#fictional superpower

[theussa]

Elias Petrova’s Presidency

2004: Elias is Boris's son, who followed in his footsteps becomes vice-president. Educated in both Soviet and American institutions, Elias was known for his strategic mind and political acumen. As President, he continued his father's legacy of centralization and state control, accelerating both.

Elias Petrova’s presidency built upon his father’s legacy by advancing the nation’s socialist framework while introducing his own reforms to address new challenges and opportunities. His administration was characterized by a focus on environmental sustainability, technological advancement, and international cooperation. Elias navigated complex geopolitical landscapes, responded effectively to natural disasters, and promoted cultural and educational reforms that reflected both socialist values and modern American identity. His leadership ensured the continued prominence and stability of the Soviet States of America on the global stage.

2009: Rising tensions with China over trade and territorial disputes lead to a brief military standoff. Elias’s diplomatic skills prevent escalation, resulting in the "Pacific Peace Accord" which fosters cooperation in the Asia-Pacific region.

2010: Elias signs the "Pan-American Socialist Defense Treaty" strengthening military and economic ties with Latin American socialist countries, ensuring mutual defense and cooperation.

2011: A severe tornado outbreak in the Midwest causes widespread destruction. Elias oversees the implementation of advanced early warning systems and improved infrastructure resilience programs.

That same year, Elias expands the "Unified Education System" to include vocational training and higher education programs focused on science, technology, engineering, and mathematics (STEM), aligning the workforce with the nation’s technological and economic goals.

2012: Elias Petrova's policies lead to economic growth but at the cost of individual freedoms. The Petrova family cements its control over the political landscape through a combination of popular support and political manipulation.

Deployment of peacekeeping forces in the Middle East to stabilize the region and protect socialist-aligned governments from insurgencies. This move underscores Elias’ commitment to supporting global socialism and maintaining international stability.

2015: Establishment of the "Global Health Alliance" with several nations to address global health issues, such as manageable diseases and access to healthcare. This initiative emphasizes collaboration in medical research, vaccine development, and healthcare infrastructure.

2016: The discovery of vast untapped oil and natural gas reserves in the Arctic region around Alaska sparks intense international interest. With global energy demands rising, Canada lays competing claims over parts of the Arctic seabed, citing international maritime boundaries and historic exploration rights.Elias orders the deployment of the USSA’s Northern Fleet to secure the Alaskan coastline and assert control over the disputed waters. A standoff ensues between SSA and Russian naval forces.

2017: Facing the prospect of a prolonged and potentially devastating effects of the “Alaska Conflict”, international pressure mounts for a ceasefire. The United Nations intervenes, and a temporary truce is brokered.

2019: Elias Petrova announces his surprise retirement after his term is over. It would later be revealed to the public that Elias had become terminally ill, resulting in his death in 2022. His niece Elena Petrova, a young, charismatic woman is groomed to take over. The election is carefully orchestrated to ensure her victory in the coming year.

[caffeinewitchcraft]

The Fool Dies

Summary: You are a villain known for telling the future. When a Hero kills your right hand, you’ll let the future burn to get her back.

Hero Cowboy kills your henchman after you’ve already surrendered.

Gunshot silence, the scent of iron heavy in your nose, the crippling cold that floods your chest. All familiar sensations, companions you’ve carried with you since you even became a villain, but this time—

This time it’s…different.

You’re on your knees, the rock salt on the road digging into your kneecaps, with your hands above your head, the ghost of your signature smirk fading fast. The street isn’t empty. There are witnesses. The Hero pulls his punches when there are cameras and citizens and teammates. That’s what your plan says. He pulls his punches.

She asked if you were willing to bet her life on that and you said yes.

Your henchman’s body is stuck in the crumpled side of a car. You see her out of your peripheral, the pale oval of her face unencumbered by the mask you’d lovingly bestowed upon her six years ago. Cowboy backhanded it off of her as she was falling to her knees beside you. There is wet and red and twisted metal dancing foggily around her. The air is harsh and cold to breathe. The world is wavering as tears flood your eyes. You can’t blink them away. If you do, you won’t be able to see her just at the corner of your vision, you won’t be able to watch for a breath you already know won’t come, you’re afraid she’ll disappear—

“Clever to pretend to surrender,” the Hero says. He’s like a swan, spreading his arms out so the leather tassels lining the underside of his sleeves look like wings. He tips his head back so that the news cameras rushing in can catch the strength of his jaw under his wide-brimmed hat. She’d managed to singe it in the fight and the light catches in his blue eyes through the resulting hole. “Was it worth it, Prophetess? Was your attempt on my life worth the life of your sidekick?”

Snow falls, a few flakes here and there. The street is lit like the middle of the day thanks to the news cameras swarming out of the side streets now that the fight is over. The fire is being put out and thick curls of smoke rise from just beyond the gathering crowd of onlookers.

Your spellbook is lying a hundred feet away at the bottom of the lake. That’s why the Hero is flaunting himself in front of the cameras, trying to minimize her death at his hand. He did what he had to do. They were wrong, not him. Unfortunate but expected. The Hero always wins.

She’s gone.

The Fool. She always wanted a different name. But you were adamant she wouldn’t receive one until she earned one outside of her service to you. Until then, her name was a reflection of your journey. Your first step, foolish and unknowing, young and ignorant of the consequences. The name felt right when you called it and you never thought to question why. Only now can you taste your own cruel power in the decision. The power of prophecy spelled her fate out in front of you and, like always, you didn’t listen.

Your tattered cloak ripples in the breeze coming off the water. The vibrant purple is stained with soot and worse, the once smooth velvet charred and eaten away at by the Fire Cowboy’s flames.

They don’t remember that you surrendered before he struck. He’s dismissed your uncharacteristic action as an act, and so the world will too. The Prophetess always lies. Isn’t that the first line in your Hero Force file? The Prophetess has no powers of divination; she lies.

The world is magic. You believe it like the sun, like the earth, like the ocean—

--like her—

--and there is magic even here. The spell of your grief rises over your head like a shroud and, for a moment, you are drowning in the dark as the world heaves. You can taste the last cup of coffee she ever gave you going sour at the back of your mouth, the small daily comfort washing away under the metallic scent of her blood. There is a purple current around your thoughts, painful and biting. You will always be in this moment with her jester’s mask – cruel, you are so cruel – leering up at you, closer to your hands than her. How did you let her get so far out of reach?

Why didn’t you hold her close?

“I asked,” Cowboy says from directly in front of you, “if it was worth it?”

The world pulses back into purple focus. Cowboy is looming over you and the smoke of your battle rises into the night behind him. The media jockeys closer the longer you are silent and they’re inching around the car she’s lying against.

“Tell them to get away from her,” you say. Normal, your voice is so normal. Your arms are burning from holding your hands over your head and your neck aches from forcing yourself not to look. You are afraid your tears will fall if you blink so you stare at the gaudy belt buckle in front of your face. Your eyes are purple in the reflection and your face is as pale as hers. “P-please.”

Cowboy must kill all the time. He has no problem glancing towards the slowly gathering swarm and you can feel his eyes on her body as if they were on your own. “They’re trying to help her.”

“She’s beyond helping,” you say. Why would they even try? You can’t even look at her and you can tell that. “I don’t want anyone touching her.”

“They’re not monsters,” Cowboy says. There’s a scoff and then he’s crouching in front of you. He smells like singed leather. “Not like you.”

