken alive!" The command will be "And try to take him alive if it is reasonably practical."

If my doomsday device happens to come with a reverse switch, as soon as it has been employed it will be melted down and made into limited-edition commemorative coins.

If my weakest troops fail to eliminate a hero, I will send out my best troops instead of wasting time with progressively stronger ones as he gets closer and closer to my fortress.

If I am fighting with the hero atop a moving platform, have disarmed him, and am about to finish him off and he glances behind me and drops flat, I too will drop flat instead of quizzically turning around to find out what he saw.

I will not shoot at any of my enemies if they are standing in front of the crucial support beam to a heavy, dangerous, unbalanced structure.

If I'm eating dinner with the hero, put poison in his goblet, then have to leave the table for any reason, I will order new drinks for both of us instead of trying to decide whether or not to switch with him.

I will not have captives of one sex guarded by members of the opposite sex.

I will not use any plan in which the final step is horribly complicated, e.g. "Align the 12 Stones of Power on the sacred altar then activate the medallion at the moment of total eclipse." Instead it will be more along the lines of "Push the button."

I will make sure that my doomsday device is up to code and properly grounded.

My vats of hazardous chemicals will be covered when not in use. Also, I will not construct walkways above them.

If a group of henchmen fail miserably at a task, I will not berate them for incompetence then send the same group out to try the task again.

After I captures the hero's superweapon, I will not immediately disband my legions and relax my guard because I believe whoever holds the weapon is unstoppable. After all, the hero held the weapon and I took it from him.

I will not design my Main Control Room so that every workstation is facing away from the door.

I will not ignore the messenger that stumbles in exhausted and obviously agitated until my personal grooming or current entertainment is finished. It might actually be important.

If I ever talk to the hero on the phone, I will not taunt him. Instead I will say this his dogged perseverance has given me new insight on the futility of my evil ways and that if he leaves me alone for a few months of quiet contemplation I will likely return to the path of righteousness. (Heroes are incredibly gullible in this regard.)

If I decide to hold a double execution of the hero and an underling who failed or betrayed me, I will see to it that the hero is scheduled to go first.

When arresting prisoners, my guards will not allow them to stop and grab a useless trinket of purely sentimental value.

My dungeon will have its own qualified medical staff complete with bodyguards. That way if a prisoner becomes sick and his cellmate tells the guard it's an emergency, the guard will fetch a trauma team instead of opening up the cell for a look.

My door mechanisms will be designed so that blasting the control panel on the outside seals the door and blasting the control panel on the inside opens the door, not vice versa.

My dungeon cells will not be furnished with objects that contain reflective surfaces or anything that can be unravelled.

If an attractive young couple enters my realm, I will carefully monitor their activities. If I find they are happy and affectionate, I will ignore them. However if circumstance have forced them together against their will and they spend all their time bickering and criticizing each other except during the intermittent occasions when they are saving each others' lives at which point there are hints of sexual tension, I will immediately order their execution.

Any data file of crucial importance will be padded to 1.45Mb in size.

Finally, to keep my subjects permanently locked in a mindless trance, I will provide each of them with free unlimited Internet access.

[thedyingmoon]

🖤 I See My Future Before Me 🖤

~ A V X Reader set in an Alternate Universe wherein Nero gets his own motorcycle. 🖤

~ This time, this chapter is dedicated to all the people who reblogged the first three parts. Thank you so much!

~ Also, to @acieoj , thank you so much for your unwavering support.

~ And to @heaven-on-a-landslide , oh, my gawd! Thank you so much for the kind words.

***

III

"Ave Maria,

Gratia plena!

Maria, gratia plena,

Maria, gratia plena!"

V could hear, as clear as day, the solemn music that was coming from the other side of the portal. He walked, reaching the end of the dark tunnel, until light enveloped his entire body, giving him warmth. He finally arrived to his destination. But, all of a sudden, he was met with a violent slash of light that almost ripped him in two. If it weren't for Griffon, who grabbed the collar of his dark, leather vest just in time, he would probably be as good as dead.

"What the hell?!" Griffon screeched, looking around for any sign of Demons.

V looked around, as well, but saw nothing, except for a pastel pink, fur blanket on the grass beneath his feet, an empty basket, and the radio which played the song, "Ave Maria". He picked up the blanket and immediately noticed that it was still warm, not to mention very fragrant, like the smell of fresh flowers blooming in the morning.

"She was just here." V said, his voice almost dropped to a very low whisper.

"She?!" Griffon shot back. "How did you even know that was a girl? She tried to chop you like onions!"

Yes, how did he know that? Was it some kind of a strange, gut feeling, or one of his suppressed, male instincts?

"No matter. I'm very certain that we are the ones who are at fault here. We startled her." he said, purposefully making his voice louder. He took a quick glance at the bushes on his right and noticed something moving behind it. He smiled and placed the soft blanket back down on the ground. "I think I'll return this."

"Shall we go after her?"

"There's,... no need for that." he answered, making sure that his voice could be heard by that person behind the bushes. He then faced the path before him and walked, making sure that Griffon's following closely behind him. "We must press on."

The sun was getting low. Despite that, he still took the time to admire the lush garden of the very familiar place. He had been here, he knew it. And, the moment he arrived at the main road of the city, there was no mistaking it:

He was back at Red Grave.

But, why did the Yamato bring them there, of all places?

It looked as though he would no longer muse any longer, for there, speeding from the distance with a sleek, blue motorcycle, was the boy, himself. Nero was about to pass V when he noticed him standing there on the sidewalk. He put the vehicle to a halt, hitting the break, and stopping right beside V.

"Hey, V!" Nero said, smiling at him. "Long time no see."

"It has been quite a while." V said, then smiled back, not wanting to let the boy know that he was still a bit mad at him for what happened the last time they saw each other.

"Was it a month already?"

"Three weeks, you idiot!" Griffon screeched at him.

"And the little chicken is here!" Nero joked, pointing at Griffon and effectively mocking him with the cursed nickname. "Now, I know what we're having for dinner!"

"Why, you, son of a - !"

V quickly shielded Griffon with his cane, or the other way around, and tilted his head sideways, letting his hair fall to the half part of his face. "It seems that you are in a hurry."

"Yeah, I'm going to Nico's." Nero mentioned. "Said she had a job for me."

"And what would that be?"

Nero shrugged his shoulders. "Beats me. She only said to 'hustle over and make it damn quick'. Look, she even told me to bring formal wear. I don't even know what that is!" He pointed at the compartment of the motorcycle with his thumb and gave it a disgusted look. "Luckily, Kyrie knows stuff. She's a real life saver."

"Is that so?" V said, making himself sound like he was genuinely interested.

And, it was a success.

"Wanna tag along?" Nero graciously offered, revving his badass motorcycle and looking really proud.

What a simpleton.

A few moments later, V found himself riding with Nero, letting the delicious, early evening air splash on his face and sweep his wavy, jet black locks. He held onto the boy's shoulders with a hand, his other one firmly holding onto the metal cane and making sure it's not in the way as Nero drove.

"So, this job,..." V had to make his voice louder for him to be heard above the sound of the speeding vehicle. "Is it Devil May Cry related?"

"I think." Nero answered, not letting his eyes off the road for a minute. "I knew I told her not to bug me unless she wants me to kill some shit."

"And this,... vehicle?"

V noticed the boy chuckle. "It was a gift from the mayor of Red Grave for defeating that son of a bitch." He was refering to none other than Urizen, V's demonic half. "Well, actually, I bought it using the money he offered me for saving the lives of the citizens. Kyrie was opposed to this, at first, telling me I had no discipline with things like this."

"She was right." V answered. "You are not wearing any protection for your,.... cranium."

"Ahh, yeah, I think I forgot my helmet back home. Kyrie's gonna slit my throat for this,..."

V smirked, actually wishing for it to happen. However, at the simple thought of slitting someone else's throat, one person immediately popped into his mind.

"And,... Dante?" V asked. That's it, he finally asked about his stupid twin brother.

"He got paid by the mayor, too. But, he squandered everything in a casino one night, losing in one fell swoop. Let's just say he ended up with more debt than usual."

"Oh. I see." V said, musing about the fact. He may know Dante to be a bit of a risk - taker when it comes to challenges. But, he knew for certain that he would never take part in any challenge unless he knew from the start that he would win. Aside from that, he knew Dante would not indulge into such things, unless,...

So, why? V knew his brother too much. Was he secretly - ?

"We're here." Nero announced, putting the vehicle to a stop in front of a twenty - story building in an actually fancy neighborhood a few kilometers away from the park V just transported into.

He got down and looked up at the apartment, fully anticipating everything that would possibly happen to him from then on. If the Yamato really intended for him to be here, then he might as well do anything he can to unravel this rare phenomenon that reunited him with these people.

After properly parking the motorcycle, Nero invited V inside the apartment. Once inside, they noticed that the walls of the lobby were filled with classic, renaissance - style murals that simply took V's breath away. It's not everyday that he could see such sights as this, after all. Murals in an apartment? That's something. And clearly, Nero was surprised, as well.

"Huh, who knew Nico lived in a fancy place now?" the boy said as he pressed the elevator button that would lead the two of them to the sixteenth floor.

V didn't answer. Instead, he listened in on the music that was being played inside the elevator. Nero noticed V's interest in it and smiled.

"You like these kinds of things, yeah?"

"Definitely." V answered, his mind still on the riveting piece of music that was Mozart. "Actually made me miss playing the violin."

"Oh, right." Nero nodded, then jerked his head towards V in utter shock. "Wait, you could play the violin?!"

But, before V could even answer, they arrived at the destined floor. The two got out and went directly to the third room on the right. Nero checked and double checked the crumpled note he produced from his pocket and confirmed it was the right place.

"Okay. This is it." he said, and before he could even knock, the door was slammed open, almost whacking him in the face. "What the fuck?!"

"You're late, psycho!" Nico, the tattooed female who opened the door, screamed at him. "What did I tell ya about the third ring rule?!"

"Stop bitching! V's right here! I found him on the way here." Nero screamed right back at Nico, who immediately noticed the poet's presence in the area.

"Hey, you must be him, huh?" Nico cooled down, appraising her surprise visitor with an expert eye. "The mysterious one who hired Dante."

"You are looking at this mysterious one right now." V answered good - naturedly.

"Then, let's not wait for the grass to grow! Come in!"

***

🖤🖤🖤

[etlunainmorte]

🖤 I See My Future Before Me 🖤

***

III

***

"Ave Maria! Jungfrau mild,

Erhöre einer Jungfrau Flehen,

Aus diesem Felsen starr und wild

Soll mein Gebet zu dir hin wehen, Zu dir hin wehen.

Wir schlafen sicher bis zum Morgen,

Ob Menschen noch so grausam sind.

O Jungfrau, sieh der Jungfrau Sorgen,

O Mutter, hör ein bittend Kind!

Ave Maria!"

V could hear, as clear as day, the solemn music that was coming from the other side of the portal. He walked, reaching the end of the dark tunnel, until light enveloped his entire body, giving him warmth. He finally arrived to his destination. But, all of a sudden, he was met with a violent slash of light that almost ripped him in two. If it weren’t for Griffon, who grabbed the collar of his dark, leather vest just in time, he would probably be as good as dead.

“What the hell?!” Griffon screeched, looking around for any sign of Demons.

V looked around, as well, but saw nothing, except for a pastel pink, fur blanket on the grass beneath his feet, an empty basket, and the radio which played the song, “Ave Maria”. He picked up the blanket and immediately noticed that it was still warm, not to mention very fragrant, like the smell of fresh flowers blooming in the morning.

“She was just here.” V said, his voice almost dropped to a very low whisper.

“She?!” Griffon shot back. “How did you even know that was a girl? She tried to chop you like onions!”

Yes, how did he know that? Was it some kind of a strange, gut feeling, or one of his suppressed, male instincts?

“No matter. I’m very certain that we are the ones who are at fault here. We startled her.” he said, purposefully making his voice louder. He took a quick glance at the bushes on his right and noticed something moving behind it. He smiled and placed the soft blanket back down on the ground. “I think I’ll return this.”

“Shall we go after her?”

“There’s,… no need for that.” he answered, making sure that his voice could be heard by that person behind the bushes. He then faced the path before him and walked, making sure that Griffon’s following closely behind him. “We must press on.”

The sun was getting low. Despite that, he still took the time to admire the lush garden of the very familiar place. He had been here, he knew it. And, the moment he arrived at the main road of the city, there was no mistaking it:

He was back at Red Grave.

But, why did the Yamato bring them there, of all places?

It looked as though he would no longer muse any longer, for there, speeding from the distance with a sleek, blue motorcycle, was the boy, himself. Nero was about to pass V when he noticed him standing there on the sidewalk. He put the vehicle to a halt, hitting the break, and stopping right beside V.

“Hey, V!” Nero said, smiling at him. “Long time no see.”

“It has been quite a while.” V said, then smiled back, not wanting to let the boy know that he was still a bit mad at him for what happened the last time they saw each other.

“Was it a month already?”

“Three weeks, you idiot!” Griffon screeched at him.

“And the little chicken is here!” Nero joked, pointing at Griffon and effectively mocking him with the cursed nickname. “Now, I know what we’re having for dinner!”

“Why, you, son of a - !”

V quickly shielded Griffon with his cane, or the other way around, and tilted his head sideways, letting his hair fall to the half part of his face. “It seems that you are in a hurry.”

“Yeah, I’m going to Nico’s.” Nero mentioned. “Said she had a job for me.”

“And what would that be?”

Nero shrugged his shoulders. “Beats me. She only said to ’hustle over and make it damn quick’. Look, she even told me to bring formal wear. I don’t even know what that is!” He pointed at the compartment of the motorcycle with his thumb and gave it a disgusted look. “Luckily, Kyrie knows stuff. She’s a real life saver.”

“Is that so?” V said, making himself sound like he was genuinely interested.

And, it was a success.

“Wanna tag along?” Nero graciously offered, revving his badass motorcycle and looking really proud.

What a simpleton.

A few moments later, V found himself riding with Nero, letting the delicious, early evening air splash on his face and sweep his wavy, jet black locks. He held onto the boy’s shoulders with a hand, his other one firmly holding onto the metal cane and making sure it’s not in the way as Nero drove.

“So, this job,…” V had to make his voice louder for him to be heard above the sound of the speeding vehicle. “Is it Devil May Cry related?”

