TVCHIVERSE: Where Fandoms Collide and Stories Ignite
Hello All. This is the formal landing page of an amalgam of daydreams, fantasies, and imitations brought to you in story/fanfiction form.
Few ground rules.
Please talk back! If you like anything I've written, have a few questions about what may happen next, or even have a few suggestions on what you would like to see, PLEASE LIKE, REBLOG, and COMMENT!!! Your feedback helps me write when I don't feel like it, helps me know what specifically you liked about that particular story, and it helps me get an energy boost.
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Please, don't steal. Not only is stealing ugly, but it's also beneath you. I don't mind people drawing information from my work. However, taking my work and direct concepts of it and passing it off as your own is stealing. That will get you called out and then blocked. With that being said: Do not copy or repost my work. Do not use my work to train AI.
Please be mindful. This is ADULT content ONLY. Minors, new adults, and young adults may be depicted, but this content is for ADULTS ONLY. 18+. Please head the trigger warnings attached to the beginning of each post. Please do not ignore those, it's impolite. We're are very mindful, very demure around here.
Please be patient. While it is an ultimate goal of mine, writing IS NOT my day job. My job is very demanding and high-stakes, and when I'm not doing that, I love to be outside drawing from real-life experiences, reading, or watching TV/Flim. While I am open to requests, please try and respect the turnaround time I have to put these stories out as well as the other ideas I've had. I chose to create this page to showcase my work and push myself to write almost every day. This is supposed to be fun, NOT stressful. I reserve the right to refuse, deny, or allow myself ample time regarding requests. So please... Don't piss me off.
Now that that is out of the way. I definitely want to give some shout outs to people who had encouraged me to write. Again many thanks to @megamindsecretlair , @thecapodomme , and @vivalaorgasm . Love yall. I'm back writing again cuz a writer writes. But I've never felt rushed or pushed by yall. Just nothing but encouragement, good vibes, and great inspo. Also shout out to the entire #TerryRichmondFanfaction #RebelRidgeFanction for waking your girl up. Especially @megamindsecretlair , @hotgrlcece, @sweettea-and-honeybutter !!!
OK....now I don't just write. Like many of you, I have many hobbies some of which include: Reading, Music/Music History, TV/Flim, Photography, and Fashion. So some of my tags are:
#TVCHIVERSE - the universe where all of my fanfictions live. I will also be posting my short prose and poetry here as well.
#TVCHIsTunes - When I write, I usually write to music. My Spotify is riddled with so many playlists and mixes that I should honestly go to DJ school already. Anyway, I'll share tunes that I've been obsessed with here.
#TVCHIsRunway - where fashion and fashion history live. Archival posts get reblogged. Occasional showcase some of my own fits and style.
#TVCHIsLibrary - Posting and reblogging some great books that I've read as well as great Fanfics I’ve come across on here. May even do some reviews. Also will be posting some things from my TBR to see whether yall have read it or not and your thoughts about it before I read. (No spoilers, if you can avoid it)
#TVCHIsTV - I ultimately want to become a screenwriter yall. For real. I hope to learn from all forms of media, and the easiest for me to start out with is poetry, prose, and novels. However, I do want to be in the writers' rooms. So, with this tag, I'll post my favorite TV shows and films, speak about why I like them, and dissect plot, narratives, and scriptwriting.
#TVCHIsGallery - This tag will be me reblogging or posting art that I think is gorgeous regardless of the subject matter.
#JustTVCHI- Sheer randomness
Alright. Down to the goood shit!
As I continue to write, I will be updating this landing page to include all the one-off fics/stories as well as the series that I create. I'm in the process of starting two different series at the same time, resuming another, and writing one-off stories. There's A LOT going on. Be on the look out.
The Bunker: Part 1
The Bunker: Part 2
The Bunker: Part 3
The Rhythm of You: Aldis
Echoes of Intrigue: Prt 1
Echoes of Intrigue: Prt 2
Veiled Intentions: The Hunt, 1
Veiled Intentions: The Hunt, 2
Veiled Intentions: The Hunt, 3
Veiled Intentions: Adrian
Veiled Intentions: The Catch, 1
The Challenge: About Loss
The Challenge: About Him
The Challenge: About a Challenge
The Three Of Us
My story is simple...