You’ve never seen the Hero this close. He’s older than you thought, only a few years shy of your age. His stubble is darkened with soot and his nose bears scars of past battles. His eyes—they’re not blue. You can see the edge of brown behind his contacts, the same deep brown as his mask.

“You killed her,” you say.

“No, you did.” He answers you so quickly it’s like he was waiting for those exact words. He tilts his head so the brim of his hat hides his lips in shadow. “She wouldn’t have died if it weren’t for you.”

He’s so confident that you nearly believe him. Your hands ache with phantom bruises from the blows and the weight of your sin falls onto your shoulders like the sky itself coming to rest there.

--------------.

 You see the trajectory of her life lined in gold. Her first day at your firm, her finding out your identity, her wavering in front of the window overlooking the Charlotte skyline as she admitted to knowing exactly who you are and how you’d been hiding more than your fair share of power all along.

That moment shines. She wasn’t the Fool then. She ripped her pencil skirt up the side as you debated her fate. When you asked her why, she said in case she needed to run.

“You would run from me?” you asked, eyebrow raised, conveying with expression alone how ridiculous you found the idea of her getting away was.

“I would,” she said. She grinned unhappily. “You can kill me, but you’ll break a sweat doing it.”

You laughed and held out your hand. When she took it, the outline of her life changed. No longer edged in gold. All black. A night sky all around her.

“You’re a fool for this,” you told her.

“The biggest one around,” she said, chagrined. Then she laughed with you.

You’ll never hear her laugh again.

----------.

There is a protocol for arresting a villain. Cowboy is already so outside of Hero Force code that it takes a while for things to be ready. He stands over you for the better part of an hour, smiling at the cameras, glaring you into submission, waving to the officers that eventually come to secure the scene.

An ambulance comes to take her body away. Only when they load her into it do you move. You watch the side of the vehicle like you can see through it. Cowboy tenses when it starts to drive away, but you don’t twitch. Her body isn’t her. If you start clinging to it now, you will never let her go.

“I know they call you Cowboy,” a woman drawls, “but you aren’t supposed to act like one.”

The reporters leap out of Strongwoman’s way. Barely five feet, Strongwoman is a super hero. Nobody is willing to get too close, regardless of how good and moral she is. The dark-haired woman is one of the few heroes who don’t wear a mask. No villain is stupid enough to think that makes her weak. Her dark eyes catalogue the scene quickly and efficiently. The ground rumbles as she approaches.

“Heat of battle,” Cowboy dismisses. His shoulders relax with another hero to support him and he shakes out his leather vest. Soot and snow falls from him. “Literally.”

“Hm.” Strongwoman finally turns the weight of her attention towards you. “Where’s her spellbook?”

“Bottom of the lake.”

“She hasn’t tried to summon it?”

“Her minion was in charge of that.”

Strongwoman’s voice whips. “We don’t call them minions.”

“Sorry.”

“You should be,” Strongwoman says. She folds her arms across her chest. She always gives the impression of being wrapped in armor and it takes you a moment to realize she’s wearing a tank top despite the cold. The muscles in her arms twitch. “That’s your third body this year.”

Cowboy hisses, eyes flying over her head towards the reporters. “Don’t—” A coalition of people in dark suits are already herding the media away. Cowboy’s lips thin. “Not in public.”

Strongwoman raises an eyebrow. She reaches down with one hand and hauls you up by the collar of your robes. “Fine. The car then.” She frowns at the way your hands hang by your sides. “You didn’t cuff her?”

“She doesn’t have her spellbook.”

“Protocol, Cow.”

“It’s Cowboy.”

“…”

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Strongwoman cuffs your hands behind your back. The familiar sting of power suppressors races up your arms. The last time someone managed to get them on you, the Fool had to break them off once you escaped. You feel her breath against the shell of your ear and her voice whispers, Now who will do it for you?

Her memory is another spell on you. The edges of your life – dark and violently violet – cover your eyes so that you’re blind and deaf to the world around you. Once this new incantation runs its course, you’re sitting in the back of a Hero Force car. The grate between you and the front seat is closed. Beyond it, you can see Strongwoman at the wheel, shoulders vibrating with tension. Cowboy is sitting in the passenger seat like a petulant child.

You read their lips in the rearview mirror.

--review, Strongwoman says. Three. Three deaths on your hands.

This one was just a villain—

Tell that to Foresight. I beg you. See how he likes that excuse.

Cowboy changes tactics. You know the Prophetess is basically an S-Class—

Without her spellbook?

She had it for most of the fight.

Did she?

You lean your head back and close your eyes. Cowboy’s been operating alone for too long. They’ll likely stick him in probation and then transfer him to a hero team with an established leader. Maybe Atlas’ team in San Francisco or Light’s team in LA. Hell, if they really want to punish him, they’ll assign him to Omit’s team in Chicago. The guy’s the most righteous and the most powerless leader out there. Cowboy might actually become a villain if he’s forced to follow that guy’s lead.

“He’ll suffer,” you say in your prophecy voice.

A speaker crackles to life overhead. “No divination,” Cowboy snaps.

“I wasn’t talking about you,” you say.

“Prophetess lies,” Strongwoman says to Cowboy. “Remember, she always lies.”

“It’s still a threat—”

“Prophetess,” Strongwoman says. “Let’s go over next steps. When we get to Charlotte HQ, you’ll be taken to a secure floor where you’ll be asked to remove your mask. It’s important that you understand your identity will remain confidential until your loved ones can be secured—”

“He killed her,” you interrupt. You watch the ceiling of the car. “I can tell you my identity now if you’d like.”

There’s a pause. “That won’t be necessary,” Strongwoman says. Is it just you, or is her voice a little softer? “There is a proper course to this investigation.”

The way she says it makes it sound like she’s promising you something.

It’s like your mind is scrambling for connection to her. There is nothing in what Strongwoman says that reminds you of the Fool. And yet, as the car falls back into weighted silence, one word rings. Proper.

There is a proper way, the Fool whispers. You could fight this spell, but don’t. You sink into the car seat the best you can with your hands behind your back. Hear me out.

Please, you think. By all means.

------.

The first time you ask her to dinner, you’re too hasty. There’s blood on the hem of your robes (possibly a tooth) and the city is still screaming the sirens of your escape. The Fool isn’t shivering like the rest of your henchman; she is standing next to you. Her Jester’s mask is carefully secured with three exact ties despite the haste with which she put it on.

“I can never wear this skirt again,” she says. She is standing on the very edge of the building, the toes of her sensible work shoes a bare inch away from nothing. “This was my best work skirt.”

The city sparks with the purple of your magic, violet vines climbing the buildings and blocking your view of the street below. Your magic is mostly illusion, but all power leaves behind a mark. Where your spell has started to fade remains a charred outline of leaves and flowers against the concrete and stone of the buildings.

While the rest of your minions look a bit like chimney sweeps, the Fool remains untouched. It’s an obvious sign of favoritism; you had room for one other person underneath your cloak and you chose her.

Somehow the memory of her pressed against your side as she used her power to lift you both up to the rooftop makes you blush.

“You don’t have any residue on you,” you say. “You can stitch it up.”

She scoffs. At you. “It’s recognizable, Prophetess.”

It’s really not. The black pencil skirt is the same kind she wore when you first met. How many does she go through? You find yourself smiling at her bare thigh.  Since she first told you she knew who you were, you’ve seen her rip at least three.