“I think.” Nero answered, not letting his eyes off the road for a minute. “I knew I told her not to bug me unless she wants me to kill some shit.”

“And this,… vehicle?”

V noticed the boy chuckle. “It was a gift from the mayor of Red Grave for defeating that son of a bitch.” He was referring to none other than Urizen, V’s demonic half. “Well, actually, I bought it using the money he offered me for saving the lives of the citizens. Kyrie was opposed to this, at first, telling me I had no discipline with things like this.”

“She was right.” V answered. “You are not wearing any protection for your,…. cranium.”

“Ahh, yeah, I think I forgot my helmet back home. Kyrie’s gonna slit my throat for this,…”

V smirked, actually wishing for it to happen. However, at the simple thought of slitting someone else’s throat, one person immediately popped into his mind.

“And,… Dante?” V asked. That’s it, he finally asked about his stupid twin brother.

“He got paid by the mayor, too. But, he squandered everything in a casino one night, losing in one fell swoop. Let’s just say he ended up with more debt than usual.”

“Oh. I see.” V said, musing about the fact. He may know Dante to be a bit of a risk - taker when it comes to challenges. But, he knew for certain that he would never take part in any challenge unless he knew from the start that he would win. Aside from that, he knew Dante would not indulge into such things, unless,…

So, why? V knew his brother too much. Was he secretly - ?

“We’re here.” Nero announced, putting the vehicle to a stop in front of a twenty - story building in an actually fancy neighborhood a few kilometers away from the park V just transported into.

He got down and looked up at the apartment, fully anticipating everything that would possibly happen to him from then on. If the Yamato really intended for him to be here, then he might as well do anything he can to unravel this rare phenomenon that reunited him with these people.

After properly parking the motorcycle, Nero invited V inside the apartment. Once inside, they noticed that the walls of the lobby were filled with classic, renaissance - style murals that simply took V’s breath away. It’s not everyday that he could see such sights as this, after all. Murals in an apartment? That’s something. And clearly, Nero was surprised, as well.

“Huh, who knew Nico lived in a fancy place now?” the boy said as he pressed the elevator button that would lead the two of them to the sixteenth floor.

V didn’t answer. Instead, he listened in on the music that was being played inside the elevator. Nero noticed V’s interest in it and smiled.

“You like these kinds of things, yeah?”

“Definitely.” V answered, his mind still on the riveting piece of music that was Mozart. “Actually made me miss playing the violin.”

“Oh, right.” Nero nodded, then jerked his head towards V in utter shock. “Wait, you could play the violin?!”

But, before V could even answer, they arrived at the destined floor. The two got out and went directly to the third room on the right. Nero checked and double checked the crumpled note he produced from his pocket and confirmed it was the right place.

“Okay. This is it.” he said, and before he could even knock, the door was slammed open, almost whacking him in the face. “What the fuck?!”

“You’re late, psycho!” Nico, the tattooed female who opened the door, screamed at him. “What did I tell ya about the third ring rule?!”

“Stop bitching! V’s right here! I found him on the way here.” Nero screamed right back at Nico, who immediately noticed the poet’s presence in the area.

“Hey, you must be him, huh?” Nico cooled down, appraising her surprise visitor with an expert eye. “The mysterious one who hired Dante.”

“You are looking at this mysterious one right now.” V answered good - naturedly.

“Then, let’s not wait for the grass to grow! Come in!”

***

🖤🖤🖤

***

[rike-with-love]

Be Mine (chapter 1)

Summary: This is my first fan fiction ever, so please be kind. Umibouzu arrives to Earth and he has some life-changing news for Kagura. COMPLETED!

Pairings: Okikagu

Rating: M for mature content, bad language, violence, angst

Disclaimer: I don't own Gintama or it's characters, Sorachi Hideaki does. I only own this story.

Author’s notes: I have a link to my fanfiction masterlist on my profile. Please check it out for more chapters and fics!

Chapter 1

It was another ordinary day in the Shinsengumi compound. The Sun was shining, birds were singing and mayonnaise bottles were spontaneously exploding. ”Goddammit, Sougo!” Hijikata yelled as he was covered by his beloved life elixir. ”What are you screaming in the middle of my beauty sleep Hijibaka-san?” Sougo mumbled as he lazily shuffled to the kitchen area.

Hijikata was in the middle of collecting the ”holy matter” from his face and uniform. *CLICK* ”Oi brat, did you just take a picture of me?” Hijikata grunted behind his teeth. ”You always think too highly of yourself, who would want a picture of your dumb face,” Sougo said with a mischievous grin on his face. ”Oh, by the way, Hijikata-san, do you want to see my new bazooka the Hijikata Detonator 23XX it also has a camera attached to it, so convenient, don't you think?”

”Die Hijibaka-san!” Sougo yelled as he fired his bazooka, took a nice picture of Hijikata's ”horror face” and blasted a hole in the wall. Poor Hijikata managed to dodge the blast. Kondo ran into the kitchen area and shouted: ”Toshi, Sougo is everything okay?” ”That brat just shot me with a bazooka!” Hijikata growled as he got up from the floor. Sougo looked as deadpanned and innocent as ever. Then he walked through the hole on the wall and decided to go out.

It sure was a pretty ordinary day with all the explosions and screaming. Okita Sougo 1st Division Captain of the Shinsengumi, High Prince (yes, he the ”high” is self-proclaimed) of Sadists was going for an afternoon stroll. ”Get back here, I'll make you commit seppuku damn brat!” Hijikata shouted after him.

”Oi Toushi relax, our son is just having a little temper tantrum.” Kondo soothed Hijikata. ”For the millionth time Kondo-san, he is not OUR son and he is just a lazy homicidal bastard!” Hijikata grunted as he put his hands inside his pockets.

”Ne ne, Toshi, do you think he is going to see that Yorozuya girl?” Kondo asked with a suggestive wink. The demon vice-commander let out a sigh and took out a cigarette. ”It is already quite obvious Kondo-san,” Hijikata concluded as he lit up his mayonnaise lighter. And another explosion was heard at the harmonious Shinsengumi compound.

Sougo was having a rather good day, although Hijikata still got to see another day. I'll get him someday and the vice-commander's position will be mine. Sougo thought to himself and had a nice internal evil laugh (you know muahaha and all that). ”Oh my god! It's Captain Okita!” Sougo tensed up immediately with irritation. ”Not this shit again...” he mumbled.

A group of three young women was rushing towards him. Sougo stood with a deadpan look on his face and turned his back to the group. ”Sougo-sama, do you want to go out with us?” One of the girls asked shyly. Sougo was not interested but decided to indulge with his sadistic nature.

Sougo turned and approached the girl who talked to him. He leaned a bit closer to her face, she held her breath with anticipation. ”Sure, but after that, you must come to my chamber of chains and whips,” Sougo whispers and backs down a step. Two of the other girls gasp in horror, but the third girl just smiled. ”Sure, whatever you want Sougo-sama.” the (obviously) submissive girl flirts.

Sougo's face drops from sly to more deadpan than usual. Without saying anything else, he turns his back at the girls and walks away. ”Sougo-sama, Sougo-samaaa! Please come back!” The girl begged. Sougo could only sigh with boredom.

Sougo thought to himself: Since when all the women in Edo have gone that annoying. It's not that I'm not interested in women, but that was too easy. I don't need easy, I don't want easy. I want that cat-and-mouse thing and of course after that complete submission because I am the high prince of sadists. After a while of strolling the captain realized that he was in Kabukicho District. There he saw two familiar men talking in an alley.

”Gin-san, what are we going to do now?” Shinpachi asked with worry in his voice. ”Calm down Patsuan, Gin-chan needs to think.” I-I-I can't calm down, Kagura-chan is going to...I can't even say it.” Gintoki scratched his hair and picked his nose simultaneously, he only does both when the situation is dire.

”Yo Danna! Oh, and levitating glasses.” Sougo greeted as he stomped next to them. ”Hello, Okita-san. Wait what do you mean 'levitating glasses'?? Shinpachi asked. Before Sougo could elaborate his words Shinpachi said: ”Nevermind, I have to go home now, see you guys later.” As Shinpachi was gone, Sougo turned to Gintoki. ”Where is China?” He asked. Gintoki met Sougo's eyes and flicked his bugger to a bypassers hair.

”Listen to me sofa-kun...” Gintoki began. ”It's Sougo, Danna” Sougo corrected. ”Yes, I know Sommelier-kun, you don't need to correct me anymore,” Gintoki said with a proud voice. Sougo sighed and said: ”It's still Sougo, Danna and how the hell do you know a word like that?”

Gintoki laughed briefly and cleared his throat. ”Oh Danna-kun, a man like me gets wiser and suaver with age, it's called the George Clooney-effect. You must've heard about it Soda-kun?” He huffed and crossed his arms. This is just endless, Sougo thought and sighed. ”Where is China, Danna?” He asked again.

Gintoki closed his eyes and said with a heavy voice: ”I think she went to the riverbank, but I highly advise you to leave her alone today Sabaody-kun.” Gintoki walked past Sougo and waved his hand as he left. Sougo thought to himself: Well, if China is angry at something, I bet she will be a fierce opponent today, after all, it's our duel day.

Sougo made his way to the riverbank, the sun was setting soon so the sky was pinkish and dreamy. Kagura was sitting near the river. She was hugging her knees and facing the river. She had her hair ornaments as usual and her long vermillion hair was in two ponytails. She had her traditional red cheongsam dress.

”Oi fat pig!” Sougo yelled. No answer. ”Oi fat ugly pig!” Still no reaction. ”Oi China you are breaking a policeman's heart for not answering. Do I need to arrest your sorry ass?” He shouted louder. Kagura's arms dropped to her sides, she grabbed some grass with her fists and then let it fall out of her hands. It seemed she was trying not to get agitated by Sougo's words. He was not having that, not one bit.

Sougo stomped to stand behind her. ”Leave me alone dumbshit, I've had a rough...aaaaargh! *SPLASH* Sougo had calmly kicked Kagura into the river. I just might die after this, but what the hell. Sougo wondered to himself. An angry beast emitting a crimson aura rose from the river. Kagura walked out of the water, pissed off and wet. She shook herself dry like a dog would (because Kagura is and always will be Kagura).

”You truly are an animal, have you ever heard of towels?” Sougo teased. Kagura met Sougo's eyes with a gaze so murderous it could crumble down nations. Chills went down Sougo's spine and he loved that feeling, actually, he lived for that sensation. Kagura's mind was made up then and there, sadist would meet his demise today.

Kagura didn't have her umbrella with her, so she had to trust her hand-to-hand combat skills. No words were exchanged and Kagura charged into a fierce attack. Sougo dodged effortlessly. As Kagura was cussing to herself, she noticed a tree nearby.

She yanked the tree up from the ground and threw it at Sougo. ”You stupid sadistic punk chihuahua asshole!” Kagura shouted. Her tree attack missed by inches and Kagura gritted her teeth. Sougo pulled out his katana and stated. ”How unfair that only one of us gets to use a weapon.”

Kagura made a quick high kick and managed to disarm Sougo. Normally that would never happen, but Sougo's focus was terrible. Her slightly wet red clothes hugged her from everywhere, perfectly. It was terribly disturbing for Sougo.

Where did she get those curves? Not that I care. What about those damned side slits on her dress showing off her strong and perfectly smooth legs. Why doesn't she wear pants underneath or something... Sougo's inner thoughts were caught short when Kagura's swift jump kick found his jaw. As karma worked it's ways, Sougo flew into the river.

”Hah! There you go Sadist, now we are even.” Kagura cheered with confidence and a big smile. Sougo got up from the river and touched his tender jaw. It was painful, but he had gotten used to her kicks landing sometimes...actually nowadays more frequently. Sougo stared Kagura straight into her eyes and saw through her smile, all fake.

Sougo walked to the shore and shouted: ”Damn you China, now my clothes are wet too.” He walked normally closer to Kagura and observed her from a safe distance. Sougo slid his jacket off and threw it on the ground. ”Now, will you tell me what's wrong? Or do I need to force it out of you?” Sougo asked.

Kagura looked away from him and her posture slumped slightly. ”Oh, and I am going to arrest you for damaging that poor tree, you can be so careless sometimes...” Sougo said and shooked his head. Kagura was clenching her fists and let out an angry battle roar. Sougo smirked and prepared for the upcoming thunderstorm of kicks.

Their bouts usually lasted an hour or two. When they were younger the crazy sadistic duo was always at each other's throats. After four years of maturing the level of bickering stayed the same, but physical fights happened only once per week. It was an unspoken contract between them, they just happened to find each other on their ”duel day”. Sougo would never admit it to anyone but their battles were the highlights of his weeks.

Sougo had a hard time keeping his eyes in control. He didn't understand why he wanted to stare at her legs, vermillion hair, and bright blue eyes. She was the monster kid who had nose picking contests with her earthdad. Her gross mouth was always full of food and sukonbu. Why is she so distracting. Sougo thought as he dodged another attack.

They were now facing each other in fighting stances. Their combat transformed into a pushing contest. As their fingers interlaced it felt somehow very intimate to Sougo. He decided to win fast to get away from this tingling feeling.

”What the hell are you staring sadist?” Kagura yelled. Sougo saw his opportunity and stared straight into Kagura's cerulean eyes: ”I'm looking at your beautiful blue eyes, I could stare at them all day.” He lied (or did he now?). Kagura was dumbfounded and lost her stance. Sougo was still pushing with full strength so they both lost their balance and fell down on the grass.

The sun was setting now and the sky was reddish. In that light and in Sougo's eyes, Kagura looked mesmerizing, like a beautiful china doll. He was hovering over her. Why China makes me feel this way? They were both panting from the fight and their eyes were locked like it wasn't possible to look anywhere else. Sougo's eyes dropped from her eyes to her parted lips.

Kagura's chest was moving rapidly, mostly from exhaustion, partly from something else. Sougo followed his instincts. He lowered himself closer to Kagura's face, only a few inches away from her inviting lips. Sougo had an urge to kiss her, but he was waiting for Kagura to close the rest of their painful distance.

Sougo surprised himself. He thought he was the kind of 'take what you want' person, but with Kagura everything was different, he was different. Kagura closed her eyes and a slight blush appeared on her cheeks. That's kind of cute. Sougo thought and smirked a bit.