Anxiety
Fighting Flowers
Perceiving Genuine
Decoding Honesty
Take This Cup
Unititled
Instructions on how to get on the tag list
Thank you all in advance for welcoming me into fandom and holding space for me here. I hope to build community with each and every one of you. Please expect me under your content as well.
warnings: suggestive themes, flustered!michael, teasing, married michael, slightly possessive thoughts if you squint
a/n: this man would NOT survive hearing this information before going on stage…
The entire arena buzzed with energy.
Thousands of screaming fans filled the seats, cameras flashing constantly while the stage lights lit everything gold and electric.
Michael’s biggest solo concert yet.
And everybody who mattered to him was there.
His mother sat proudly near the front of the VIP section while his brothers laughed loudly amongst themselves nearby. Janet stood beside you holding a drink while members of Michael’s production team rushed around making last minute adjustments to outfits, lighting, and security.
Even the VIP section had been styled carefully.
Apparently Michael wanted everybody looking perfect tonight.
Especially you.
The black dress they’d put you in was gorgeous.
Tight in all the right places, shimmering under the lights every time you moved.
Only problem?
It was unbelievably thin.
You leaned closer to Janet with a quiet groan.
“I swear his stylists are trying to set me up.”
Janet laughed immediately. “Why?”
You tugged lightly at the fabric near your hip.
“Because tell me why I had to stop wearing underwear with this dress.”
Janet nearly choked.
“What?”
“I’m serious,” you whispered dramatically. “You could literally see everything through it.”
“Oh my God.”
“I had no choice!”
Janet started laughing harder while you shook your head.
“If I wore anything underneath this dress, every camera in this stadium would've picked it up.”
Neither of you noticed the figure standing a few feet away freezing completely.
Michael had only come over to say goodbye before heading backstage again.
That was it.
That had been the entire plan.
Instead, he stood there staring straight ahead while your words replayed in his brain at full volume.
No underwear.
Michael blinked once.
Then twice.
His heartbeat immediately betrayed him.
Oh no.
His eyes darted around quickly before he forced himself to look anywhere except you.
Absolutely not.
Not right now.
Not when he was about to go on stage in front of thousands of people.
Michael swallowed hard, adjusting his jacket subtly while mentally begging himself to think about literally anything else.
The setlist.
The choreography.
The lights.
His brothers suddenly appeared beside him like demons summoned specifically to make his life harder.
Jackie smirked immediately.
“You good?”
Michael answered too fast.
“Fine.”
Jermaine narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
“You sure?”
Michael nodded once, avoiding eye contact completely.
“I’m perfectly fine.”
Marlon followed Michael’s line of sight toward you before slowly grinning.
“Ohhhhh.”
Michael immediately snapped his head toward him.
“Don’t start.”
“Start what?” Marlon asked innocently.
Jackie laughed quietly.
“Our baby brother’s married and STILL gets nervous.”
“I am not nervous.”
“Mhmm.”
Jermaine clapped him on the shoulder.
“Biggest solo show of your life and you’re over here fighting demons because your wife looks good.”
Michael looked horrified.
“Would y’all lower your voices?”
That only made them laugh harder.
Thankfully one of the stage coordinators called for Michael before his brothers could embarrass him any further.
“You’re on in two minutes!”
Michael exhaled slowly like he’d just survived something traumatic.
Then he looked over toward you one last time.
And immediately regretted it.
Because now you were already looking at him.
Your expression shifted the second your eyes met his.
Slow realization.
Then embarrassment.
Oh.
Oh, he heard you.
Heat rushed to your face instantly while Michael looked away so fast it almost made you laugh.
Almost.
Janet noticed immediately.
“Oh my God,” she whispered excitedly. “HE DID HEAR YOU.”
You covered your face with your hands.
“I’m actually gonna die.”
Meanwhile Michael stood near the stage entrance trying desperately to regain control of his thoughts before performing in front of thousands of people.