“Something amuse you?” she asks. Her voice is short and snappish, the tone she uses when one of the other paralegals aren’t as thorough as they need to be with the briefs. She turns to face you so that the setting sun lights her outline in orange and pink and gold.

“Have dinner with me,” you say.

And for a moment, the hope of her saying yes is as blinding as the sun behind her. Her lips part and you imagine that her eyes widen behind her jester’s mask. A wind picks at the long strands of her hair, sending them fluttering around her like a halo, and you’re standing so close that one brushes your cheek.

“There is a proper way,” she says and then stops. Her right hand twitches at her side. “There is—” is she stuttering? “This isn’t—Prophetess.”

You’re fascinated. She’s always so precise with her words. Even when you threatened her all those months ago she never once floundered like she’s doing now. “Hmm?”

“Hear me out,” she says.

You nod. “Of course.” You lean forward so that you’re only inches away from her. “I’m listening.”

“This…is not the time,” she says. You feel her attention slide to the others and then back to you. She hisses when she finds you even closer. “Prophetess.”

You don’t want to push too hard.

You lean back onto your good leg. “You let me know when it is time,” you say. Your lips quirk. “My little Fool.”

“Oh my god,” she mutters. She turns sharply on her heel. “Get yourself off the roof. I’m going home.”

You watch as she steps off the roof without hesitation. Her telekinetic powers are unique in that they can work on people too. You usually rely on her to get you home.

Maybe you should have asked her afterwards…

You turn to your other minions. Low-level villains without the drive or power to execute their own heists who all owe you the same favor. You raise your brow. “So how are you lot getting me off this roof?”

“You’ve got legs,” the Ace of Swords says.

“I broke my left one,” you say. And, to prove you aren’t lying, you draw away your cape to show that your pant leg is soaked in red.

The Ace of Swords stares. “This is why she said no.”

“Was that what it sounded like to you?” you ask. His surety makes you frown. “For that, you get to carry me down.”

The Ace of Swords groans as the other Swords flee.

-----------.

Your Swords are not always Swords. Sometimes they are Pentacles or Wands or Cups. There’s meaning to the costuming you put your people through, a meaning that escapes Hero Force.

“Where are the others?” Cowboy growls at you over the interrogation table. He keeps aggressively tapping the photos he flung in front of you. Grainy shots of your Wands storming through the Christmas Parade you used as a cover to kidnap the Mayor, blurry screen grabs from security footage of them as Pentacles in the art museum, a delightful brochure featuring them as Cups in a reproduction of Macbeth you used to do some light money laundering. “If you tell us, we might cut you a deal. Six of your people are being prepared for interrogation right now. Want to bet who breaks first?”

The ghost of you smiles behind your dead eyes, leans forward, and sneers in Cowboy’s face. That version of you is delighted by Cowboy mistaking six people for twenty-four and wants to play the interrogation game he’s offering. But the real you feels as heavy as lead and it takes all your strength to watch as Cowboy slowly works his way into a frenzy.

“For too long you’ve been tormenting this city,” he says. He shakes a finger in your face. “I told Headquarters, I said you were a problem when you first showed up in Raleigh. I said, ‘This one is going to come to Charlotte and she’s going to show up with an army.’ I did. I said that and now you’ve got the largest crew in America.”

“Quite the fortune teller, aren’t you?” you murmur. The Fool is at the front of the brochure, all done up as Macbeth. You’d tried to get her to be Lady Macbeth, but she’d insisted she be the main character for once.

You don’t understand Macbeth, you’d said.

His name is the play, she argued.

Lady Macbeth is the mastermind.

Did you read the play?

Did you?

Neither of you had.

Cowboy slams his hand on the table. “Look, Prophetess, I’m the only chance you’ve got at a deal. As soon as those DC heroes get in here, it’s off the table.”

Ha.

“It would be convenient for you if there were no witnesses,” you observe. “More convenient if you get to them before the DC crowd.”

“Witnesses to what?” Cowboy blusters. But he draws back and his gaze is colder than the Hero Force air conditioning that’s already making this room glacial. “To justice?”

How dare he lie to you? Her pale face haunts your peripheral vision. You can see her in the window of the interrogation room.

“To murder,” you say. Your glares clash when you finally look up at him. The soot is still in his stubble and you imagine you can smell her blood coming from his singed leather vest. “She surrendered. We all saw it.”

“She was an A-rank villain with telekinetic powers strong enough to crush my skull,” Cowboy bites back. “I acted in self-defense.”

“With us both on our knees—”

Cowboy whips his arm across the table, scattering the photos of your people into the air. He slams his hand again. “Last chance. Tell me where the rest of your minions are!”

In your holding cells, you stupid—

“You’re a pathetic worm of a man,” you say. You clear your throat. “Sorry. Let me say it in a way you’ll understand.” You adopt your prophecy voice. “The dust Cowboy leaves behind is red, red as the blood on his hands. His golden star is stained—”

You see the blow coming. Not a prophecy, of course.

You just know what heroes do when their buttons are pushed.

-----.

The second time you ask her to dinner, you’re too stupid for her to say yes. It’s not your fault though. How could you have known the Mayor had superpowers? He didn’t do anything besides embezzle taxpayer money!

“Maybe,” she says tightly, dragging your leaden and paralyzed body through the grand halls of the mayoral house, “you could have done a single iota of research instead of sewing all those costumes.”

Feeling is coming back into your hands. They still ache from finishing the elf-themed Wand costumes you’d made for your employees. You think the group costume of Five of Wands came out particularly well. All those little elves holding giant candy cane wands…a perfect symbol for the tumultuous election Season. You flex your fingers and then wince when the Fool’s nails dig into the soft undersides of your arms. “Ouch. Could you—”

“I am not slowing down,” she says. She grunts as she slings you around another corner. “We need to get to the backyard. Ace is meeting us there with the chopper.”

“Such a waste of money,” you bemoan. The chopper had been Two’s idea and all she does is maintain it. She won’t let you fly it until you get your license. “We should’ve got a boat.”

“Great idea,” the Fool snarls. She adjusts her grip so her nails are now digging into your shoulders rather than your arms. “A giant vehicle we have to keep in the harbor. The heroes would never find that.”

“Okay, you have me there,” you say. Your words are crisper now and you can even push a little with your legs as she pulls you into the empty kitchen. “But consider this. I could take you to dinner on a yacht. I can’t take you to dinner on a helicopter.” She stops in her tracks, head whipping down to look at you. Your noses nearly touch. You grin dopily. “Hi.”

“Are you asking me to dinner right now,” she asks in a tone that tells you you’d better be careful with your answer.

She’s so pretty. That’s why you aren’t careful when you slur, “Yes.”

She drags you through the doorway into the backyard. “I sure hope it’s the drugs making you this stupid.”

“Hey—”

“Hey!”

Both of you look back towards the house to where the Mayor has just appeared. He’s wearing the smoking jacket he’d monologued in and the handkerchief he’d used to drug you is hanging limply in his grip.

He points at you. “You. You should be unconscious! Nobody escapes my venom!”

“Oh gross,” the Fool says. “Does he make the sedatives from his body?”

“From his sweat,” you affirm. Then, raising your voice over the growing sound of the chopper and her gagging, “Maybe you should sweat better drugs, huh?”

The Fool coughs and wheezes. You recognize a laugh in the sound. “Don’t antagonize—”

The Mayor bellows and sweat begins to drip from his forehead. He mops at it with his handkerchief and then advances across the grass. “Get back here!”