Sougo closed his eyes too. He felt his hands getting sweaty from anticipation. Suddenly he heard the most sinful small moan come from Kagura's mouth. Sougos whole body stiffened from that single sound. And then he felt a touch.

Kagura's...lips?..no...a knee...yes...Kagura's knee in close contact with his crotch. And let me make this clear, it wasn't the good kind of contact, it was a hard impact. Sougo flew off Kagura and grunted in pain. Kagura bounced off the ground and backed away from him. ”Don't ever do that again, you big stupid...asshat!” Kagura shouted loudly.

Kagura ran away as Sougo recovered from the impact. What the hell happened or didn't happen? Damn you China you fucking tease, Sougo thought and got up. He grabbed his jacket and walked home with nothing but his thoughts and a pounding heart.

[sailorfish]

First Virtue

Fandom: Rivers of London

Pairing: Gen

Rating: T

Word count: 3k

Summary: Nicky doesn’t want a stupid police officer to bring the bad guys to justice, she wants a soldier. Nicky is upset, Peter freaks out, for Oberon it’s Tuesday. And Nightingale, of course, is a soldier.

AN: Idek, I listened to the first four books in a row last week and all I want for Christmas is as much WW2!Nightingale meets 2010s!Peter fic as possible. So I decided to add to it. Super self-indulgent lol. This is something between a drabble and possibly Chapter 1..? New to the fandom so hi, and my sincere apologies if something is terribly off. Spoilers for Broken Homes!

EDIT: Now edited and up on AO3, as an (eventually) 3-chap fic.

“You promised!”

The childish shriek echoed through the woods and I picked up my pace. Whoever Nicky was yelling at - and I had a pretty good idea who she was yelling at - didn’t respond, or responded too quietly for me to hear. That was a bit worrying. It was a bit worrying that Nightingale had found her first, period.

Nicky wasn’t handling Sky’s death well. It was all well and good to say that she had eternity ahead of her and would learn to live with grief eventually, but right now she was a little girl and very upset. She’d taken to having tantrums and running off alone. Not that I could blame her; after everything in Skygarden, if I’d thought I could get away with that behaviour while in my 20s, I’d have seriously considered following her example.

As it was, we had been contacted by Oberon, who’d somehow known we were investigating a Little Crocodile in East Finchley (dead end, literally - he’d died three years ago in his sleep), to help find her and round her up. Seeing as how we were in the area and all.

Not that there’s much that can harm a goddess in Highgate Wood. It had been part of the huge, ancient Forest of Middlesex up to a thousand years ago, but deforestation had started in the thirteenth century and left it a pleasant enough park, if you like that sort of thing. If there’d been any magical being who wanted humans and human-shaped river goddesses to pay for the deforestation, we’d probably have heard from them already.

Still, it was getting dark and Oberon presumably wanted to get back to whatever he did when he wasn’t babysitting child goddesses sometime before midnight. Me and Nightingale, meanwhile, were part of The Great Family-Friendly Metropolitan Police (Because We Care), and were thus always keen to help reunite lost children with their guardians. Even when the lost child in question was the scariest thing within a 10-mile radius.

But I’d secretly hoped that me or Oberon would have found her first. The last time they’d met, Nicky had been furious at Nightingale. I doubted she’d completely got over it in the past month and a half. Judging by Father Thames’ example, genii locorum had a tendency to get stuck at stage two.

Now that I was closer, I could hear Nightingale calmly explaining that we’d put those responsible for Sky’s death in jail, and that the justice system had been blablabla.

Oh no, I thought. He’s trying to rationalise with her.

Nightingale had told me that he’d been the youngest in his family, and presumably posh boarding schools, war, and Indiana Jones escapades didn’t train you well for dealing with small children. I, as a guy with enough younger cousins to fill up half a moderately sized school, knew that there were multiple tactics you could use to defuse a tantrum situation: from the healthy slap my mum had often threatened me with, to distraction via bribery with candy. Rationalisation wasn’t one of them.

“But they’re not the ones who really did it,” interrupted Nicky, either showing a more sophisticated grasp of the Nuremberg Defense than I’d expected of a primary school student, or just wanting to be contrary. “You haven’t found their boss. You haven’t made him pay for killing my friend!”

“Peter and I are attempting our best to rectify - ah, to fix - that,” said my governor. “As I promised, we will find him and bring him to justice as quickly as possible.”

“So you’re going to kill him soon?”

There was a little too much hopefulness in that childish voice, and it made me feel a bit sick. Lesley’s words rang in my ears. I remembered Dr. Walid’s report about the man who had drowned on dry land.

Nightingale hesitated in his reply. I was very aware that until recently, he wouldn’t have. Non-magical lackeys were one thing, them he was more than happy to arrest. Rogue magical practitioners, though, it was much easier to just off them. But the old Folly was learning new tricks - or rather, I could admit with a touch of pride, I was teaching it new tricks - nowadays. We were trying to stay off the path of indiscriminate carnage. Of course, that’s not always the response the victims’ friends and family want to hear from the long arm of the law.

“No,” Nightingale said finally. “As police officers - ”

But Nicky had heard enough.

I burst out of the trees and into their meadow just as her face screwed up tight and her little hands balled into fists. I glanced over at Nightingale quickly. He didn’t look quite as confident and smooth as he’d sounded. He was facing the goddess head on, but he stood a little hunched and his fingers were clenched bone-white around his cane. His own gaze flickered briefly to me and he gave me a very slight nod, before he turned once more to fully weather the goddess’ fury. Nicky took in a huge breath.

“I don’t want a stupid police officer!” she howled. “You promised! You promised as a soldier! Life for life, blood for blood! I don’t want a police officer, I want a soldier!!”

A wave of magic crashed over me so hard I almost staggered back out of the clearing. It was a pure tidal wave of wrath, and loss, and blood, and I thought for a moment I would drown to death on dry land too, drown in a sea of blood. It felt every bit as bad as when Nightingale had disarmed that demon trap in Soho, and I wasn’t halfway across London this time either.

Everything felt muffled, as though I’d gone swimming and my ears were full of water. I resisted the urge to tilt my head and bang on my temple until a stream of water poured out of them, like a Looney Toons character. Luckily, it cleared up on its own within a minute or two.

When I finally looked up, I saw that Nicky was swaying just a bit. She didn’t look angry anymore. Instead, she looked a little guilty, and a little panicky, and extremely uncertain about whether she should be looking guilty and panicky at all. Whatever it was she’d done had obviously not affected me, so I turned my own slightly panicky face to Nightingale.

He wasn’t flopping on the floor, gasping for air, which was a huge relief. Instead, he was frowning, and his eyes were closed. Before I could ask him if he was alright, his eyes shot back open. He pulled himself up straight. Very straight. Not that Nightingale usually hunched or had rolled shoulders or anything, but this was the posture I recognised from when he was being upbraided by Seawoll or was about to face down something terrifying. I automatically sidled over closer to Nicky, and chanced a brief glance over my shoulder for extra propriety. There was nothing but trees, of course.

I looked back at Nightingale, who was staring at me and Nicky with an odd expression on his face. His eyes raked over us, and alarm, dismay, and pity flitted over his face one after another. Alarm, I got. Even dismay made sense - I myself was a bit dismayed at the prospect of figuring out how to properly deal with a child goddess who’d just attacked an officer of the law, even if we were both unharmed. But pity?

Then, to my other utter surprise, he dropped his cane, put his hands in the air, and gave us an encouraging smile.

“Bitte haben Sie keine Angst!” said Nightingale. “Ich bin ein britischer Offizier. Habt ihr von einer KZ geflüchtet? Werdet ihr verfolgt? Leider kann ich euch nicht zu, ah, zur Sicherheit begleiten. Aber ich habe eine Karte von der Gegend und ein bisschen Essen für Ihre Tochter.”

All of that was, of course, lost on me. All I got was that it was German, and maybe British officer. Sorry, not everyone has a classical education and can speak twenty languages. I gaped at him, confused and alarmed, then shot a glance at Nicky to see how she was taking this. She seemed to have forgotten her tantrum altogether for the moment, which was good news (distraction - it works!). Unfortunately, she was not one of those useful goddesses who understands all tongues spoken by mortal man. She was as puzzled as I was.

Nightingale cursed softly under his breath - when I think back, this was the moment when I truly understood something was wrong; I couldn’t remember a single time I’d heard him swear before - and switched from German to a Slavic language. I vaguely recognised it from my mom’s business acquaintances, also known as a good third of the cleaning staff in the Greater London area. Polish, I’d wager (though not a lot of money, to be fair). At our blank looks, he switched to French, then, a bit desperately, to another language which sounded a lot like German. With each switch he obviously struggled more when putting the sentences together, and grew more frustrated at our continued incomprehension. But he kept up his smile all the same.

I interrupted him before he could switch to something like Ancient Aramaic and truly frighten me.

“Sir, I don’t understand what you’re saying,” I said, because it seemed the sort of thing you said when your governor apparently forgot all knowledge of English after being hit by a magical attack.

Nightingale startled and lowered his hands.

“An Englishman!” he breathed. That’s when the goosebumps really started crawling. He hadn’t forgotten English - he’d forgotten I could speak English. “But I’m sure we would have heard…”

He frowned, then visibly reassessed us.

“I’m Captain Thomas Nightingale, of the 2nd Parachute Battalion,” he said. If he was lying - and he could very well have been; I had no idea if a parachute battalion needed hundreds of trained wizards - he was doing it very smoothly. “What’s your name, soldier? Which unit are you attached to?”

“I, uh… I, sorry, what?”

Not my best efforts, I know.

“I’m not about to shoot you for desertion,” snapped Nightingale. “Not when it was to rescue a young girl. Foolish, but brave. How far are the others from here? If I can, I’ll accompany you and talk to your CO on your behalf, but we have to go now. What unit are you in?”

By this point, I had basically figured it out. I am a detective after all (or would be, if I passed my exam). I’m also a magical almost-detective, which means sudden amnesia of the past seventy-odd years frightened me, but didn’t leave me saying This simply cannot be happening, what is going on?! It was happening, and what was going on was that Nicky had wished for a soldier. She’d got him alright.

Of course, the problem was that knowing what was happening didn’t mean I knew what to do about it. I opened my mouth, not actually sure whether I was about to go with a placating lie or the honest truth.

Nicky cut in first though.

“I don’t need rescuing by Peter!” she said, genuinely indignant albeit a shade quieter than normal. She probably hadn’t followed the rest of it, and she looked altogether exhausted, but she’d certainly understood that part.

I nearly groaned out loud as bewilderment widened Nightingale’s eyes, and he quickly shifted to a battle-ready stance. We’d clearly been downgraded again. First it had been Poor victims of the Third Reich, treat with care, then Idiot IC3 soldier loses head upon seeing poor young female IC3 victim and deserts army to rescue her. Now it was What the fuck are two black Brits, wearing weird-ass clothing, one of who is a child, doing traipsing through the Black Forest?

“Who are you?” said Nightingale again.

And again, I was interrupted before I could answer. This time by Oberon.

“Peter is your apprentice, Nightingale,” Oberon said in his calm way as he strode into the clearing next to Nicky.

A part of me relaxed: now, all the adults were here. A part of me tensed more: Oberon’s gaudy sword was still on his hip and I didn’t miss how Nightingale’s eyes narrowed further at the sight of it. The final part of me giggled hysterically: this was probably more black people than 1940s Nightingale saw in a month.

I’m pretty sure the only reason he didn’t just blast us all with a fireball and leave it to God to sort us out was that the Germans would never have come up with such a moronic lie. An incredulous laugh bubbled to his lips as he glanced between me and Oberon.

As his assessing, sceptical gaze swept me over head to toe, I stiffened. Nightingale - 2010s Nightingale that is - often tells me it was a different time back then, and I can’t deny that. But there’s a huge difference between feeling sorry for someone you think’s a victim of Nazis and actually thinking of them as an equal. And I honestly wasn’t sure if I’d be able to look my mentor in the eyes quite the same way if I had to carry the knowledge, in the back of my mind, that seventy years ago he would have treated me like dirt.

Luckily, I never had to find out. Nightingale proved to be genuinely decent. All he said was, “This is ridiculous, I don’t have an apprentice. I don’t even know this man.”

“But you know me,” said Oberon.

That was news to both me and Nicky. Oberon had to give us pointed stares to stop us from asking the hundreds of questions this raised. Nightingale looked considering, though he didn’t relax.

“I do remember you,” he said slowly. “Late twenties, Newcastle? Alberich - no, Oberon?”

“Yes.”

Oberon must have certainly made an impression, if Nightingale remembered him over a decade later. Or - I revised my earlier statement: maybe this was more black people than 1940s Nightingale saw in a year.

“And the girl?”

It had been a good impression too: Nightingale was wary and still frowning, but he looked less ready to incinerate us all if we breathed wrong.

“Goddess of a young river,” said Oberon.

Nightingale accepted that too. Now that he was looking for it, he could probably sense that she was a genius loci. He inclined his head to her, and she nodded back silently.

Running away, then her tantrum, then the huge wave of magic, and finally the sheer bizarrity of Nightingale The Soldier had clearly taken its toll on the child. Noticing that, Oberon settled, cross-legged, onto the ground, and pulled her into his lap. She promptly turned her head into his shoulder and drifted off to sleep. Clever. Oberon was clearly much less of a threat now - doubly clever.

That just left me.

“So: a fae, a goddess, and my supposed apprentice. Is this some kind of jest, Oberon?” said Nightingale. “I’ve never seen… Peter before, and there’s no time to train an apprentice during the war.”

“It’s not a trick, sir,” I finally spoke up. I’d been thinking about how to convince him. “And I can prove it. You can read my signare, can’t you? You told me you could see who trained a person based on that.”

“Did I also teach you not to be fool enough to let an unknown wizard cast an unknown spell?”

Unless we fought in, say, Halo, any duel between me and Nightingale would end with me being crushed like a bug. Particularly a wizard duel. It was a bit flattering to hear him imply otherwise. Though of course it wasn’t really my governor saying that, just a stranger borrowing his voice and face.