Which became significantly harder when he glanced back one more time and saw you smiling shyly at him from across the VIP section.
A/N: I've been writing A LOT. Between my research, Substack, and here, I feel like a good balance is to hit y'all at the end of the month with new installments just so everything doesn't feel rushed. Last time we left off and Jerry done lost his leg, chile! Poor Jerry. Anyways, I'm back with Episode 2 of this series. If you haven't tuned in to Episode 1, catch up!
Summary: When a coordinated attack plunges the United States into permanent darkness, the country's wealthiest find their failsafes have failed them. Their private bunkers — built for exactly this moment — are sealed, inaccessible, dead. With nowhere else to turn, they converge on the only light visible for miles: a lone house on a hill.
The owner isn't home. Someone else is.
Casting: You: The Interviewer Sterling K Brown as Jerry Sabina Karlsson as Lenora Nicole Beharie as Beatrice Morris Chestnut as Roman Aldis Hodge as Xavier Tyler James Williams as Mark Precious Lee as Arabella Lawrence Fishbourne as Jackson Luke James as Peter
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
12/23/2025
The interviewer sits beside the house, waiting for Xavier to come outside.
Interviewer: Last time we met, you told me that you waited by the house on the hill until the lights went back on, then you left. I have a report saying that your shoes were covered in remnants of what was later discovered to be blood. Not your own, though. So how exactly did you leave?
Xavier paused for a minute, then turned to face the Interviewer.
Xavier: Which report is that?
Interviewer: The one from the police.
Xavier: Bullshit.
Interviewer: Are you saying the police got it wrong? Because it states here that —-
Xavier: I’m saying that you didn’t get that fun fact from the police. There was only one person who found me covered in blo—
Interviewer turns his head with a glimmer of satisfaction.
Interviewer: Go on
Xavier: I have somewhere to go
Interviewer: I don’t. I’ll join you.
Xavier: You’re not exactly welcome.
Interviewer: Well, find a way to welcome me because if you don’t help me make sense of what I’m being told and what I’m seeing, I’ll start painting my own picture and I’m not sure either of you will like that.
Xavier’s jaw clenches, and his right fist tightens
Xavier: Let’s take a drive.
Interviewer and Xavier get into a silver Mazda and drive West.
Xavier: hands tighten around the steering wheel. You got from now until I reach my destination to ask me any questions you want. Once we get there, you’ll hop out of this car, and I never see you again. Understood?
Interviewer: No, I don't. What if I have follow-up questions that involve your role in that night?
Xavier: Your time started 5 minutes ago. I suggest you start asking your questions.
Interviewer: Why were you covered in blood that night?
Xavier: A few of us were. I’m guessing by now that you’ve either spoken to Peter or Arabella. So that would mean that you know that we were tied to a tree. Being tied to trees doesn’t really work for me. So I tried to get out but couldn't see much. That freak took all of our stuff.
Interviewer: So whose blood were you in?
Xavier: I don’t know! We couldn’t see shit. There was a limb right next to me. After that fuckin’ gas went off we were knocked out. Every time we woke up it was pitch black. We couldn’t see whatever or whoever chained us up.
Interviewer: Do you remember who was next to you? To your left and your right?
Xavier: When we woke up the second time, I came up with the idea for everyone to speak and kind of gauge who they were next to. I said my name and pulled on the chain on my right hand to encourage that person to speak. To my right, Arabella. I tugged at the chain on my left hand and heard something move. When I tried to look around, I noticed that there wasn’t a person there was—. It was just a leg.
Interviewer: Jerry’s leg
Xavier sits silent for a while, then resumes speaking
Xavier: Everyone else took turns announcing their names so that the people next to them would know who they were. Dahlia was still sobbing, but we knew who she was. We were starting to talk about looking around for things that could help us get out of there. That’s when we discovered that all of our things had been taken. Jackson yelled out in frustration.
[Xavier transports us back to the night in question
Xavier: Aye man, we gotta stay calm. We don’t know where that muthafucka is. He could be watching us right now. We can’t let him see that we’re coming undone.