“Hahaha,” you say, “He was definitely a hero. I know how to push their buttons.”

It becomes a race to who gets to you first; the chopper or the Mayor.

As usual, the Fool wins.

-----.

Cowboy isn’t allowed in your room after hitting you in the face. You can feel him lurking in the hall outside when Strongwoman takes the seat across from you.

“That…wasn’t supposed to happen,” she says and pinches the bridge of her nose. She’s sitting on a special crate they brought in for her. It creaks when she leans forward. “Are you sure you don’t need medical attention?”

The Fool is the only one you let tend to your wounds. Blood stings your eye. Cowboy was wearing his rings when he hit you. “I’m fine.”

Strongwoman sighs through her nose. She’s short and stocky, dark hair and wide nose. There’s a beauty to her when she’s still and quiet. When she moves? She moves like a threat. “We need to know where your base is,” she says.

“Home is where the heart is,” you say. And you killed mine.

Strongwoman’s lips thin. “Look, if you want the guys who speak riddles, we can wait for them. Or you can answer my questions and maybe we can come to some sort of understanding.”

“Interesting offer.” You lean back and contemplate her. “You have my spell book.”

“Except that,” Strongwoman says immediately. She winces. “Sorry. You’re in custody. The spell book isn’t even on-site anymore.”

“Then you can take these off,” you say, nodding to your cuffs. Their faint glow is making you sick. “As a sign of good faith.”

“Tell me everything about your operation,” Strongwoman retorts. She shakes her head. “Nobody believes you’re harmless without your spellbook.”

“Cowboy does.”

“Cowboy is operating under a lot of false assumptions,” Strongwoman says. She leans forward to match you. “Like the one where you have over 30 lower-level villains working for you.”

“Oh?”

“We have six,” Strongwoman says. “Tell me where the rest are and we can negotiate.”

Ha. She doesn’t know either. You are so good at costuming. It’s not like your henchmen can multiply. There are always just six with you and it’s through your costumes that they transform. You’ll have to tell the Fool—

Your mood sours. Tell the Fool. Who’s the Fool now? You’re not in the mood to play games. “I tell you everything, you let me talk to those you have.”

“No—”

“I don’t know everything about them,” you snap. “You’re asking me to betray my people. Fine, I’ll do that. You lot will pry and pull and claw until you find out anyway. But allow me to give them the chance to tell you about whatever family or loved one they haven’t told me about. If I must take them down with me, at least let them beg Hero Force for leniency for their loved ones.”

Strongwoman considers you. “And what do you want in exchange?”

“Let,” you clear your throat. Your eyes are hot and itchy. “Let me have a moment with them. To mourn one of our own passing. To—” you clear your throat “-to lay the Fool to rest.”

The silence sticks to the walls and builds. It presses into you on all sides until you feel like you’re in a coffin. You once told her you would die with her.

Not allowed, ma’am. I don’t think we’d go to the same place.

You swallow hard and stare at your hands.

“Deal,” Strongwoman says finally.

“Thank you,” you say. Your head bows until your forehead presses against your shaking hands. “Thank you.”

“Cuffs will stay on,” Strongwoman says gruffly. She pulls out a pen and pad. The pen looks like it’s made of metal. “Start talking.”

You do.

-----------------.

The third time you ask her to dinner, she stares at you for a long time. It makes you nervous in a way you haven’t been before, her unrelenting stare. Is it because she’s usually so quick? Or could it be because you can feel her eyes on your bare face for the first time since she stood in your office and called you a villain?

The same office you’re currently standing in now as the sun sets behind her?

“I have concerns,” she says at last.

Oh thank god. You’re smiling too widely. “I can work with concerns.”

“Can you?” Her eyes flash gold with the sun. “You keep asking me out while we’re working,” she says.

You blink. “Do I?”

“You do.”

You consider her words, leaning back against your desk. You’re wearing your pinstriped suit today and it’s getting a little tight. She feeds you before and after every meeting you have and you have a lot of meetings. “I’m always working.”

“That’s true,” she says. She turns on her heel. “And that’s the concern.”

You stand up. “Wait, how is that—”

She stops at the door and turns to look at you in a way that steals your breath. “I am not work,” she says. Her lip twitches. “Nor am I a fool.”

“I know, you’re—”

“Ace says they’re already at the meeting place. According to your schedule, we’re running late.”

“We haven’t finished talking.” You try to sound firm, like you used to. Instead, the words come out as almost a plea. “We can be late.”

“You’re never late. Besides, I hear it’s going to be a regular rodeo.”

“Cowboy? Ha! When did he blow back into town?”

“His probation period is up.”

“Lucky us.”

-----.

Lucky us.

You Fool.

--------.

You look over the bowed heads of your employees. Ace, Two, Five, Eight, Ten, and Page. The room Strongwoman led you to looks like the cockpit of a spaceship. Noxious blue light undulates up the concave walls. There are no chairs in here, no pulpit for you to stand behind.

So your employees kneel when you walk between them all to stand in the very center.

“Prophetess,” Ace says. Her voice is thin and high. “We—I’m so sorry.”

Two looks up. Her face is drawn and there’s a deep bruise along the side of it. “We know how it is to lose.”

“You do,” you murmur. You’re aware of the eyes on you here. You saw Cowboy sneering in the observation room on the other side of this one. There are cameras scattered like black stars across the ceiling. “I know you do. But there is a renewal in Death. If—” you swallow hard “-if you allow it.”

You expect fear. What you’re asking of them has happened exactly six times. The favor they owe is not only to you, but to each other. Death is the complete annihilation of everything you know. It can be the end. Or it can be the beginning.

But it takes people to begin.

And you have asked them too many times before.

“Anything,” they say as one.

Your head shoots up. “What?”

Six of your employees – your friends – return your gaze unflinching.

“If I have to redo everything again, I will,” Ace says. She presses a hand over her heart. You know a picture of her son lies there. “Time doesn’t matter. We won’t lose anything but time.”

“We know we can rebuild,” Two says. Her eyes are fierce. “We can do it better.”

“You taught us how to do it better,” Five says.

“I thought you would’ve already done it,” Page says. He scratches the back of his head. “I didn’t eat lunch thinking you woulda done it by now.”

“You didn’t miss much,” Eight tells him. Then, to you, “You did it for us. Again and again and again—”

“—and again and again and again—”

Eight punches Page. “Shut up.” She breathes in through her nose. “Prophetess. It’s okay. We’re okay.”

“The memories you have made will only remain with you,” you remind them. Your hands are shaking. This—you have asked this favor for the sake of others. Did they feel this vulnerable asking? So hopeful and so full of dread. “It will be different. Time changes all and you who have experienced it—”

“—will be like fortune tellers in a strange new land,” Ace says. “We know.”

“We’re okay with it.”

“Are you?”

The time is approaching. You can hear voices outside the room. Ten minutes. She’d promised you thirty, but you figured they’d interrupt sooner. Especially considering what you’re saying.

You breathe in deeply through your nose. You think of her pencil skirt and her flashing eyes and her warm smile. The ghost of her pale face is fading into blackness as this curtain closes.

Your resolve firms. It was a bad ending. As a villain, you’re allowed to rewrite those.

“Tonight,” you say in your whispering voice, “we rebalance the deck.”

The blue in the room flickers. The voices in the corridor gain urgency. The cuffs around your wrist flare and then go dormant.