“I’ll just be casting a werelight,” I said meekly. “And you can, ah…”

I trailed off. I wasn’t quite sure how to say, You can threaten me with Oberon’s stupid sword, if it makes you feel better, because throat-cutting is still faster than formae and I’m pretty sure the only way you’ll agree to this is if there’s cold iron touching my neck. It wasn’t the sort of thing you usually had to say to your boss-slash-mentor. This is the sort of trust exercises all those companies should really be doing. Do you trust your boss with seventy years worth of amnesia to not slit your throat with a sabre? Alternatively, after seventy years worth of amnesia do you trust your employee not to fireball you? If you’re both alive after an hour, congratulations, you have a fantastic office environment!

Because I was pretty sure no version of Nightingale knew what trust exercises were, I nodded awkwardly towards the sword instead. Luckily, both he and Oberon got the gist.

Oberon shifted Nicky as he drew the sword, then passed it to Nightingale, hilt first. He looked utterly calm, the bastard. Maybe in the eighteenth century offering someone to possibly chop your head off had been all the rage. Meanwhile I think my crazy idea made Nightingale even more wary of me, and I couldn’t blame him. It wasn’t enough that an unknown black man with a working class accent was claiming to be his apprentice, oh no, he had to turn out to be an idiot as well. Nightingale gripped the sword with frightening ease.

I took a deep breath and bared my neck.

As the cool metal touched my skin, I realised for the first time what so many of the animal protagonists in my children’s books must have gone through. I’m sorry if I ever doubted you, Bigwig. Baring your neck and feeling a claw against it is terrifying.

I cast the most basic, least flashy - let alone explosive - Lux I knew how to.

It was enough.

The werelight reflected oddly in Nightingale’s eyes. The breath he drew in was a sharp hiss, and the swordtip wavered terrifyingly for a moment. I licked my suddenly very dry lips. But he must have had the same thought. The sword withdrew immediately, then clattered down next to the cane.

“Who - who are you?” he said quietly.

“I’m Peter Grant, sir. Your apprentice.”

[hidediddle]

Evil Overlord List

This Evil Overlord List is Copyright 1996-1997 by Peter Anspach. If you enjoy it, feel free to pass it along or post it anywhere. 1. My Legions of Terror will have helmets with clear plexiglass visors, not face-concealing ones. 2. My ventilation ducts will be too small to crawl through. 3. My noble half-brother whose throne I usurped will be killed, not kept anonymously imprisoned in a forgotten cell of my dungeon. 4. Shooting is not too good for my enemies. 5. The artifact which is the source of my power will not be kept on the Mountain of Despair beyond the River of Fire guarded by the Dragons of Eternity. It will be in my safe-deposit box. The same applies to the object which is my one weakness. 6. I will not gloat over my enemies' predicament before killing them. 7. When I've captured my adversary and he says, "Look, before you kill me, will you at least tell me what this is all about?" I'll say, "No." and shoot him. No, on second thought I'll shoot him then say "No." 8. After I kidnap the beautiful princess, we will be married immediately in a quiet civil ceremony, not a lavish spectacle in three weeks' time during which the final phase of my plan will be carried out. 9. I will not include a self-destruct mechanism unless absolutely necessary. If it is necessary, it will not be a large red button labelled "Danger: Do Not Push". The big red button marked "Do Not Push" will instead trigger a spray of bullets on anyone stupid enough to disregard it. Similarly, the ON/OFF switch will not clearly be labelled as such. 10. I will not interrogate my enemies in the inner sanctum -- a small hotel well outside my borders will work just as well. 11. I will be secure in my superiority. Therefore, I will feel no need to prove it by leaving clues in the form of riddles or leaving my weaker enemies alive to show they pose no threat. 12. One of my advisors will be an average five-year-old child. Any flaws in my plan that he is able to spot will be corrected before implementation. 13. All slain enemies will be cremated, or at least have several rounds of ammunition emptied into them, not left for dead at the bottom of the cliff. The announcement of their deaths, as well as any accompanying celebration, will be deferred until after the aforementioned disposal. 14. The hero is not entitled to a last kiss, a last cigarette, or any other form of last request. 15. I will never employ any device with a digital countdown. If I find that such a device is absolutely unavoidable, I will set it to activate when the counter reaches 117 and the hero is just putting his plan into operation. 16. I will never utter the sentence "But before I kill you, there's just one thing I want to know." 17. When I employ people as advisors, I will occasionally listen to their advice. 18. I will not have a son. Although his laughably under-planned attempt to usurp power would easily fail, it would provide a fatal distraction at a crucial point in time. 19. I will not have a daughter. She would be as beautiful as she was evil, but one look at the hero's rugged countenance and she'd betray her own father. 20. Despite its proven stress-relieving effect, I will not indulge in maniacal laughter. When so occupied, it's too easy to miss unexpected developments that a more attentive individual could adjust to accordingly. 21. I will hire a talented fashion designer to create original uniforms for my Legions of Terror, as opposed to some cheap knock-offs that make them look like Nazi stormtroopers, Roman footsoldiers, or savage Mongol hordes. All were eventually defeated and I want my troops to have a more positive mind-set. 22. No matter how tempted I am with the prospect of unlimited power, I will not consume any energy field bigger than my head. 23. I will keep a special cache of low-tech weapons and train my troops in their use. That way -- even if the heroes manage to neutralize my power generator and/or render the standard-issue energy weapons useless -- my troops will not be overrun by a handful of savages armed with spears and rocks. 24. I will maintain a realistic assessment of my strengths and weaknesses. Even though this takes some of the fun out of the job, at least I will never utter the line "No, this cannot be! I AM INVINCIBLE!!!" (After that, death is usually instantaneous.) 25. No matter how well it would perform, I will never construct any sort of machinery which is completely indestructible except for one small and virtually inaccessible vulnerable spot. 26. No matter how attractive certain members of the rebellion are, there is probably someone just as attractive who is not desperate to kill me. Therefore, I will think twice before ordering a prisoner sent to my bedchamber. 27. I will never build only one of anything important. All important systems will have redundant control panels and power supplies. For the same reason I will always carry at least two fully loaded weapons at all times. 28. My pet monster will be kept in a secure cage from which it cannot escape and into which I could not accidentally stumble. 29. I will dress in bright and cheery colors, and so throw my enemies into confusion. 30. All bumbling conjurers, clumsy squires, no-talent bards, and cowardly thieves in the land will be preemptively put to death. My foes will surely give up and abandon their quest if they have no source of comic relief. 31. All naive, busty tavern wenches in my realm will be replaced with surly, world-weary waitresses who will provide no unexpected reinforcement and/or romantic subplot for the hero or his sidekick. 32. I will not fly into a rage and kill a messenger who brings me bad news just to illustrate how evil I really am. Good messengers are hard to come by. 33. I won't require high-ranking female members of my organization to wear a stainless-steel bustier. Morale is better with a more casual dress-code. Similarly, outfits made entirely from black leather will be reserved for formal occasions. 34. I will not turn into a snake. It never helps. 35. I will not grow a goatee. In the old days they made you look diabolic. Now they just make you look like a disaffected member of Generation X. 36. I will not imprison members of the same party in the same cell block, let alone the same cell. If they are important prisoners, I will keep the only key to the cell door on my person instead of handing out copies to every bottom-rung guard in the prison. 37. If my trusted lieutenant tells me my Legions of Terror are losing a battle, I will believe him. After all, he's my trusted lieutenant. 38. If an enemy I have just killed has a younger sibling or offspring anywhere, I will find them and have them killed immediately, instead of waiting for them to grow up harboring feelings of vengeance towards me in my old age. 39. If I absolutely must ride into battle, I will certainly not ride at the forefront of my Legions of Terror, nor will I seek out my opposite number among his army. 40. I will be neither chivalrous nor sporting. If I have an unstoppable superweapon, I will use it as early and as often as possible instead of keeping it in reserve. 41. Once my power is secure, I will destroy all those pesky time-travel devices. 42. When I capture the hero, I will make sure I also get his dog, monkey, ferret, or whatever sickeningly cute little animal capable of untying ropes and filching keys happens to follow him around. 43. I will maintain a healthy amount of skepticism when I capture the beautiful rebel and she claims she is attracted to my power and good looks and will gladly betray her companions if I just let her in on my plans. 44. I will only employ bounty hunters who work for money. Those who work for the pleasure of the hunt tend to do dumb things like even the odds to give the other guy a sporting chance. 45. I will make sure I have a clear understanding of who is responsible for what in my organization. For example, if my general screws up I will not draw my weapon, point it at him, say "And here is the price for failure," then suddenly turn and kill some random underling. 46. If an advisor says to me "My liege, he is but one man. What can one man possibly do?", I will reply "This." and kill the advisor. 47. If I learn that a callow youth has begun a quest to destroy me, I will slay him while he is still a callow youth instead of waiting for him to mature. 48. I will treat any beast which I control through magic or technology with respect and kindness. Thus if the control is ever broken, it will not immediately come after me for revenge. 49. If I learn the whereabouts of the one artifact which can destroy me, I will not send all my troops out to seize it. Instead I will send them out to seize something else and quietly put a Want-Ad in the local paper. 50. My main computers will have their own special operating system that will be completely incompatible with standard IBM and Macintosh powerbooks. 51. If one of my dungeon guards begins expressing concern over the conditions in the beautiful princess' cell, I will immediately transfer him to a less people-oriented position. 52. I will hire a team of board-certified architects and surveyors to examine my castle and inform me of any secret passages and abandoned tunnels that I might not know about. 53. If the beautiful princess that I capture says "I'll never marry you! Never, do you hear me, NEVER!!!", I will say "Oh well" and kill her. 54. I will not strike a bargain with a demonic being then attempt to double-cross it simply because I feel like being contrary. 55. The deformed mutants and odd-ball psychotics will have their place in my Legions of Terror. However before I send them out on important covert missions that require tact and subtlety, I will first see if there is anyone else equally qualified who would attract less attention. 56. My Legions of Terror will be trained in basic marksmanship. Any who cannot learn to hit a man-sized target at 10 meters will be used for target practice. 57. Before employing any captured artifacts or machinery, I will carefully read the owner's manual. 58. If it becomes necessary to escape, I will never stop to pose dramatically and toss off a one-liner. 59. I will never build a sentient computer smarter than I am. 60. My five-year-old child advisor will also be asked to decipher any code I am thinking of using. If he breaks the code in under 30 seconds, it will not be used. Note: this also applies to passwords. 61. If my advisors ask "Why are you risking everything on such a mad scheme?", I will not proceed until I have a response that satisfies them. 62. I will design fortress hallways with no alcoves or protruding structural supports which intruders could use for cover in a firefight. 63. Bulk trash will be disposed of in incinerators, not compactors. And they will be kept hot, with none of that nonsense about flames going through accessible tunnels at predictable intervals. 64. I will see a competent psychiatrist and get cured of all extremely unusual phobias and bizarre compulsive habits which could prove to be a disadvantage. 65. If I must have computer systems with publically available terminals, the maps they display of my complex will have a room clearly marked as the Main Control Room. That room will be the Execution Chamber. The actual main control room will be marked as Sewage Overflow Containment. 66. My security keypad will actually be a fingerprint scanner. Anyone who watches someone press a sequence of buttons or dusts the pad for fingerprints then subsequently tries to enter by repeating that sequence will trigger the alarm system. 67. No matter how many shorts we have in the system, my guards will be instructed to treat every surveillance camera malfunction as a full-scale emergency. 68. I will spare someone who saved my life sometime in the past. This is only reasonable as it encourages others to do so. However, the offer is good one time only. If they want me to spare them again, they'd better save my life again. 69. All midwives will be banned from the realm. All babies will be delivered at state-approved hospitals. Orphans will be placed in foster-homes, not abandoned in the woods to be raised by creatures of the wild. 70. When my guards split up to search for intruders, they will always travel in groups of at least two. They will be trained so that if one of them disappears mysteriously while on patrol, the other will immediately initiate an alert and call for backup, instead of quizzically peering around a corner. 71. If I decide to test a lieutenant's loyalty and see if he/she should be made a trusted lieutenant, I will have a crack squad of marksmen standing by in case the answer is no. 72. If all the heroes are standing together around a strange device and begin to taunt me, I will pull out a conventional weapon instead of using my unstoppable superweapon on them. 73. I will not agree to let the heroes go free if they win a rigged contest, even though my advisors assure me it is impossible for them to win. 74. When I create a multimedia presentation of my plan designed so that my five-year-old advisor can easily understand the details, I will not label the disk "Project Overlord" and leave it lying on top of my desk. 75. I will instruct my Legions of Terror to attack the hero en masse, instead of standing around waiting while members break off and attack one or two at a time. 76. If the hero runs up to my roof, I will not run up after him and struggle with him in an attempt to push him over the edge. I will also not engage him at the edge of a cliff. (In the middle of a rope-bridge over a river of molten lava is not even worth considering.) 77. If I have a fit of temporary insanity and decide to give the hero the chance to reject a job as my trusted lieutentant, I will retain enough sanity to wait until my current trusted lieutenant is out of earshot before making the offer. 78. I will not tell my Legions of Terror "And he must be taken alive!" The command will be "And try to take him alive if it is reasonably practical." 79. If my doomsday device happens to come with a reverse switch, as soon as it has been employed it will be melted down and made into limited-edition commemorative coins. 80. If my weakest troops fail to eliminate a hero, I will send out my best troops instead of wasting time with progressively stronger ones as he gets closer and closer to my fortress. 81. If I am fighting with the hero atop a moving platform, have disarmed him, and am about to finish him off and he glances behind me and drops flat, I too will drop flat instead of quizzically turning around to find out what he saw. 82. I will not shoot at any of my enemies if they are standing in front of the crucial support beam to a heavy, dangerous, unbalanced structure. 83. If I'm eating dinner with the hero, put poison in his goblet, then have to leave the table for any reason, I will order new drinks for both of us instead of trying to decide whether or not to switch with him. 84. I will not have captives of one sex guarded by members of the opposite sex. 85. I will not use any plan in which the final step is horribly complicated, e.g. "Align the 12 Stones of Power on the sacred altar then activate the medallion at the moment of total eclipse." Instead it will be more along the lines of "Push the button." 86. I will make sure that my doomsday device is up to code and properly grounded. 87. My vats of hazardous chemicals will be covered when not in use. Also, I will not construct walkways above them. 88. If a group of henchmen fail miserably at a task, I will not berate them for incompetence then send the same group out to try the task again. 89. After I captures the hero's superweapon, I will not immediately disband my legions and relax my guard because I believe whoever holds the weapon is unstoppable. After all, the hero held the weapon and I took it from him. 90. I will not design my Main Control Room so that every workstation is facing away from the door. 91. I will not ignore the messenger that stumbles in exhausted and obviously agitated until my personal grooming or current entertainment is finished. It might actually be important. 92. If I ever talk to the hero on the phone, I will not taunt him. Instead I will say this his dogged perseverance has given me new insight on the futility of my evil ways and that if he leaves me alone for a few months of quiet contemplation I will likely return to the path of righteousness. (Heroes are incredibly gullible in this regard.) 93. If I decide to hold a double execution of the hero and an underling who failed or betrayed me, I will see to it that the hero is scheduled to go first. 94. When arresting prisoners, my guards will not allow them to stop and grab a useless trinket of purely sentimental value. 95. My dungeon will have its own qualified medical staff complete with bodyguards. That way if a prisoner becomes sick and his cellmate tells the guard it's an emergency, the guard will fetch a trauma team instead of opening up the cell for a look. 96. My door mechanisms will be designed so that blasting the control panel on the outside seals the door and blasting the control panel on the inside opens the door, not vice versa. 97. My dungeon cells will not be furnished with objects that contain reflective surfaces or anything that can be unravelled. 98. If an attractive young couple enters my realm, I will carefully monitor their activities. If I find they are happy and affectionate, I will ignore them. However if circumstance have forced them together against their will and they spend all their time bickering and criticizing each other except during the intermittent occasions when they are saving each others' lives at which point there are hints of sexual tension, I will immediately order their execution. 99. Any data file of crucial importance will be padded to 1.45Mb in size. 100. Finally, to keep my subjects permanently locked in a mindless trance, I will provide each of them with free unlimited Internet access.