Jackson: This is bullshit! What does he want from us?
Xavier: I don’t know but whatever it is, we can’t lose our shit. We’ll be playing right into his hand. Let’s just keep looking for ways to get out of here.
Mark: I think I found something!
Xavier: Describe it to us!
Mark: It looks like some time of bent metal. Like some kind of key. It’s beveled at the top and the teeth are rounded.
Xavier: Does it look like it can open the lock to our chains?
Mark: I don’t think so. It’s too big to fit the padlock on the chains of my shackles.
Dahlia: I don’t see anything.
Arabella: I don’t see anything a circle peg could fit in
Xavier: I haven’t found anything either.
Jackson: That’s because you won’t. None of us will.
Xavier: And how are you so sure?
Jackson: The only person who can get us out of this is that crazy son of a bitch. The locks around our chains are lunatic locks. They don’t take keys or number combinations. You gotta keep messing with it in order the bolt falls into the correct spaces within the lock. It takes hours to do and that madman keeps putting us until every forty-five minutes.
Xavier: How do you know this?
Jackson: Lets just say, I’ve seen these kinds of locks before. Every time I see one, things don’t end very well. I’ve been trying to fiddle with it all this time and nothing is working. Each lock would have a different combination to open it. The whole thing is a giant puzzle.
The Voice: You’re not the only one who’s seen these locks before. Someone among you is familiar with them and other such locks. I would have thought that they would’ve been the ones to explain this contraption but you’ve done well, Jackson. Since you’ve done well, you will be spared this round. For the rest of you, your lives hang in peril unless you are able to answer this riddle:
I arrive uninvited, yet only when summoned
I can be born from a whisper, or for a wound never touched
I lend strength to the trembling, but steal wisdom for the wise
I am light as a breath when I enter, heavy as iron when I stay
I have no shape, yet I sculpt actions
I have no voice, yet I speak through broken peace
Name me,---
The guest who lives nowhere, but visits everywhere
You have thirty minutes.
Xavier: Wait last time we got an hour. Why is it only half an hour this time?
Silence
Xavier: Hello? Are you there?!!]
Present Day
Xavier: We were left to figure out the riddle. Time had already started when Jackson was explaining the locks to us. Everyone deliberated for a while but no one said anything. I pressed Peter for any ideas since he got the riddle the last time, but he didn’t say anything. I had no idea what it meant or what clues I was supposed to be looking for, so I resigned to thinking about what would happen if I died. I was bracing myself for pain because it seemed like it was something this guy wanted to inflict on all of us. At first, I thought that this voice was just some psycho with a vendetta against the rich. But it felt way more personal than that. I took a lot of time with all of this. Locking us outside of our bunkers, leading us to the only house with lights, poisoning us with gas, and watching us lose people one by one. I started asking myself who this guy was and how he knew all of us. Arabella tugged on her chain and it moved my right arm closer. I knew she was scared, so I let her tug and tug until she felt some type of relief. She tried to turn her body a little closer to mine and when the speaker came on, she fully jolted to my side. A strange song came on and it seemed like the chorus was on repeat. “Time is on my side” just kept repeating over and over again.
The night in question
Mark: Please make it stop!
The Voice: Do you have an answer for me?
Mark: We’ll do whatever you want, just please make the music stop. I can’t think!
The Voice: Do you forfeit your remaining time?
Mark: No!
The Voice: Very well.
Present Day
Xavier: The music blared even more through the speakers. Attempts to cover our ears are thwarted by the chains on our hands. Our ears may as well have bled. What seemed like an eternity later, everything went still. Even the night air seemed to have stilled. The music stopped. We waited to hear the voice, but there was nothing. A couple of minutes later, we heard noises coming from the surrounding woods. Like shuffling. It was difficult trying to make out what or who was making those noises. Dense fog enveloped us. The shuffling grew louder. Then growls.
The Interviewer: Growls?
Xavier: Yea man. Low, menacing growls.