“I see my son a babe again,” Ace sings. Her eyes burn with your purple power as she brings her hands up towards you. The memory of the favor you granted her rises with her words. “I hold his hand.”

The blue flickers purple and electricity arcs. The Hero Force suppressors are to stop superpowers.

There is very little they can do against fate.

“I see the bus that takes them away,” Page says. He doesn’t sing. His voice is as dry as the desert and he salutes you. His hand glows against his temple. “They get on it.”

“I see my friend at the crossroads,” Two says. She holds her hands palm up and tilts her head to the sky. Tears of neon violet fall down her face. “I follow them.”

“The power I have falls into my hands like rain,” Eight says. She cups her hands in front of her and they fill with your power until it spills over onto the ground. “I drink from it.”

“The harm I caused erased,” Five says. He crosses his arms over his chest and bows his head. A halo the color of lilac blooms over his head. “I atone.”

“I do better,” Ten says simply.  They stand with their hands by their sides. Their eyes burn with your power and they do not flinch. “I don’t bury them.”

Your power crawls along the walls. There are no more blue arcs of power. There are purple flowers and thorns that leave shadows in their wake. They seal the door shut and you are distantly aware that Strongwoman is trying to smash her way inside and can’t.

Fate takes a different type of strength to overpower.

“I see her again,” you say. The tides of the world pull at your long hair. You are drowning in light. The ground shakes under your feet. You think of her life outlined in gold, yourself outlined in gold. Is it possible you can see it glittering there in the unrelenting ocean flooding into you? “I see her again.”

Thunder crashes and everything becomes nothing.

-----------.

You are at your desk. You blink at the pages lying before you. A brief. A case. From four years ago.

You release a trembling breath. You never doubted it would work but it’s a relief to see not so much time has passed. Ace will still share some memories with her son. Page will not have to sit by his brothers’ bedsides again. Ten won’t be trapped in her father’s house.

The rest…the rest will not expect your help. You didn’t help them the last three times. Cruel, maybe. Fate often is.

You think Two is in Charlotte at this point. She mentioned something about a halfway house…

You freeze grabbing your coat as familiar footsteps echo from the hall outside your door. The skyline is twinkling with city lights, but it’s nearly midnight. Nobody should be here, you don’t remember anyone being here at this time—

The door opens without a knock. Her hair is chopped beneath her ears and she has a lip piercing and there isn’t a pencil skirt to be found. But it’s her. It’s her.

“Anika,” you breathe.

Her gold eyes flick to you, to your desk, to your coat in your hand. “You working?”

“N-no,” you say. Your words pile up behind your teeth. Do you remember? Of course you do, otherwise how would you be here. But how? Did I infect you? Did the outline of my life really drag you into my power enough--

Anika waits. When you continue to stare at her, she prods, “I’m not your paralegal.”

“You don’t look like you’ve even finished your degree,” you blurt out. You point. “A lip piercing?”

Anika rubs her piercing. “I’m not the Fool,” Anika says patiently.

A light bulb goes off. “Oh,” you say. “Oh!” You get down on one knee. “Anika, will you marry me—” Anika throws her purse at you. It misses by about three feet. You stand and try again. “I mean, will you go to dinner with me?”

“Yes, I’ll go to dinner with you.” Anika rubs a hand over her face. “Everytime I give you an inch, you take a mile—"

“For the rest of our lives,” you promise.

Anika shakes a finger at you. “Dinner.”

“It’s a beginning,” you say cheerfully.

The best one you’ve ever had.

-------.

Thanks for reading! I do love my supervillain stories and appreciate you for making it through this one! Sometimes I wonder if I can even write flash fiction anymore haha

Next week's story is already up on my Patreon (X)! I'm super excited to share it as it made me laugh writing it. It's an AITA style post from a woman who used to be a Cryptid professionally and feels like she's made a misstep with her Slasher boyfriend.

See y'all next time!

[drinkyourvillainjuice]

Everyone knows that superpowers come about through three distinct methods. One can be born to their abilities, see them emerge in a moment of great strife, or acquire them through extensive cybernetic augmentation. Everyone is wrong. You’d know. If only that knowledge—and your snazzy slash horrible powers—didn’t come with a host of strings attached. Too bad that was an offer you couldn’t refuse. Did I mention one of the strings was supervillainy? Thrown headlong into a life of crime, balance conflicted loyalties, personal scars, and navigating a web of secrecy and deception, all while maintaining your cover. Above all, remember to drink your Juice. Your life depends on it.

FAQ

[snakebites-and-ink]

When a villain has a "good guy" power, or a good guy has an "evil" power

[ivanwm-05]

The Thousand Of Us

Genre: Superpowers/Post-Apocalyptic/ Sci-fi

Story plot:

Your story begins at what everyone largely saw as the end of the world. There was a bright flash that illuminated the night sky so brightly, it was identical to day as thousands of missiles in a last-ditch effort to save mankind collided with a ginormous asteroid entering our atmosphere.

You wake up two years later and find out that the crisis was averted, but a new crisis of similar proportions was created. The asteroid was carrying a never-before-seen element, mixed with the radiation that bathed the earth. It created a chain of genetic mutations that wiped out nearly the entire population of the planet and put every other living being in hibernation for two years.

For starters all adults are dead, only a thousand people 18 years of age and below around the globe survived, and the thousand of you that survived, wake up to discover that you each now have unique powers. The only problem is that you’re not the only ones that same phenomenon gave powers, also mutated every other living organism on the planet to varying degrees and they were also in hibernation for as long as you are, so they have about 2 years worth of hunger to satiate.

Would you focus on Survival and Rebuilding? or would you try to Unite or Conquer other groups of teenagers to form a more powerful force against the threats you face? Would you try to Find a Cure or Solution by striving to find a way to reverse the mutations in animals and restore the planet to its former state? or would you struggle in Navigating Moral Choices? You could Uncover Hidden Powers or struggle to Establish a Safe Haven for you and your group.

Features:

Play as Male/Female/non-binary and customize your appearance and personality.

You can select one out of a long list of abilities, ranging from just flight to insane regenerative abilities to even earth-shaking strength or even necromancy.

Struggle to stay alive as you do not just have to watch out for mutated plants, animals, and even crazy weather conditions, but also have to watch out for other humans who seek to conquer and lead the rest of the survivors with their terrifying abilities.

You get to choose your MC’s demeanor and how you react to situations. You can be cold and calculative or you could be shy and reserved.

Most involved characters are up to 18 & older including the MC.

Hidden pathways will be made available based on certain choices made within the book that will reveal new endings and shape the LIs future just try to explore this new world.

There might be some explicit scenes but if there are you’ll have the option to fade to black. Mild gore might be unavoidable and there would definitely (depending on your choices though) be death scenes.

Every different power is a different route to explore.

Romantic Interest:

I’m gonna try to make this relatable so no definite number yet but nearly every person you encounter, depending on your interaction and relationship with them can be romanced by your MC.

MC can romance male/female/non-binary characters.

I would also create LIs that exist outside of the MC to showcase that the MC’s involvement in their life created a change within them.

Polyamory possible.

Also ace/aro routes possible.

Current Word count: 202,095 (without code) and 1,187,537 (with code)

😂Code is pretty beefed up because I want to branch this out as much as possible so you have the liberty to make whatever choice you desire and live with the consequences.

To play the demo, go here: Play Demo 

To join the discussion at the forum: Forum

This is the link to the New Patreon: NEW Patron

This is the link to the new Discord server: Discord

Patreons get releases ahead of the public and also I'm starting the side stories soon and they get to vote for the characters that I release first.