[low-orbit-salt-cannon]

Evil Overlord Rules

Credit goes to http://www.eviloverlord.com/lists/overlord.html

My Legions of Terror will have helmets with clear plexiglass visors, not face-concealing ones.

My ventilation ducts will be too small to crawl through.

My noble half-brother whose throne I usurped will be killed, not kept anonymously imprisoned in a forgotten cell of my dungeon.

Shooting is not too good for my enemies.

The artifact which is the source of my power will not be kept on the Mountain of Despair beyond the River of Fire guarded by the Dragons of Eternity. It will be in my safe-deposit box. The same applies to the object which is my one weakness.

I will not gloat over my enemies' predicament before killing them.

When I've captured my adversary and he says, "Look, before you kill me, will you at least tell me what this is all about?" I'll say, "No." and shoot him. No, on second thought I'll shoot him then say "No."

After I kidnap the beautiful princess, we will be married immediately in a quiet civil ceremony, not a lavish spectacle in three weeks' time during which the final phase of my plan will be carried out.

I will not include a self-destruct mechanism unless absolutely necessary. If it is necessary, it will not be a large red button labelled "Danger: Do Not Push". The big red button marked "Do Not Push" will instead trigger a spray of bullets on anyone stupid enough to disregard it. Similarly, the ON/OFF switch will not clearly be labelled as such.

I will not interrogate my enemies in the inner sanctum -- a small hotel well outside my borders will work just as well.

I will be secure in my superiority. Therefore, I will feel no need to prove it by leaving clues in the form of riddles or leaving my weaker enemies alive to show they pose no threat.

One of my advisors will be an average five-year-old child. Any flaws in my plan that he is able to spot will be corrected before implementation.

All slain enemies will be cremated, or at least have several rounds of ammunition emptied into them, not left for dead at the bottom of the cliff. The announcement of their deaths, as well as any accompanying celebration, will be deferred until after the aforementioned disposal.

The hero is not entitled to a last kiss, a last cigarette, or any other form of last request.

I will never employ any device with a digital countdown. If I find that such a device is absolutely unavoidable, I will set it to activate when the counter reaches 117 and the hero is just putting his plan into operation.

I will never utter the sentence "But before I kill you, there's just one thing I want to know."

When I employ people as advisors, I will occasionally listen to their advice.

I will not have a son. Although his laughably under-planned attempt to usurp power would easily fail, it would provide a fatal distraction at a crucial point in time.

I will not have a daughter. She would be as beautiful as she was evil, but one look at the hero's rugged countenance and she'd betray her own father.

Despite its proven stress-relieving effect, I will not indulge in maniacal laughter. When so occupied, it's too easy to miss unexpected developments that a more attentive individual could adjust to accordingly.

I will hire a talented fashion designer to create original uniforms for my Legions of Terror, as opposed to some cheap knock-offs that make them look like Nazi stormtroopers, Roman footsoldiers, or savage Mongol hordes. All were eventually defeated and I want my troops to have a more positive mind-set.

No matter how tempted I am with the prospect of unlimited power, I will not consume any energy field bigger than my head.

I will keep a special cache of low-tech weapons and train my troops in their use. That way -- even if the heroes manage to neutralize my power generator and/or render the standard-issue energy weapons useless -- my troops will not be overrun by a handful of savages armed with spears and rocks.

I will maintain a realistic assessment of my strengths and weaknesses. Even though this takes some of the fun out of the job, at least I will never utter the line "No, this cannot be! I AM INVINCIBLE!!!" (After that, death is usually instantaneous.)

No matter how well it would perform, I will never construct any sort of machinery which is completely indestructible except for one small and virtually inaccessible vulnerable spot.

No matter how attractive certain members of the rebellion are, there is probably someone just as attractive who is not desperate to kill me. Therefore, I will think twice before ordering a prisoner sent to my bedchamber.

I will never build only one of anything important. All important systems will have redundant control panels and power supplies. For the same reason I will always carry at least two fully loaded weapons at all times.

My pet monster will be kept in a secure cage from which it cannot escape and into which I could not accidentally stumble.

I will dress in bright and cheery colors, and so throw my enemies into confusion.

All bumbling conjurers, clumsy squires, no-talent bards, and cowardly thieves in the land will be preemptively put to death. My foes will surely give up and abandon their quest if they have no source of comic relief.

All naive, busty tavern wenches in my realm will be replaced with surly, world-weary waitresses who will provide no unexpected reinforcement and/or romantic subplot for the hero or his sidekick.

I will not fly into a rage and kill a messenger who brings me bad news just to illustrate how evil I really am. Good messengers are hard to come by.

I won't require high-ranking female members of my organization to wear a stainless-steel bustier. Morale is better with a more casual dress-code. Similarly, outfits made entirely from black leather will be reserved for formal occasions.

I will not turn into a snake. It never helps.

I will not grow a goatee. In the old days they made you look diabolic. Now they just make you look like a disaffected member of Generation X.

I will not imprison members of the same party in the same cell block, let alone the same cell. If they are important prisoners, I will keep the only key to the cell door on my person instead of handing out copies to every bottom-rung guard in the prison.

If my trusted lieutenant tells me my Legions of Terror are losing a battle, I will believe him. After all, he's my trusted lieutenant.

If an enemy I have just killed has a younger sibling or offspring anywhere, I will find them and have them killed immediately, instead of waiting for them to grow up harboring feelings of vengeance towards me in my old age.

If I absolutely must ride into battle, I will certainly not ride at the forefront of my Legions of Terror, nor will I seek out my opposite number among his army.

I will be neither chivalrous nor sporting. If I have an unstoppable superweapon, I will use it as early and as often as possible instead of keeping it in reserve.

Once my power is secure, I will destroy all those pesky time-travel devices.

When I capture the hero, I will make sure I also get his dog, monkey, ferret, or whatever sickeningly cute little animal capable of untying ropes and filching keys happens to follow him around.

I will maintain a healthy amount of skepticism when I capture the beautiful rebel and she claims she is attracted to my power and good looks and will gladly betray her companions if I just let her in on my plans.

I will only employ bounty hunters who work for money. Those who work for the pleasure of the hunt tend to do dumb things like even the odds to give the other guy a sporting chance.

I will make sure I have a clear understanding of who is responsible for what in my organization. For example, if my general screws up I will not draw my weapon, point it at him, say "And here is the price for failure," then suddenly turn and kill some random underling.

If an advisor says to me "My liege, he is but one man. What can one man possibly do?", I will reply "This." and kill the advisor.

If I learn that a callow youth has begun a quest to destroy me, I will slay him while he is still a callow youth instead of waiting for him to mature.

I will treat any beast which I control through magic or technology with respect and kindness. Thus if the control is ever broken, it will not immediately come after me for revenge.

If I learn the whereabouts of the one artifact which can destroy me, I will not send all my troops out to seize it. Instead I will send them out to seize something else and quietly put a Want-Ad in the local paper.

My main computers will have their own special operating system that will be completely incompatible with standard IBM and Macintosh powerbooks.

If one of my dungeon guards begins expressing concern over the conditions in the beautiful princess' cell, I will immediately transfer him to a less people-oriented position.

I will hire a team of board-certified architects and surveyors to examine my castle and inform me of any secret passages and abandoned tunnels that I might not know about.

If the beautiful princess that I capture says "I'll never marry you! Never, do you hear me, NEVER!!!", I will say "Oh well" and kill her.

I will not strike a bargain with a demonic being then attempt to double-cross it simply because I feel like being contrary.

The deformed mutants and odd-ball psychotics will have their place in my Legions of Terror. However before I send them out on important covert missions that require tact and subtlety, I will first see if there is anyone else equally qualified who would attract less attention.

My Legions of Terror will be trained in basic marksmanship. Any who cannot learn to hit a man-sized target at 10 meters will be used for target practice.

Before employing any captured artifacts or machinery, I will carefully read the owner's manual.

If it becomes necessary to escape, I will never stop to pose dramatically and toss off a one-liner.

I will never build a sentient computer smarter than I am.

My five-year-old child advisor will also be asked to decipher any code I am thinking of using. If he breaks the code in under 30 seconds, it will not be used. Note: this also applies to passwords.

If my advisors ask "Why are you risking everything on such a mad scheme?", I will not proceed until I have a response that satisfies them.

I will design fortress hallways with no alcoves or protruding structural supports which intruders could use for cover in a firefight.

Bulk trash will be disposed of in incinerators, not compactors. And they will be kept hot, with none of that nonsense about flames going through accessible tunnels at predictable intervals.

I will see a competent psychiatrist and get cured of all extremely unusual phobias and bizarre compulsive habits which could prove to be a disadvantage.

If I must have computer systems with publically available terminals, the maps they display of my complex will have a room clearly marked as the Main Control Room. That room will be the Execution Chamber. The actual main control room will be marked as Sewage Overflow Containment.

My security keypad will actually be a fingerprint scanner. Anyone who watches someone press a sequence of buttons or dusts the pad for fingerprints then subsequently tries to enter by repeating that sequence will trigger the alarm system.

No matter how many shorts we have in the system, my guards will be instructed to treat every surveillance camera malfunction as a full-scale emergency.

I will spare someone who saved my life sometime in the past. This is only reasonable as it encourages others to do so. However, the offer is good one time only. If they want me to spare them again, they'd better save my life again.

All midwives will be banned from the realm. All babies will be delivered at state-approved hospitals. Orphans will be placed in foster-homes, not abandoned in the woods to be raised by creatures of the wild.

When my guards split up to search for intruders, they will always travel in groups of at least two. They will be trained so that if one of them disappears mysteriously while on patrol, the other will immediately initiate an alert and call for backup, instead of quizzically peering around a corner.

If I decide to test a lieutenant's loyalty and see if he/she should be made a trusted lieutenant, I will have a crack squad of marksmen standing by in case the answer is no.

If all the heroes are standing together around a strange device and begin to taunt me, I will pull out a conventional weapon instead of using my unstoppable superweapon on them.

I will not agree to let the heroes go free if they win a rigged contest, even though my advisors assure me it is impossible for them to win.

When I create a multimedia presentation of my plan designed so that my five-year-old advisor can easily understand the details, I will not label the disk "Project Overlord" and leave it lying on top of my desk.

I will instruct my Legions of Terror to attack the hero en masse, instead of standing around waiting while members break off and attack one or two at a time.

If the hero runs up to my roof, I will not run up after him and struggle with him in an attempt to push him over the edge. I will also not engage him at the edge of a cliff. (In the middle of a rope-bridge over a river of molten lava is not even worth considering.)

If I have a fit of temporary insanity and decide to give the hero the chance to reject a job as my trusted lieutentant, I will retain enough sanity to wait until my current trusted lieutenant is out of earshot before making the offer.

I will not tell my Legions of Terror "And he must be taken alive!" The command will be "And try to take him alive if it is reasonably practical."

If my doomsday device happens to come with a reverse switch, as soon as it has been employed it will be melted down and made into limited-edition commemorative coins.

If my weakest troops fail to eliminate a hero, I will send out my best troops instead of wasting time with progressively stronger ones as he gets closer and closer to my fortress.

If I am fighting with the hero atop a moving platform, have disarmed him, and am about to finish him off and he glances behind me and drops flat, I too will drop flat instead of quizzically turning around to find out what he saw.

I will not shoot at any of my enemies if they are standing in front of the crucial support beam to a heavy, dangerous, unbalanced structure.

If I'm eating dinner with the hero, put poison in his goblet, then have to leave the table for any reason, I will order new drinks for both of us instead of trying to decide whether or not to switch with him.

I will not have captives of one sex guarded by members of the opposite sex.

I will not use any plan in which the final step is horribly complicated, e.g. "Align the 12 Stones of Power on the sacred altar then activate the medallion at the moment of total eclipse." Instead it will be more along the lines of "Push the button."

I will make sure that my doomsday device is up to code and properly grounded.

My vats of hazardous chemicals will be covered when not in use. Also, I will not construct walkways above them.

If a group of henchmen fail miserably at a task, I will not berate them for incompetence then send the same group out to try the task again.

After I captures the hero's superweapon, I will not immediately disband my legions and relax my guard because I believe whoever holds the weapon is unstoppable. After all, the hero held the weapon and I took it from him.

I will not design my Main Control Room so that every workstation is facing away from the door.

I will not ignore the messenger that stumbles in exhausted and obviously agitated until my personal grooming or current entertainment is finished. It might actually be important.

If I ever talk to the hero on the phone, I will not taunt him. Instead I will say this his dogged perseverance has given me new insight on the futility of my evil ways and that if he leaves me alone for a few months of quiet contemplation I will likely return to the path of righteousness. (Heroes are incredibly gullible in this regard.)

If I decide to hold a double execution of the hero and an underling who failed or betrayed me, I will see to it that the hero is scheduled to go first.