The night in question
The Voice: Time is up. We are here once again. Although there are some innocent among you, most of you are here tonight because the world has gone up in flames and those at the very helm are sitting among us. As the rest of the world burns, so will all of you, but not a moment before you all reveal who you really are. Now, before I give you all a chance to answer the riddle, I must warn you of what hangs in the balance if you answer incorrectly. There are very hungry friends of mine who are in the woods. I have denied them food for two days. They are highly trained and obey my commands. At any incorrect answer, I will command them to feast at will.
Mark: You can’t do this!!! This is insane!
The Voice: Just the very voice I wanted to hear. Do you have my answer?
Mark: Why do I have to answer the riddle? You said anyone!
The Voice: Anyone can answer for you and take your place in all this, but it is your turn to answer I’m afraid.
Mark: You’re a sick fuck! You have us all picked out and lined up to answer your fucked up riddles and if we don’t get it wrong, we die. Fine, we die! But what the hell do you get out of it?
What does the world get out of it if we’re dead? Why don’t you come out here and uncuff me? Just me and you, no beasts, no other people, no riddles. Just you and me!
The Voice: It seems like violence is the way with all of you, isn’t it? First, Jerry wanted to kill me. Now you want to fight me. You must think that the odds would be in your favor, don’t you?
Mark: Only cowards hide behind fake voices and animals! Show us who you are!
The Voice: Only after you’ve all revealed who you are. Enough stalling. Do you have an answer for me or not?
Mark: silence
The Voice: gives Mark a couple of minutes to respond. Right then. I guess you don’t have an answer. That’s a shame. You embodied it perfectly.
Mark: Oh, yea? What’s that, you sick fuck?
Present Day
Xavier: He didn’t answer. Or maybe we did, and we could hear him over the barking. Before we knew what was happening, wolves or dogs surrounded us, barking in our faces. Their spittle coats us. Then the screams came. Peter cried out, then Beatrice. It was the first time I heard what her screams truly sounded like. She was in utter pain. Mark cried out until his voice was hoarse. I think both he and Beatrice were side by side in our twisted circle. We heard a pop. Or at least I heard it. Bones are being severed from their sockets. They were pulling at his legs and arms, and he had to just sit there and watch it happen to him. Warm liquid made its way underneath me. I wasn’t sure if it was blood or urine. There was a lot of that running wild, feeding the tree. I closed my eyes, not being able to take the anticipation of my flesh being ripped open by these dogs or whatever they were. Not like all the stories I grew up hearing my grandfather tell. I pleaded with God to make this all go away. After everything I’ve done, I knew there was no use. So I just waited my turn. Waiting and listening to everyone else's screams. My turn never came. But the smell of blood, urine, and feces coated my nose. I still can’t get the stench of it out of my nostrils. Everywhere I go, I smell it.
Interviewer: Did the voice ever find out what the answer was?
Xavier: When we woke up from the next wave of gas, there was a beam of light. It was soft, lighting, faint. I could make out Arabella’s features. She was a mess. Her eye makeup was streaked all over her face from crying. Her eyes were bloodshot. Lipstick was no longer solely on her lips. She had a tendency to touch her face and lips when she was anxious or afraid. Mucus dripped from her nose, and tears cascaded down her cheek and onto her neck. I can’t imagine how I looked. I adjusted my eyes so I could take in more of our surroundings when a wail emerged from our right. Arabella snapped her neck to look at what was going on. That’s when she saw it.
Interviewer: Tell me what she saw.
Xavier: Mark’s arm. It was gnarled but etched with a knife where the word “Wrath” was written across the length of his arm. Arabella screamed until she passed out. We all just sat there trying to will ourselves out of this nightmare.
Interviewer: What exactly do you all do? How are you all connected in the blackout?
Xavier: We are here, and your time is up.
Xavier presses a button that opens the passenger door.
Xavier: Remember, I don’t want to see you ever again or we are going to have to have a very different conversation.
Reluctantly, the interviewer climbs out of the car and steps onto the curb. Xavier drives off.
12/24/2025
Boss: Get out of here! It’s Christmas Eve.
Interviewer: I need to finish this. I’ll just be another couple of hours.