Any and all feedback and suggestions would be appreciated.

Note: no current notes.

[mission-light-if]

Mission Light

You have everything; you finished your education with good grades, you managed to achieve your dreams and work successfully in your dream career. 

You have friends, and you and your coworkers get along really well. You have a fulfilling job with new and exciting challanges every day. 

Others dream to achieve what you have. 

But then why does it feel like it's not enough? 

Why does it feel like there has to be more out there for you somewhere? 

Why do you feel so unsatisfied now that you finally can grasp your goal, your dream? 

How do you deal with that? You can't just quit your job, can you? 

When you figure out that your coworkers are agents and involved in some sort of conflict with the group that you are currently forced to work for, you decide to join them. 

Maybe a little superpowered action is what you need. 

But be careful; from being an employee to being an agent with superpowers confronted with life and death is a big jump. Are you sure you can handle that? Cope with everything that happens? 

Especially when the life of a teenage boy, who apparently is the key to defeating a big bad future evil, is placed in your group's hands. 

Maybe your normal career and life doesn't sound so bad after all.

———

Mission Light is an interactive story about a normal employee, who wants more out of life and awakens superpowers and then joins and group of secret agents, who travel the world and try to protect the child of light, who is their key to win against a threat waiting for them in the future.

———

Features 

Customise your own character

Play as trans, male, female, non binary, gay, aroace and aromantic (only on Anekas route) and asexual separated

Romance your fellow agents (18+ optional NSFW content)

Become closer to Adam as a mentor or parental figure and help him with his identity

Travel to different countries with your group of agents

Choose to be either a lawyer, a police officer or a doctor​​

Experience different characters all with their own problems and stories 

This story is primarily focused on your relationship with the characters and their relationships among each other

Figure out what you want out of life and where you belong

There is no good or bad, no one is truly evil, everyone has their own reasons, if their actions are justified is up for you to decide 

Marry your love interest and adopt Adam (only on specific routes)

———

Mission Light is my upcoming work in progress interactive story on itch.io. The three prologue’s are almost completely planned out and have to be written and coded. The game site will change in the future the tumblr site too probably, I want to add pictures of the characters and some in game screenshots. Trigger warnings will be in front of every chapter. I hope I can upload the first prologue on the 1st of march, so if you are interested please consider following me and my game. I really hope that you will like my story ☺️

[weepinwriter]

ZHENYA ‘PSIKH’ BOGDANOV

(pardon the terrible lighting 😔)

Codename : Nyx, named after the primordial greek goddess of the night (yeah it's a feminine name, but does Zhenya give a damn? Hell no)

Nickname : His friends and family members know him simply as Zhen, otherwise in the underworld he is better known as Psikh Bogdanov, or the madman as some prefer to call him for simplicity

[ 20 || 6'1" || cis-male || demisexual || in a relationship with Ash and Rin ]

Appearance : Short midnight black hair, and emerald green eyes

His stats

(dudes here ready to go full on doomslayer on his enemies)

Some facts about him:

~ He likes smoking, and that too the best quality cigars

~ As a child Zhenya wanted to be a writer, maybe even a journalist. He liked journaling his days as a kid, writing small stories and frequently narrating details of his day with his father, uncle and Ash before the incident with his dad, following which he discontinued writing indefinitely. He never touched his little journal after that.

~ Once had a bucket list containing all the things he wanted to do as a kid. These included bungee jumping, going to the seven wonders of the world and hell, even riding an ostrich (overall he just wanted to do every crazy thing one can possibly do). One of the wishes in this list included going to Disneyland with his dad. Unfortunately it never happened and he refused to ever go there

~ is very fond of daffodils. Ash regularly buys daffodils to be put in a vase in the middle of the room where he can see them

~ he is very fond of Donna tartt's books, especially the secret history

~ during his (cringe) puberty phase, when emotions and hormones run high and teenagers become the biggest menaces alive, Zhenya had the misfortune of stumbling upon Twilight. Following that fateful encounter he became a hardcore Twilight fan, especially as a firm member Team Jacob. He even went as far as to get a wolf tattoo and got his ears pierced as a form of his teenage rebellion. Thankfully he got over his cringe phase quickly, and now everytime he thinks about it he can't help but feel embarrassed to the core. (I can say this with a guarantee that Rin tries to pull his leg every once in a while by mentioning his horrific past, just for the sake of seeing Zhenya blush furiously.)

~ also likes reading books and historical research papers on medieval punishments and torture methods, for science ofcourse he says

~ is a pretty decent cook

~ although he can only cook dishes related to chicken, Zhenya is experienced enough to debone a raw chicken blindfolded holding some of the sharpest knives ever. The countless scars on his hands and arms are a testament of his perseverance. Apparently he's ‘practising’...

~ “a balanced diet is very important.” also him, proceeds to carefully remove all the peas from his food

~ has never lost a single match of rock-paper-scissors, even against Rin. However, one cannot say the same for his terrible luck and history with UNO. My guy here can get almost all the power cards at the beginning of the game, yet somehow always manages to lose them all and be defeated brutally. It has come to the point some believe he's intentionally losing, he's not.

~ likes watching and listening to true crime podcasts

~ Zhenya has a very bad habit of smiling whenever he's lying, making it impossible for anyone to figure out when he's lying or not (except those close to him who can see the discrepancies between his real and fake smiles)

~ can hold his liquor very well. The most he can go with, is 23 shots, which is his highest record so far, until he eventually passes and wakes up to the absolute worst hangover of his life

~ will call you a moron if you were to ask him the classic “would you still love me if I was a worm?” but still answer with a yes

~ sorry no Pixie cameo this time 😔, on another note, Zhenya actually adopted Pixie from the streets when he accidentally stepped on her on his way home. Feeling guilty he brought her home and the kitten that was barely a month old became a part of his small family. Now refuses to let anyone even touch her without his permission, talk about being overprotective

MIKHAIL 'MICKI' VICTOROVICH LANG

(this is @headdaze's MC, btw all comments are made by them-)

Codename : Tisiphone (he’d probably get a kick out of the nicknames he could make– like he picks up the phone and goes “hello? This is tisiphone answeirng the phone at avengers speed-” OR EVEN BETTER “hello? Tis me, tisiphone–”)

Nickname : His close ones simply call him, Angel, meanwhile the rest just go along with Micki

[ 20 || 5'5" || agender, he/they || demisexual || working on getting Ash, will work on Rin (when they meet each other as adults which they haven’t yet LOLOLOL)]

Appearance : Slightly long brown hair, with grayish, green blue eyes

Some facts about them

~ after destroying a microwave, ruining a meal, burning a few items, and other travesties, micki resigned himself to simple dishes… no five star courses (later on Zhenya takes it upon himself to cook for Mikhail, after keeping him 6feet away from the kitchen ofcourse)

~ loves nothing more than a good book and as such gets heavily irritated when something good disappoints them

~ very pro-healthy food but still eats unhealthy

~ vision is ABSOLUTE SHIT, wears either ridiculously thick glasses or contacts

~ usually sweet but can have a scary side too (people like to call him the wolf in sheep’s clothing)

~ his dream is to go around the world, eat the things he wants, and buy the things he wants without feeling guilty about spending money

~ a MASSIVE penny pincher

~ “ZHEN CAN YOU PLEASE STOP RUINIG YOUR LUNGS WITH THOSE FUCKING BEAUTIFUL CIGARS” “No.”