When arresting prisoners, my guards will not allow them to stop and grab a useless trinket of purely sentimental value.

My dungeon will have its own qualified medical staff complete with bodyguards. That way if a prisoner becomes sick and his cellmate tells the guard it's an emergency, the guard will fetch a trauma team instead of opening up the cell for a look.

My door mechanisms will be designed so that blasting the control panel on the outside seals the door and blasting the control panel on the inside opens the door, not vice versa.

My dungeon cells will not be furnished with objects that contain reflective surfaces or anything that can be unravelled.

If an attractive young couple enters my realm, I will carefully monitor their activities. If I find they are happy and affectionate, I will ignore them. However if circumstance have forced them together against their will and they spend all their time bickering and criticizing each other except during the intermittent occasions when they are saving each others' lives at which point there are hints of sexual tension, I will immediately order their execution.

Any data file of crucial importance will be padded to 1.45Mb in size.

Finally, to keep my subjects permanently locked in a mindless trance, I will provide each of them with free unlimited Internet access.

I will not order my trusted lieutenant to kill the infant who is destined to overthrow me -- I'll do it myself.

I will not waste time making my enemy's death look like an accident -- I'm not accountable to anyone and my other enemies wouldn't believe it.

I will make it clear that I do know the meaning of the word "mercy"; I simply choose not show them any.

My undercover agents will not have tattoos identifying them as members of my organization, nor will they be required to wear military boots or adhere to any other dress codes.

I will design all doomsday machines myself. If I must hire a mad scientist to assist me, I will make sure that he is sufficiently twisted to never regret his evil ways and seek to undo the damage he's caused.

If my supreme command center comes under attack, I will immediately flee to safety in my prepared escape pod and direct the defenses from there. I will not wait until the troops break into my inner sanctum to attempt this.

Even though I don't really care because I plan on living forever, I will hire engineers who are able to build me a fortress sturdy enough that, if I am slain, it won't tumble to the ground for no good structural reason.

Any and all magic and/or technology that can miraculously resurrect a secondary character who has given up his/her life through self sacrifice will be outlawed and destroyed.

I will see to it that plucky young lads/lasses in strange clothes and with the accent of an outlander shall REGULARLY climb some monument in the main square of my capital and denounce me, claim to know the secret of my power, rally the masses to rebellion, etc. That way, the citizens will be jaded in case the real thing ever comes along.

I will not employ devious schemes that involve the hero's party getting into my inner sanctum before the trap is sprung.

I will offer oracles the choice of working exclusively for me or being executed.

I will not rely entirely upon "totally reliable" spells that can be neutralized by relatively inconspicuous talismans.

I will make the main entrance to my fortress standard-sized. While elaborate 60-foot high double-doors definitely impress the masses, they are hard to close quickly in an emergency.

I will never accept a challenge from the hero.

I will not engage an enemy single-handedly until all my soldiers are dead.

If I capture the hero's starship, I will keep it in the landing bay with the ramp down, only a few token guards on duty and a ton of explosives set to go off as soon as it clears the blast-range.

No matter how much I want revenge, I will never order an underling "Leave him. He's mine!"

If I have equipment which performs an important function, it will not be activated by a lever that someone could trigger by accidentally falling on when fatally wounded.

I will not attempt to kill the hero by placing a venomous creature in his room. It will just wind up accidentally killing one of my clumsy henchmen instead.

Since nothing is more irritating than a hero defeating you with basic math skills, all of my personal weapons will be modified to fire one more shot than the standard issue.

If I come into possession of an artifact which can only be used by the pure of heart, I will not attempt to use it regardless.

The gun turrets on my fortress will not rotate enough so that they may direct fire inward or at each other.

If I decide to hold a contest of skill open to the general public, contestants will be required to remove their hooded cloaks and shave their beards before entering.

Prior to kidnapping an older male scientist and forcing him to work for me, I will investigate his offspring and make sure that he has neither a beautiful but naive daughter who is willing to risk anything to get him back, nor an estranged son who works in the same field but had a falling-out with his father many years ago.

Should I actually decide to kill the hero in an elaborate escape-proof deathtrap room (water filling up, sand pouring down, walls converging, etc.) I will not leave him alone five-to-ten minutes prior to "imminent" death, but will instead (finding a vantage point or monitoring camera) stick around and enjoy watching my adversary's demise.

Rather than having only one secret escape pod, which the hero can easily spot and follow, I'll simultaneously launch a few dozen decoys to throw him off track.

Prison guards will have their own cantina featuring a wide variety of tasty treats that will deliver snacks to the guards while on duty. The guards will also be informed that accepting food or drink from any other source will result in execution.

I will not employ robots as agents of destruction if there is any possible way that they can be re-programmed or if their battery packs are externally mounted and easily removable.

Despite the delicious irony, I will not force two heroes to fight each other in the arena.

All members of my Legions of Terror will have professionally tailored uniforms. If the hero knocks a soldier unconscious and steals the uniform, the poor fit will give him away.

I will never place the key to a cell just out of a prisoner's reach.

Before appointing someone as my trusted lieutenant, I will conduct a thorough background investigation and security clearance.

If I find my beautiful consort with access to my fortress has been associating with the hero, I'll have her executed. It's regrettable, but new consorts are easier to get than new fortresses and maybe the next one will pay attention at the orientation meeting.

If I am escaping in a large truck and the hero is pursuing me in a small Italian sports car, I will not wait for the hero to pull up along side of me and try to force him off the road as he attempts to climb aboard. Instead I will slam on the brakes when he's directly behind me. (A rudimentary knowledge of physics can prove quite useful.)

My doomsday machine will have a highly-advanced technological device called a capacitor in case someone inconveniently pulls the plug at the last second. (If I have access to REALLY advanced technology, I will include a back-up device known as a battery.)

If I build a bomb, I will simply remember which wire to cut if it has to be deactivated and make every wire red.

Before spending available funds on giant gargoyles, gothic arches, or other cosmetically intimidating pieces of architecture, I will see if there are any valid military expenditures that could use the extra budget.

The passageways to and within my domain will be well-lit with fluorescent lighting. Regrettably, the spooky atmosphere will be lost, but my security patrols will be more effective.

If I'm sitting in my camp, hear a twig snap, start to investigate, then encounter a small woodland creature, I will send out some scouts anyway just to be on the safe side. (If they disappear into the foliage, I will not send out another patrol; I will break out the napalm.)

I will instruct my guards when checking a cell that appears empty to look for the chamber pot. If the chamber pot is still there, then the prisoner has escaped and they may enter and search for clues. If the chamber pot is not there, then either the prisoner is perched above the lintel waiting to strike them with it or else he decided to take it as a souvenir (in which case he is obviously deeply disturbed and poses no threat). Either way, there's no point in entering.

As an alternative to not having children, I will have lots of children. My sons will be too busy jockeying for position to ever be a real threat, and the daughters will all sabotage each other's attempts to win the hero.

If I have children and subsequently grandchildren, I will keep my three-year-old granddaughter near me at all times. When the hero enters to kill me, I will ask him to first explain to her why it is necessary to kill her beloved grandpa. When the hero launches into an explanation of morality way over her head, that will be her cue to pull the lever and send him into the pit of crocodiles. After all, small children like crocodiles almost as much as Evil Overlords and it's important to spend quality time with the grandkids.

If one of my daughters actually manages to win the hero and openly defies me, I will congratulate her on her choice, declare a national holiday to celebrate the wedding, and proclaim the hero my heir. This will probably be enough to break up the relationship. If not, at least I am assured that no hero will attack my Legions of Terror when they are holding a parade in his honor.

I will order my guards to stand in a line when they shoot at the hero so he cannot duck and have them accidentally shoot each other. Also, I will order some to aim above, below, and to the sides so he cannot jump out of the way.

My dungeon cell decor will not feature exposed pipes. While they add to the gloomy atmosphere, they are good conductors of vibrations and a lot of prisoners know Morse code.

If my surveillance reports any un-manned or seemingly innocent ships found where they are not supposed to be, they will be immediately vaporized instead of brought in for salvage.

I will classify my lieutenants in three categories: untrusted, trusted, and completely trusted. Promotion to the third category will be awarded posthumously.

Before ridiculing my enemies for wasting time on a device to stop me that couldn't possibly work, I will first acquire a copy of the schematics and make sure that in fact it couldn't possibly work.

Ropes supporting various fixtures will not be tied next to open windows or staircases, and chandeliers will be hung way at the top of the ceiling.

I will provide funding and research to develop tactical and strategic weapons covering a full range of needs so my choices are not limited to "hand to hand combat with swords" and "blow up the planet".

I will not set myself up as a god. That perilous position is reserved for my trusted lieutenant.

I will instruct my fashion designer that when it comes to accessorizing, second-chance body armor goes well with every outfit.

My Legions of Terror will be an equal-opportunity employer. Conversely, when it is prophesied that no man can defeat me, I will keep in mind the increasing number of non-traditional gender roles.

I will instruct my Legions of Terror in proper search techniques. In particular, if they are searching for escapees and someone shouts, "Quick! They went that way!", they must first ascertain the identity of this helpful informant before dashing off in hot pursuit.

If I know of any heroes in the land, I will not under any circumstance kill their mentors, teachers, and/or best friends.

If I have the hero and his party trapped, I will not wait until my Superweapon charges to finish them off if more conventional means are available.

Whenever plans are drawn up that include a time-table, I'll post-date the completion 3 days after it's actually scheduled to occur and not worry too much if they get stolen.

I will exchange the labels on my folder of top-secret plans and my folder of family recipes. Imagine the hero's surprise when he decodes the stolen plans and finds instructions for Grandma's Potato Salad.

If I burst into rebel headquarters and find it deserted except for an odd, blinking device, I will not walk up and investigate; I'll run like hell.

Before being accepted into my Legions of Terror, potential recruits will have to pass peripheral vision and hearing tests, and be able to recognize the sound of a pebble thrown to distract them.

I will occasionally vary my daily routine and not live my life in a rut. For example, I will not always take a swig of wine or ring a giant gong before finishing off my enemy.

If I steal something very important to the hero, I will not put it on public display.

When planning an expedition, I will choose a route for my forces that does not go through thick, leafy terrain conveniently located near the rebel camp.

I will hire one hopelessly stupid and incompetent lieutenant, but make sure that he is full of misinformation when I send him to capture the hero.

As an equal-opportunity employer, I will have several hearing-impaired body-guards. That way if I wish to speak confidentially with someone, I'll just turn my back so the guards can't read my lips instead of sending all of them out of the room.

If the rebels manage to trick me, I will make a note of what they did so that I do not keep falling for the same trick over and over again.

If I am recruiting to find someone to run my computer systems, and my choice is between the brilliant programmer who's head of the world's largest international technology conglomerate and an obnoxious 15-year-old dork who's trying to impress his dream girl, I'll take the brat and let the hero get stuck with the genius.

I will plan in advance what to do with each of my enemies if they are captured. That way, I will never have to order someone to be tied up while I decide his fate.

If I have massive computer systems, I will take at least as many precautions as a small business and include things such as virus-scans and firewalls.

I will be an equal-opportunity despot and make sure that terror and oppression is distributed fairly, not just against one particular group that will form the core of a rebellion.

I will not locate a base in a volcano, cave, or any other location where it would be ridiculously easy to bypass security by rapelling down from above.

I will allow guards to operate under a flexible work schedule. That way if one is feeling sleepy, he can call for a replacement, punch out, take a nap, and come back refreshed and alert to finish out his shift.

Although it would provide amusement, I will not confess to the hero's rival that I was the one who committed the heinous act for which he blames the hero.

If I am dangling over a precipice and the hero reaches his hand down to me, I will not attempt to pull him down with me. I will allow him to rescue me, thank him properly, then return to the safety of my fortress and order his execution.

I will have my fortress exorcized regularly. Although ghosts in the dungeon provide an appropriate atmosphere, they tend to provide valuable information once placated.

I will add indelible dye to the moat. It won't stop anyone from swimming across, but even dim-witted guards should be able to figure out when someone has entered in this fashion.

If a scientist with a beautiful and unmarried daughter refuses to work for me, I will not hold her hostage. Instead, I will offer to pay for her future wedding and her children's college tuition.

If I have the hero cornered and am about to finish him off and he says "Look out behind you!!" I will not laugh and say "You don't expect me to fall for that old trick, do you?" Instead I will take a step to the side and half turn. That way I can still keep my weapon trained on the hero, I can scan the area behind me, and if anything was heading for me it will now be heading for him.

I will not outsource core functions.

If I ever build a device to transfer the hero's energy into me, I will make sure it cannot operate in reverse.

I will decree that all hay be shipped in tightly-packed bales. Any wagonload of loose hay attempting to pass through a checkpoint will be set on fire.

I will not hold any sort of public celebration within my castle walls. Any event open to members of the public will be held down the road in the festival pavilion.

Before using any device which transfers energy directly into my body, I will install a surge suppressor.

I will hire a drama coach. The hero will think it must be a case of mistaken identity when confronted by my Minnesota accent (if everyone sounds American) or my Cornwall accent (if everyone sounds British).

If I capture an enemy known for escaping via ingenious and fantastic little gadgets, I will order a full cavity search and confiscate all personal items before throwing him in my dungeon.

I will not devise any scheme in which Part A consists of tricking the hero into unwittingly helping me and Part B consists of laughing at him then leaving him to his own devices.

I will not hold lavish banquets in the middle of a famine. The good PR among the guests doesn't make up for the bad PR among the masses.

I will funnel some of my ill-gotten gains into urban renewal projects. Although slums add a quaint and picturesque quality to any city, they too often contain unexpected allies for heroes.

I will never tell the hero "Yes I was the one who did it, but you'll never be able to prove it to that incompetent old fool." Chances are, that incompetant old fool is standing behind the curtain.

If my mad scientist/wizard tells me he has almost perfected my Superweapon but it still needs more testing, I will wait for him to complete the tests. No one ever conquered the world using a beta version.

I will not appoint a relative to my staff of advisors. Not only is nepotism the cause of most breakdowns in policy, but it also causes trouble with the EEOC.

If I appoint someone as my consort, I will not subsequently inform her that she is being replaced by a younger, more attractive woman.