~ comfy > fashion, the man is not going to strut outside on a winter day in an outfit even if he looks good in it because if it gets him a cold it is GAME OVER

~ literally cannot stay up for the life of them, alwAYS gets irritable when sleepy so prefers to get their hours of sleep in

(why is a majority of this basically just me)

IF : VENDETTA BY @vendetta-if

[haveyouseenthishorrormovie]

SUMMARY: Scanners are men and women born with incredible telepathic and telekinetic powers. There are many who exercise the benefits of their special gifts in a safe and judicious manner. However, there is a group of renegade scanners who plan to create a race that will rule the world.

[strangelittlestories]

“Where are we going?” asked Khalida, attempting to adjust her denim jacket to hide the worst of the scorch marks.

Cassandra took a moment to answer. She tucked her domino mask into the pocket of her combats, then cast her eyes around and upwards. Satisfied they were not being observed, the ducked out of the alley and merged with the flow of pedestrians.

“To see someone I used to know.” the hero replied, quietly. “An old friend?” Khalida’s voice rang out with enthusiasm. She lowered her voice in response to Cassandra’s pointed look. “Dang, I love the whole ‘visiting an old friend for help’ thing. Always a juicy dynamic.”

“Not exactly a friend.” she looked up and down the street, eyes flicking up and down. “Not anymore.”

“An old enemy? That’s even juicier? Are they, y’know, your very *best* enemy?”

Cassandra sighed.

“They’re an old … something.”

“Ah, a classic ‘it’s complicated’ type situation. Very nice. Love a tangled backstory.”

“It’s not a backstory, kid. It’s my life.”

“I mean, yeah. Sure. But also: you’re a hero! So, to *you* it’s your life. But to us fans, it’s kinda also backstory.”

Cassandra could practically hear the girl adding tags to her mental blog post. There were exclamation points.

“You realise you have powers now, right? You gonna start thinking of your own life as backstory?”

“Are you kidding me, I’ve already started my entry on HeroWiki!” she produced her burner phone and triumphantly showed a draft on the screen. “Wait, is the person we’re seeing on Hiki?”

“I hate that portmanteau. Sounds too much like ‘hickey’” Cassandra finally spotted what she was looking for and started steering the two of them towards a particular sewer grate.  “But … yes. She’ll be on there. Search for Troubleshooter.”

“Oh dip.” Khalida looked up with open mouth. “She’s on the anti-hero section.”

“She wasn’t always.” Cassandra reached into her seemingly endless pockets and handed Khalida a high vis vest. “Now put this on, so no-one will ask questions about us dropping into the sewers…”

---

Troubleshooter’s sewer lair was surprisingly dry and homey. It smelled of lemon and baking soda, making Khalida think someone had been making cakes (though there was no sign of sweet treats among the utilitarian fittings).

“You bringing trouble to my door again, Cass?” Troubleshooter was squaring up to Cassandra; both were bristling with tension.

“Well, trouble is your business, Shoots.”

“It used to be.” Troubleshooter’s hand was on the sidearm holstered beneath her armpit. “But folks got … snippy about the solutions I offered.”

“Thought you’d be thrilled for me to admit I couldn’t handle this on my own.” Careless of the implied threat, Cassandra leaned in to speak softly in Troubleshooter’s ear. “I need you.”

Troubleshooter looked up at Cassandra and bit her lip. Slowly, fingers unwrapped themselves from the weapon.

“Why didn’t they like your solutions?” Two sets of eyes snapped over to look at Khalida; they’d nearly forgotten she was there. “You’re a prognosticator, right? Like Cassandra. You should be, like, the *most* helpful kinda hero.”

“I’m not a prophet. Not like this one.” Troubleshooter tutted. “It’s more … extremely limited universal knowledge osmosis.”

“Huh?”

“I see a problem. I know the most efficient way to solve it. Step-by-step. Like God’s instruction manual.”

“That’s amazing!”

“Not when the problem people bring you is a *person*. They get pretty antsy when you tell them the best solution is a bullet.”

“Oh.” Khalida gulped and looked nervously between the two of them. “Um, Cassandra, did you bring me here to…”

“No, kid.” Cassandra ran a hand through her hair. Suddenly she looked tired. “Here’s the situation, Shoots: I had a prophecy. End of days type stuff. Told me to be in a place to find a person. The place was full of bad-tempered hired muscle. The person was Khalida here. The visions since then are confused, but they all call her the same thing: ‘Reality Ender’. So here’s the problem I put before you: how do we help her *not* destroy reality?”

“You know you might not like the answer.”

“But we’ve still gotta ask.”

“Fine.”

Troubleshooter’s eyes went blurry. It was as if they were vibrating, flickering suddenly through a thousand upon a thousand realities, like searching for a station on an old radio. Just as suddenly as it started, her gaze blinked back into the present.

“Huh.”

“That doesn’t sound like a good result.”

“No. But it’s not a bad one, either.”

“Explain.”

“Let me put it this way: you hear ‘Reality Ender’ and your mind goes to ‘end of *existence*’. Makes sense - matches your prophecy. But that’s not her *power*.”

“So what is it?”

“Oh, it’s still ‘Reality Ender’. But … not ‘reality’ as in ‘existence’. It’s ‘reality’ as in ‘real versus fiction’. As in, ‘possible versus impossible’.”

“...I don’t get it?” Khalida’s voice was small and lost.

“I think the best way to put your deal would be … you’re a Potential Manipulator.”

“Um…that sounds a little problematic. Like, very cancel-able. Could we go with, I dunno, Possibility Manipulator?”

“Honey, trust me, being cancelled is the least of your worries…”

---

Enjoy my writing? Consider supporting me on Ko-Fi with a one-off or recurring donation https://ko-fi.com/strangelittlestories

[choiceofgames]

The Steam summer sale has started!! Get lost in adventure. Our games are on sale, so now is the time to complete your Choice of Games collection! Now through July 11th.

https://store.steampowered.com/publisher/choiceofgames

[theussa]

Boris Petrova’s Presidency

1996: The influential Petrova family, with roots in both America and the Soviet Union, rises to prominence. Boris Petrova, a charismatic, but no-nonsense politician, wins the presidential election, promising stability and a new era of prosperity under a socialist framework.

“Today, we embrace a new dawn where the power of the people transcends the chains of capitalism, forging an America where collective effort and shared prosperity will guide us to a brighter, socialist future.”

– Boris Petrova, from his first inauguration speech.

Boris Petrova was a former US diplomat who served in Soviet Russia. He was born in the United States, his father a Russian diplomat living in the US. Boris moved back to the U.S. in the late 1980s and quickly rose through the political ranks due to his charisma and connections. He became President in 1996, leading the country with a vision of socialist transformation.

During Boris Petrova's presidency, the United States underwent significant transformations. His administration dealt with major natural disasters, initiated substantial military reforms, and navigated complex international relations. Domestically, his policies focused on centralizing economic control, expanding social welfare, and promoting cultural and educational reforms aligned with socialist ideals. These efforts aimed to stabilize the nation, improve living standards, and align the U.S. with its new identity as a socialist state under the influence of Soviet principles.

1997: Introduction of the "People’s Welfare Act" which expands social welfare programs, including universal healthcare and free education, funded by the nationalized industries.