If I am using the hero's girlfriend as a hostage and am holding her at the point of imminent death when confronting the hero, I will focus on her and not him. He won't try anything with his true love held hostage. On the other hand, the fact that she has been weak, slow-witted, naive and generally useless up to this point has no bearing on her actions at the moment of dramatic climax.

I will make several ludicrously erroneous maps to secret passages in my fortress and hire travellers to entrust them to aged hermits.

I will not use hostages as bait in a trap. Unless you're going to use them for negotiation or as human shields, there's no point in taking them.

I will hire an expert marksman to stand by the entrance to my fortress. His job will be to shoot anyone who rides up to challenge me.

I will explain to my Legions of Terror that guns are ranged weapons and swords are not. Anyone who attempts to throw a sword at the hero or club him with a gun will be summarily executed.

I will remember that any vulnerabilities I have are to be revealed strictly on a need-to-know basis. I will also remember that no one needs to know.

I will not make alliances with those more powerful than myself. Such a person would only double-cross me in my moment of glory. I will make alliances with those less powerful than myself. I will then double-cross them in their moment of glory.

During times of peace, my Legions of Terror will not be permitted to lie around drinking mead and eating roast boar. Instead they will be required to obey my dietician and my aerobics instructor. 

All giant serpents acting as guardians in underground lakes will be fitted with sports goggles to prevent eye injuries.

All crones with the ability to prophesy will be given free facelifts, permanents, manicures, and Donna Karan wardrobes. That should pretty well destroy their credibility.

I will not employ an evil wizard if he has a sleazy mustache.

I will hire an entire squad of blind guards. Not only is this in keeping with my status as an equal opportunity employer, but it will come in handy when the hero becomes invisible or douses my only light source.

All repair work will be done by an in-house maintenance staff. Any alleged "repairmen" who show up at the fortress will be escorted to the dungeon.

When my Legions of Terror park their vehicle to do reconnaissance on foot, they will be instructed to employ The Club.

Employees will have conjugal visit trailers which they may use provided they call in a replacement and sign out on the timesheet. Given this, anyone caught making out in a closet while leaving their station unmonitored will be shot.

Members of my Legion of Terror will attend seminars on Sensitivity Training. It's good public relations for them to be kind and courteous to the general population when not actively engaged in sowing chaos and destruction.

I will not, under any circumstances, marry a woman I know to be a faithless, conniving, back-stabbing witch simply because I am absolutely desperate to perpetuate my family line. Of course, we can still date.

All guest-quarters will be bugged and monitored so that I can keep track of what the visitors I have for some reason allowed to roam about my fortress are actually plotting.

If my chief engineer displeases me, he will be shot, not imprisoned in the dungeon or beyond the traps he helped design.

I will not send out battalions composed wholly of robots or skeletons against heroes who have qualms about killing living beings.

I will not wear long, heavy cloaks. While they certainly make a bold fashion statement, they have an annoying tendency to get caught in doors or tripped over during an escape.

If a malignant being demands a sacrificial victim have a particular quality, I will check to make sure said victim has this quality immediately before the sacrifice and not rely on earlier results. (Especially if the quality is virginity and the victim is the hero's girlfriend.)

If I ever MUST put a digital timer on my doomsday device, I will buy one free from quantum mechanical anomalies. So many brands on the market keep perfectly good time while you're looking at them, but whenever you turn away for a couple minutes then turn back, you find that the countdown has progressed by only a few seconds.

If my Legions of Terror are defeated in a battle, I will quietly withdraw and regroup instead of launching a haphazard mission to assassinate the hero.

If I'm wearing the key to the hero's shackles around my neck and his former girlfriend now volunteers to become my mistress and we are all alone in my bedchamber on my bed and she offers me a goblet of wine, I will politely decline the offer.

I will not pick up a glowing ancient artifact and shout "Its power is now mine!!!" Instead I will grab some tongs, transfer it to a hazardous materials container, and transport it back to my lab for study.

I will be selective in the hiring of assassins. Anyone who attempts to strike down the hero the first instant his back is turned will not even be considered for the job.

Whatever my one vulnerability is, I will fake a different one. For example, ordering all mirrors removed from the palace, screaming and flinching whenever someone accidentally holds up a mirror, etc. In the climax when the hero whips out a mirror and thrusts it at my face, my reaction will be "Hmm...I think I need a shave."

My force-field generators will be located inside the shield they generate.

I reserve the right to execute any henchmen who appear to be a little too intelligent, powerful, or devious. However if I do so, I will not at some subsequent point shout "Why am I surrounded by these incompetent fools?!"

I will install a fire extinguisher in every room -- three, if the room contains vital equipment or volatile chemicals.

I will build machines which simply fail when overloaded, rather than wipe out all nearby henchmen in an explosion or worse yet set off a chain reaction. I will do this by using devices known as "surge protectors".

I will explain to my guards that most people have their eyes in the front of their heads and thus while searching for someone it makes little sense to draw a weapon and slowly back down the hallway.

I will have a staff of competent detectives handy. If I learn that someone in a certain village is plotting against me, I will have them find out who rather than wipe out the entire village in a preemptive strike.

I will never bait a trap with genuine bait.

If the hero claims he wishes to confess in public or to me personally, I will remind him that a notarized deposition will serve just as well.

If I have several diabolical schemes to destroy the hero, I will set all of them in motion at once rather than wait for them to fail and launch them successively.

I will not procrastinate regarding any ritual granting immortality.

Mythical guardians will be instructed to ask visitors name, purpose of visit, and whether they have an appointment instead of ancient riddles.

[pixyrevenge]

Internet Throwback #1

One of my favorite things from the early days of the internet is the evil overlord list, and honestly it still really holds up. It’s a simple page made in 1996 and expanded in 1997. 

First 100 under the cut

The Top 100 Things I'd Do

If I Ever Became An Evil Overlord

My Legions of Terror will have helmets with clear plexiglass visors, not face-concealing ones.

My ventilation ducts will be too small to crawl through.

My noble half-brother whose throne I usurped will be killed, not kept anonymously imprisoned in a forgotten cell of my dungeon.

Shooting is not too good for my enemies.

The artifact which is the source of my power will not be kept on the Mountain of Despair beyond the River of Fire guarded by the Dragons of Eternity. It will be in my safe-deposit box. The same applies to the object which is my one weakness.

I will not gloat over my enemies' predicament before killing them.

When I've captured my adversary and he says, "Look, before you kill me, will you at least tell me what this is all about?" I'll say, "No." and shoot him. No, on second thought I'll shoot him then say "No."

After I kidnap the beautiful princess, we will be married immediately in a quiet civil ceremony, not a lavish spectacle in three weeks' time during which the final phase of my plan will be carried out.

I will not include a self-destruct mechanism unless absolutely necessary. If it is necessary, it will not be a large red button labelled "Danger: Do Not Push". The big red button marked "Do Not Push" will instead trigger a spray of bullets on anyone stupid enough to disregard it. Similarly, the ON/OFF switch will not clearly be labelled as such.

I will not interrogate my enemies in the inner sanctum -- a small hotel well outside my borders will work just as well.

I will be secure in my superiority. Therefore, I will feel no need to prove it by leaving clues in the form of riddles or leaving my weaker enemies alive to show they pose no threat.

One of my advisors will be an average five-year-old child. Any flaws in my plan that he is able to spot will be corrected before implementation.

All slain enemies will be cremated, or at least have several rounds of ammunition emptied into them, not left for dead at the bottom of the cliff. The announcement of their deaths, as well as any accompanying celebration, will be deferred until after the aforementioned disposal.

The hero is not entitled to a last kiss, a last cigarette, or any other form of last request.

I will never employ any device with a digital countdown. If I find that such a device is absolutely unavoidable, I will set it to activate when the counter reaches 117 and the hero is just putting his plan into operation.

I will never utter the sentence "But before I kill you, there's just one thing I want to know."

When I employ people as advisors, I will occasionally listen to their advice.

I will not have a son. Although his laughably under-planned attempt to usurp power would easily fail, it would provide a fatal distraction at a crucial point in time.

I will not have a daughter. She would be as beautiful as she was evil, but one look at the hero's rugged countenance and she'd betray her own father.

Despite its proven stress-relieving effect, I will not indulge in maniacal laughter. When so occupied, it's too easy to miss unexpected developments that a more attentive individual could adjust to accordingly.

I will hire a talented fashion designer to create original uniforms for my Legions of Terror, as opposed to some cheap knock-offs that make them look like Nazi stormtroopers, Roman footsoldiers, or savage Mongol hordes. All were eventually defeated and I want my troops to have a more positive mind-set.

No matter how tempted I am with the prospect of unlimited power, I will not consume any energy field bigger than my head.

I will keep a special cache of low-tech weapons and train my troops in their use. That way -- even if the heroes manage to neutralize my power generator and/or render the standard-issue energy weapons useless -- my troops will not be overrun by a handful of savages armed with spears and rocks.

I will maintain a realistic assessment of my strengths and weaknesses. Even though this takes some of the fun out of the job, at least I will never utter the line "No, this cannot be! I AM INVINCIBLE!!!" (After that, death is usually instantaneous.)

No matter how well it would perform, I will never construct any sort of machinery which is completely indestructible except for one small and virtually inaccessible vulnerable spot.

No matter how attractive certain members of the rebellion are, there is probably someone just as attractive who is not desperate to kill me. Therefore, I will think twice before ordering a prisoner sent to my bedchamber.

I will never build only one of anything important. All important systems will have redundant control panels and power supplies. For the same reason I will always carry at least two fully loaded weapons at all times.

My pet monster will be kept in a secure cage from which it cannot escape and into which I could not accidentally stumble.

I will dress in bright and cheery colors, and so throw my enemies into confusion.

All bumbling conjurers, clumsy squires, no-talent bards, and cowardly thieves in the land will be preemptively put to death. My foes will surely give up and abandon their quest if they have no source of comic relief.

All naive, busty tavern wenches in my realm will be replaced with surly, world-weary waitresses who will provide no unexpected reinforcement and/or romantic subplot for the hero or his sidekick.

I will not fly into a rage and kill a messenger who brings me bad news just to illustrate how evil I really am. Good messengers are hard to come by.

I won't require high-ranking female members of my organization to wear a stainless-steel bustier. Morale is better with a more casual dress-code. Similarly, outfits made entirely from black leather will be reserved for formal occasions.

I will not turn into a snake. It never helps.

I will not grow a goatee. In the old days they made you look diabolic. Now they just make you look like a disaffected member of Generation X.

I will not imprison members of the same party in the same cell block, let alone the same cell. If they are important prisoners, I will keep the only key to the cell door on my person instead of handing out copies to every bottom-rung guard in the prison.

If my trusted lieutenant tells me my Legions of Terror are losing a battle, I will believe him. After all, he's my trusted lieutenant.

If an enemy I have just killed has a younger sibling or offspring anywhere, I will find them and have them killed immediately, instead of waiting for them to grow up harboring feelings of vengeance towards me in my old age.

If I absolutely must ride into battle, I will certainly not ride at the forefront of my Legions of Terror, nor will I seek out my opposite number among his army.

I will be neither chivalrous nor sporting. If I have an unstoppable superweapon, I will use it as early and as often as possible instead of keeping it in reserve.

Once my power is secure, I will destroy all those pesky time-travel devices.

When I capture the hero, I will make sure I also get his dog, monkey, ferret, or whatever sickeningly cute little animal capable of untying ropes and filching keys happens to follow him around.

I will maintain a healthy amount of skepticism when I capture the beautiful rebel and she claims she is attracted to my power and good looks and will gladly betray her companions if I just let her in on my plans.

I will only employ bounty hunters who work for money. Those who work for the pleasure of the hunt tend to do dumb things like even the odds to give the other guy a sporting chance.

I will make sure I have a clear understanding of who is responsible for what in my organization. For example, if my general screws up I will not draw my weapon, point it at him, say "And here is the price for failure," then suddenly turn and kill some random underling.

If an advisor says to me "My liege, he is but one man. What can one man possibly do?", I will reply "This." and kill the advisor.

If I learn that a callow youth has begun a quest to destroy me, I will slay him while he is still a callow youth instead of waiting for him to mature.

I will treat any beast which I control through magic or technology with respect and kindness. Thus if the control is ever broken, it will not immediately come after me for revenge.

If I learn the whereabouts of the one artifact which can destroy me, I will not send all my troops out to seize it. Instead I will send them out to seize something else and quietly put a Want-Ad in the local paper.

My main computers will have their own special operating system that will be completely incompatible with standard IBM and Macintosh powerbooks.

If one of my dungeon guards begins expressing concern over the conditions in the beautiful princess' cell, I will immediately transfer him to a less people-oriented position.

I will hire a team of board-certified architects and surveyors to examine my castle and inform me of any secret passages and abandoned tunnels that I might not know about.

If the beautiful princess that I capture says "I'll never marry you! Never, do you hear me, NEVER!!!", I will say "Oh well" and kill her.

I will not strike a bargain with a demonic being then attempt to double-cross it simply because I feel like being contrary.

The deformed mutants and odd-ball psychotics will have their place in my Legions of Terror. However before I send them out on important covert missions that require tact and subtlety, I will first see if there is anyone else equally qualified who would attract less attention.

My Legions of Terror will be trained in basic marksmanship. Any who cannot learn to hit a man-sized target at 10 meters will be used for target practice.

Before employing any captured artifacts or machinery, I will carefully read the owner's manual.

If it becomes necessary to escape, I will never stop to pose dramatically and toss off a one-liner.

I will never build a sentient computer smarter than I am.

My five-year-old child advisor will also be asked to decipher any code I am thinking of using. If he breaks the code in under 30 seconds, it will not be used. Note: this also applies to passwords.

If my advisors ask "Why are you risking everything on such a mad scheme?", I will not proceed until I have a response that satisfies them.

I will design fortress hallways with no alcoves or protruding structural supports which intruders could use for cover in a firefight.

Bulk trash will be disposed of in incinerators, not compactors. And they will be kept hot, with none of that nonsense about flames going through accessible tunnels at predictable intervals.

I will see a competent psychiatrist and get cured of all extremely unusual phobias and bizarre compulsive habits which could prove to be a disadvantage.

If I must have computer systems with publically available terminals, the maps they display of my complex will have a room clearly marked as the Main Control Room. That room will be the Execution Chamber. The actual main control room will be marked as Sewage Overflow Containment.