1998: A massive earthquake strikes California, causing widespread devastation in cities like Los Angeles and San Francisco. Boris Petrova’s administration mobilizes federal resources for reconstruction and introduces the "National Disaster Response and Recovery Act" centralizing disaster management under federal control.

1999: Tensions escalate with NATO over Eastern Europe. Boris Petrova adopts a stance of military readiness, increasing defense spending and modernizing the military to ensure the U.S. remains a formidable force despite Soviet influence.

In that same year, the establishment of the "National Economic Planning Act" which sets up a centralized economic planning committee to oversee industrial production, agricultural output, and technological development, ensuring alignment with socialist goals.

2000: Boris Petrova consolidates power, aligning the U.S. more closely with Soviet principles. Nationalization of key industries and increased state control over media and education ensue.

Hurricane Allison wreaks havoc along the Gulf Coast, leading to significant flooding in Texas and Louisiana. The Petrova administration deploys federal troops for rescue and recovery operations and establishes a comprehensive flood defense program.

2001: The "Great American Military Reform" is enacted, integrating military forces into a single, streamlined command structure to improve efficiency and control.

In the same year, the U.S. and Soviet Union sign the "New Harmony Treaty" aimed at reducing nuclear arsenals and promoting peace. This treaty marks a significant thaw in U.S.-Soviet relations and establishes joint space exploration initiatives.

2002: Launch of the "Five-Year Plan for Technological Advancement" focusing on state-funded research and development in technology and infrastructure.

This went hand in hand with the Implementation of the "Unified Education System" standardizing curricula across the nation to emphasize socialist principles, Soviet history, and collective values alongside American history and civic responsibility.

2003: Boris Petrova plays a key role in the formation of the "Global Socialist Coalition" a political and economic alliance with other socialist-leaning countries, aimed at counterbalancing the influence of NATO and capitalist nations.

2004: Boris Petrova's Son Elias Petrova, becomes Vice President, signaling the beginning of a political dynasty. The Petrova family manipulates elections and uses their influence to maintain control through the media, educational institutions and financial compensation.

Elias is Boris's son, who followed in his footsteps. He becomes vice-president. Educated in both Soviet and American institutions, Elias was known for his strategic mind and political acumen. As President, he continued his father's legacy of centralization and state control, accelerating both.

2005: Boris pushes for and ultimately begins a “centralization” of the states. Borders are altered to create four districts to help consolidate power and reduce citizen autonomy.

The Atlantic District:

- Consolidated into a single administrative unit, the Atlantic District, this region would focus on education, technology, and maritime industries.

- Major cities like Boston and Hartford would serve as distribution centers for this district

- [Former] New York still acts as the entertainment capital of the country. However, it is a far cry from what it used to be in the days of the Republic.

The Great Plains District:

- Former states like North Dakota, South Dakota, Nebraska, and Kansas merged into the Great Plains Collective District, emphasizing agricultural production and food distribution.

- Large state-run farms would dominate the landscape.

The Pacific District:

- Former states California, Oregon, and Washington, Nevada, Idaho, Utah and Arizona form the Pacific District The region as a whole dedicated to technological innovation, research, and development as well as the home to many federal agencies.

- Silicon Valley would be a hub of state-controlled tech enterprises.

- The Federal capitol moves from Washington D.C. to Las Vegas. It’s desert surroundings and existing infrastructure made it the ideal location.

The Industrial District:

- Former states in the South, including Texas, Louisiana,South Carolina, North Carolina, Georgia, Florida and Alabama, would be grouped into an industrial zone focusing on energy production, petrochemicals, and manufacturing.

- Key cities like Houston and New Orleans would be central to these activities.

- Miami serves as the capitol of this district given it’s location to allied Cuba.

2006: Boris Petrova negotiates the "Pan-American Socialist Agreement" with several Latin American countries, fostering economic cooperation, mutual defense pacts, and cultural exchange programs to expand socialist influence in the Western Hemisphere.

2007: Boris Petrova negotiates the "Trans-Atlantic Socialist Partnership" with European socialist countries, enhancing economic and political collaboration across the Atlantic. This partnership aims to create a powerful bloc counterbalancing NATO and capitalist countries.

2008: Boris Petrova retires and Elias Petrova is elected President in a landslide victory. The country sees further centralization of power, and dissent is increasingly suppressed.

[aziraphales-ineffable-bookshop]

It's a different sort of heartache to be watching Good Omens and seeing my best friend and I in Aziraphale and Crowley, and then realising we drifted apart so it means that I can't tell her about Good Omens or ask her for her opinions on it, like I have done for everything else I have ever loved.

[drinkyourvillainjuice]

Today (now)

Drink Your Villain Juice! CH5 (pt 2) available on Patreon!

18k new words on top of the existing CH5's 30k, taking the game to 160k!

Learn what mission lies ahead for the Altruists, and learn more about how the Zone came to be.

Hunt for secret insights into your targets. But be careful.

Share a moment with Wil, and perhaps even a little more?

Report to Control Group. Which secrets will you keep? Which will you tell?

Bond with Control Group?

Drink Your Villain Juice!

…unless.

Some additions/fixes, also!

Further choices with Wil added at the debriefing, including one rather tsundere choice if that's been your dynamic.

New option to look into the fate of AdVenture.

Restored an inaccessible option allowing you to claim to Dion that checking on the Patrol was part of a personal code of conduct.

Teddie getting pissed off at you for endangering Kay now routes properly to the rest of the scene.

The public build has also been updated:

Added the ability to skip to Chapter 4.

Restored missing branches to the nodes/mutations routes through the Surpass fight. Unfortunately they're failure states, so have fun!

Restored a missing branch with crushing on Prii; now you can tearfully confess your feelings as they die in your arms! Wait.

Added new code/flavour text to restrict certain pseudonyms, including Dime.

Asking Hypothesis about the earbud now actually tests your skills as it's supposed to.

Added a reaction for abdominal maw MCs if they show off to Mallory.

Fixed the choice to bluff Dion at the end of the briefing so you can actually fail it as was intended.

[yoursecretgaylover]

Currently watching 13x6 for the first time and the sheer amount of absolutely ICONIC Destiel scenes in this episode, within like the same five minutes no less is entirely baffling. I can smell a scene happening and what it is just before it does because tumblr spn brain rot is so deeply rooted in me that it’s permanently bonded with my DNA.

[ivanwm-05]

UPDATED @129k words(Patreon@146k words)

Thank you all so much for your patience, and I apologize for the long-term silence.

This update mainly focuses on Divine Arsenal, Pocket Dimension, and (for Patreons Time Manipulation) routes.

I’d also like to thank you all for your continuous feedback, suggestions, questions, and support.

As always all feedback and suggestions are greatly appreciated.

Word count: 129,440 (without code) 710,355 (with code)

Patreon Word count: 146,601(without code) 807,188 (with code)

To play the demo, go here: Play Demo  Support me on my NEW Patron

[homebrewandhypotheticals]

Hypothetical for you all: You gain the combined knowledge of every single Wikipedia article in existence, the culmination of all of human history in your mind with perfect clarity... but every time somebody other than you edits a Wikipedia article, reality and history changes to make that edit true, with you being the only one to remember how it used to be.

With this power in mind, what do you do with your newfound knowledge? How do you keep people from tampering with the universe at large via page edits?

Tl;dr: You gain all of the knowledge of Wikipedia with perfect recall, but whenever somebody else edits a page, that edit becomes reality. What do you do with this power, and how do you stop reality from getting messed up by rogue editors?