My security keypad will actually be a fingerprint scanner. Anyone who watches someone press a sequence of buttons or dusts the pad for fingerprints then subsequently tries to enter by repeating that sequence will trigger the alarm system.

No matter how many shorts we have in the system, my guards will be instructed to treat every surveillance camera malfunction as a full-scale emergency.

I will spare someone who saved my life sometime in the past. This is only reasonable as it encourages others to do so. However, the offer is good one time only. If they want me to spare them again, they'd better save my life again.

All midwives will be banned from the realm. All babies will be delivered at state-approved hospitals. Orphans will be placed in foster-homes, not abandoned in the woods to be raised by creatures of the wild.

When my guards split up to search for intruders, they will always travel in groups of at least two. They will be trained so that if one of them disappears mysteriously while on patrol, the other will immediately initiate an alert and call for backup, instead of quizzically peering around a corner.

If I decide to test a lieutenant's loyalty and see if he/she should be made a trusted lieutenant, I will have a crack squad of marksmen standing by in case the answer is no.

If all the heroes are standing together around a strange device and begin to taunt me, I will pull out a conventional weapon instead of using my unstoppable superweapon on them.

I will not agree to let the heroes go free if they win a rigged contest, even though my advisors assure me it is impossible for them to win.

When I create a multimedia presentation of my plan designed so that my five-year-old advisor can easily understand the details, I will not label the disk "Project Overlord" and leave it lying on top of my desk.

I will instruct my Legions of Terror to attack the hero en masse, instead of standing around waiting while members break off and attack one or two at a time.

If the hero runs up to my roof, I will not run up after him and struggle with him in an attempt to push him over the edge. I will also not engage him at the edge of a cliff. (In the middle of a rope-bridge over a river of molten lava is not even worth considering.)

If I have a fit of temporary insanity and decide to give the hero the chance to reject a job as my trusted lieutentant, I will retain enough sanity to wait until my current trusted lieutenant is out of earshot before making the offer.

I will not tell my Legions of Terror "And he must be taken alive!" The command will be "And try to take him alive if it is reasonably practical."

If my doomsday device happens to come with a reverse switch, as soon as it has been employed it will be melted down and made into limited-edition commemorative coins.

If my weakest troops fail to eliminate a hero, I will send out my best troops instead of wasting time with progressively stronger ones as he gets closer and closer to my fortress.

If I am fighting with the hero atop a moving platform, have disarmed him, and am about to finish him off and he glances behind me and drops flat, I too will drop flat instead of quizzically turning around to find out what he saw.

I will not shoot at any of my enemies if they are standing in front of the crucial support beam to a heavy, dangerous, unbalanced structure.

If I'm eating dinner with the hero, put poison in his goblet, then have to leave the table for any reason, I will order new drinks for both of us instead of trying to decide whether or not to switch with him.

I will not have captives of one sex guarded by members of the opposite sex.

I will not use any plan in which the final step is horribly complicated, e.g. "Align the 12 Stones of Power on the sacred altar then activate the medallion at the moment of total eclipse." Instead it will be more along the lines of "Push the button."

I will make sure that my doomsday device is up to code and properly grounded.

My vats of hazardous chemicals will be covered when not in use. Also, I will not construct walkways above them.

If a group of henchmen fail miserably at a task, I will not berate them for incompetence then send the same group out to try the task again.

After I captures the hero's superweapon, I will not immediately disband my legions and relax my guard because I believe whoever holds the weapon is unstoppable. After all, the hero held the weapon and I took it from him.

I will not design my Main Control Room so that every workstation is facing away from the door.

I will not ignore the messenger that stumbles in exhausted and obviously agitated until my personal grooming or current entertainment is finished. It might actually be important.

If I ever talk to the hero on the phone, I will not taunt him. Instead I will say this his dogged perseverance has given me new insight on the futility of my evil ways and that if he leaves me alone for a few months of quiet contemplation I will likely return to the path of righteousness. (Heroes are incredibly gullible in this regard.)

If I decide to hold a double execution of the hero and an underling who failed or betrayed me, I will see to it that the hero is scheduled to go first.

When arresting prisoners, my guards will not allow them to stop and grab a useless trinket of purely sentimental value.

My dungeon will have its own qualified medical staff complete with bodyguards. That way if a prisoner becomes sick and his cellmate tells the guard it's an emergency, the guard will fetch a trauma team instead of opening up the cell for a look.

My door mechanisms will be designed so that blasting the control panel on the outside seals the door and blasting the control panel on the inside opens the door, not vice versa.

My dungeon cells will not be furnished with objects that contain reflective surfaces or anything that can be unravelled.

If an attractive young couple enters my realm, I will carefully monitor their activities. If I find they are happy and affectionate, I will ignore them. However if circumstance have forced them together against their will and they spend all their time bickering and criticizing each other except during the intermittent occasions when they are saving each others' lives at which point there are hints of sexual tension, I will immediately order their execution.

Any data file of crucial importance will be padded to 1.45Mb in size.

Finally, to keep my subjects permanently locked in a mindless trance, I will provide each of them with free unlimited Internet access.

[datingadviceonreddit]

To sum up - my boyfriend of a month started off by sweeping my off my feet and now already seems to comfortable. It’s also questionable whether he’s over his ex, but has many demons to face that I’d like to help him with without hurting him. I’ve been in a similar position to him and it sucks.(This is a bit of a long one but I’m trying to be unbiased here with both the lovely things about this guy and the red flags, and show how his character began to change after I said yes to dating him)So I met a guy, about three weeks ago now. I’d recently made the decision to stay single for a while, as only a couple of months ago, I got out of a year long relationship in which I slowly realised I was a rebound. I wanted to clear my head, regain the confidence I had lost and convince myself that I am worth much more than a stop gap for someone’s loneliness.But then I met (we’ll use an alias for the sake of this story) Jacob. (Disclaimer, this was before the COVID-19 epidemic blew up, Im now in isolation) I bumped into Jacob accidentally at a house party. Honest to god when I arrived, flirting with anyone was the last thing on my mind; I just wanted to drink, have fun and socialise. But then he caught my eye. He subtly but charmingly made advances to make conversation with me and we hit it off almost immediately. What I liked most about him is the deep conversations we could have, even on the night we first met. Not once did he make any psychical advances - it seemed as if he really was just interested in what i was saying, which I’ve never really experienced before with men.My friend even sent me a video the next day from the party, of both me and Jacob singing drunkenly. I hadn’t noticed at the time, but every now and then he would glance at me wistfully (not in a “I wanna bang her” kind of way, but a gentle, innocent “she’s pretty” glance). Of course this further enhanced my crush, feeling as if his intentions were pure, and that he wasn’t just looking for some action at the party. He added me on social media the morning after the party, and we started talking as if we had always known each other.A couple days later, I was ditched by a friend in London after getting the train down to see a band I liked live. I was messaging Jacob and briefly mentioned I had been ditched, and he insisted that he come down to meet me to make sure I got home safe. Normally, I would have refused this given he had just finished a 12 hour shift at his work, and that I’d like to feel I’m pretty streetwise, but this specific area of London was a little seedy, and I didn’t object to the company. I paid for his train ticket as he was going me a favour. So he came up to meet me, and despite everything had closed by the time he arrived, he didn’t complain once and we talked all the way home. Although simple, it was probably one of the most genuine and courteous things a guy had ever done for me.Several days after that, he asked me on a date. He took me for dinner and was the most amazing gentlemen I’d ever met. I felt like a princess; he did everything you see in the movies, from pulling out my chair for me to tipping the waiter generously. We again talked over dinner as if we had always known each other. I made sure to mention to him there and then that I wasn’t really ready to rush into anything serious, and that I had recently gotten out of a relationship. He said he completely understood and was happy to take things slow. Later on that day, we decided to meet up for drinks with some of the friends from the house party, along with a couple of his close friends. They were all friendly and welcoming, and I chatted away to them all night. They were very good at being wingmen, telling me that Jacob “hadn’t stopped smiling” since he met me, etc.We all started to get a little drunk as the night progressed. Conversations got deeper as they often do with alcohol and he Jacob began to open up about his past relationship. He had been with someone for 7 years - they broke up 9 months ago. Alarm bells went off for me immediately. I understand that the heart heals at a different pace for everyone, but I find it very unlikely that you can move on form such a long relationship in a measly 9 months. (I know it sounds hypocritical given I am very recently single also, but I’d like to point out that it was a very mutual break up and we both admitted that any feelings we thought we had fizzled out and therefore it hadn’t effected me a lot - we were better friends than partners and still talk occasionally to check on each other). I did ask him about this gently, and his response was “I love her to bits, but I don’t want to be with her anymore. I want to move on”. I was a little on edge with this answer, and don’t feel like it’s something you would say when you were over someone. I tried to push it to the back of my mind and have fun, and told myself that we had Already made clear we were seeing each other casually anyways. It got later, and with more alcohol in our systems, we started to get more flirty. (Only verbally, not physically.) I asked him something stupid about why he was attracted to me at the house party and he blurted out, “because I fell in love with you”.I know he was drunk, but I was super taken aback. I briskly walked away without an answer and talked to some other friends outside. His friends came to chase me up a couple minutes later, explaining that he didn’t mean what he had said and he was just very drunk. He came out shortly after and repeated the same thing, saying that it was the first time he had met someone that he clicked with so well after the relationship and his drunken mind had uttered words he didn’t mean. I reiterated that I didn’t want anything serious and that we should just see how things go, especially with the newfound information on feelings towards his ex. He apologised for being so creepy and we forgot about it and danced the night away.Later on, I ended up making a move on him and the butterflies in my stomach were unbelievable. He seemed really happy also, and he took me home in the early hours of the morning, again without making any further advances which I really really appreciated.So everything went a little quicker from there. We met up a couple more dates where he continued to act in the same chivalrous manner. One day, we were texting me and he asked me to be his girlfriend.Two thoughts came to my mind in this situation.Too early ! I thought we were on the same page!I was a little disappointed; I would have liked to think he would want to ask me in person - didn’t expect some grand gesture but to see him face to face when he asked would have been nice... it seemed rushed.I told myself that maybe he was just really nervous and was getting a little carried away with himself. I messaged back and was as honest as I could be with him, saying that I’d like him to ask me a bit later on, and in person.However the next time we met up, he came with flowers and asked me out again. He kissed me and again those butterflies went crazy, and I know it sounds stupid but the rash, reckless part of me didn’t want to say no again. So I said yes. That’s when he started to change almost immediately. That day, we had met up at mine with plans to cook and then watch a movie, but he said he was tired from work and didn’t want to cook and objected to every film I suggested and put on “How I Met Your Mother” I HATE those cheesy sitcoms with a passion, and jokingly mentioned that but he said it was one of his favourites and wanted me to try it.I agreed to try it out - one of the most important things to me in a relationship is to try and indulge in a couple of your partners interests, so you can see why they are passionate and excited about particular hobbies and the like. So I tried to watch, cringing internally at the jokes made throughout. We cuddled up together, but when I glanced over after about 10 minutes, he was scrolling absent mindedly through his phone. This is also one of my biggest bug bears - I obviously understand if you’re messaging someone, but scrolling through a social media newsfeed isn’t really necessary when you’re in someone’s company. I didn’t say anything, but it seemed as if all the interesting conversations we’d had were snuffed out as we sat awkwardly in silence, him scrolling through his phone while I attempted to endure that goddamn awful sitcom.I tried to ignore it and said goodbye to him around 12ish.Dates continued this way; he started to turn up late to meet up times we had arranged and once when I went to his, he even hinted that I should leave at about 9:30pm. He also began to become very indecisive. Where before he would sweep me away to a nice restaurant or take me somewhere spontaneous, now when I ask him what he’d like to do he’ll just say “I don’t mind” apathetically. I tried to put this all down to him being tired from work and nervous after being in a new relationship, but I’m starting to think it’s just him being wayyy to comfortable in what is a very new relationship. He chased me ! He asked me out and wanted to rush into things! So why then act disinterested !The last straw was a couple days before lockdown. We had started to suspect that the UK would go on lockdown and so met up at my house again knowing it might be the last time we’d see each other for a while. I cooked him a nice dinner for when he arrived and he bought some red wine. He didn’t make any comment on the dinner or thank me, but I had agreed he could stay over on the couch, so we stayed up until quite late, but again this was spent with some Netflix series in the background while he scrolled through his phone and drank. We’d have intermittent conversation, but it still seemed as if he was completely disengaged, drinking a whole two bottles of wine. I’m not really a fan myself so only had a couple glasses.The only time I did get a little more interaction from him when he was off his phone was when we were talking about one his friends, who I had really got on well with on a night out. He mentioned that his friend had been single for years, and he “didn’t know how he coped so well with being alone”. I couldn’t help but ask how he felt after breaking up with his ex and becoming single and he said “it was painful to be alone” and that he’s “glad he’s got attention and company now”. I could feel my heart drop.He got so tipsy he passed out on my bed, so I gently woke him and tucked him into bed downstairs (I know this sounds harsh, but I also have a single bed and so even if I did feel comfortable sleeping in the same bed as him yet, it would not have been fun with my fidgety ass!)I was again a little disappointed as we hadn’t really talked much or got to know each other any better, just sat awkwardly while he chose to scroll. In the morning, he was so hungover he was sick several times. My dad, trying to get to know him also, had invited him to dinner, but he went home early, still feeling rough and not even apologising to my dad for not being able to make dinner. It wasn’t really the best first impression I wanted him to have on my parents.Fast forward to now. I suppose listing out the red flags so far It seems like an easy decision to make, but for some reason I am hung up on “trying to fix him”. I know what it’s like to struggle to move on from the past, but I don’t know how to approach this. We have a lot in common and I know we had chemistry before so I’d like to think we can make things work, but it’s pretty clear we rushed into things. How do I tell him that I’d just like to go back to being friends until I’m sure he’s over his ex, and can dedicate himself a bit more to being interested in me? Or am I flogging a dead horse? Guess I don’t want to let go because it’s the first time I’ve really felt something for someone in a longgg time - the last long relationship I was in, I think we were both together for the security rather than feelings, but with Jacob I do feel as if there’s something there, on my side anyways. I’d like to think there could be on his side with the way he treated me at the start, he just seems to have a lot of baggage. I just don’t want to get tied up in a relationship where I am once again a stop gap until something better comes along.Please help reddit! I know I’m being naive and a little stupid so please be kind 😅 via /r/dating_advice