Boss: Well, lock up when you’re done and clean up all of this mess. I like a clean shop and you know that. Flow swept, tools cleaned and put up. We have to be ready for the morning.
Interviewer: You say this every day, and every day you get here, has there ever been a mess for you to clean?
Boss: Hmmm. and make sure that I don’t find any mess either!
The Boss walks out. The Interviewer watches him until he is out of sight. He rises up out of his chair and grabs his laptop out of his bag. He opens it and types on the keys until a screen opens up. His face illuminates as images dance across his screen. He watches intently.
Hours later, Interviewer closes his laptop. He starts by slowly mopping the shop, careful to hit every inch. Once he discards the trash, he begins cleaning his specific workstation. All dust and debris were disposed of. He cleans the tools over the trash can, wiping them down. He then carefully places them in their individual places. After taking a really careful glance around the whole area, he turns out the lights. Heading out the door, he locks the shop and heads for his car.
Once he is at home, he opens his laptop once more and types Beatrice’s full name along with Jerry’s. Several articles pop up. He prints them out and arranges them neatly on his office desk.
12/25/2025
Arabella goes to the hospital to visit Beatrice.
Arabella: Tricey. How are you doing in there? She sits down beside the hospital bed after putting the fresh flowers on the small, linear table. It’s been hell over here. I can hardly eat or sleep. I’m sure you’re not feeling any better trapped in here. These hospital sheets are deplorable. I don’t know how you’ve managed not to get a rash. But that’s always been you, right? So resilient and strong. Nothing really rattles you. Oh no. Not Beatrice! I always envied that about you. You never really tolerated anyone getting in your way or pushing you around. You went for what you wanted. Been like that since we were kids. Look at us now.
Arabella eyed the door, making sure that no one was around.
Arabella: I kept thinking about those nights. About how we were trapped around that tree and what he said to us. The things he knew about us. I was so terrified. I didn’t know why he was so angry with us. I didn’t know how he could possibly know about the affair unless you told him. You were the only other person who knew. That day, I blamed you. I knew you were concerned and wanted everything to end. I just didn’t know how to do it. Mark was starting to catch on to things and was questioning everything. I didn’t want you to get hurt, but I didn’t know how to end things. It was all just so messed up. I didn’t know why anyone besides Mark would care about what we did. Why did it matter if no one was really getting hurt? Then you told us. You told us about what you did with the media outlets and the newspapers. I didn’t think you were capable of such things, Tricey. I was shocked. I knew you were ambitious, but not like that. You swore! You swore that you wouldn’t turn out anything like your father, and there you were doing what you swore you’d never do. Despite all of that, you don’t deserve this. Look at your hands. Look at your legs, Tricey. You’ve always had the softest, most luxurious skin. Now it’s all ruined. He ruined you!
Tears begin to flow down Arabella’s cheeks
Arabella: If I knew where that son of a bitch was, I promise I would spare no expense. I’d make him pay for everything he did to us that night. It was cruel. Deranged. Meniacle. Tricey, I need you to get up. I need you to fight. I don’t have much strength without you, now do I? I can’t possibly sleep through the night knowing that you’re in here. Get up, Tricey. It’s Christmas. I have your gifts all right here, see?! Please, Tricey, get up.
The Interviewer listens intently behind the hospital room curtain. With a plant in hand, he turns back toward the direction he came.
Thanks for reading this very intricate story, and hopefully it wasn't too confusing. I've tagged everyone that I could remember, but if you're coming across me for the first time and want to be tagged in this fic or any others, please comment and let me know you wanna be tagged!
Tags: @thecapodomme @writers-of-tmblr @melaninpov @spaceslutsworld @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @mymusicbias @the-black-label @master-builder42 @miraculously-dumb-bitch @megamindsecretlair @hopefulromantic1 @tranquilfandomer @thadelightfulone @vivalaorgasm @hotgrlcece @planetblaque @blackgurlnhermoods @andriaharris @theblacklewinsky @kumkaniudaku @lovelyflames @girlbeblogging @toiadeenovels @longpause-awkwardsmile @sweettea-and-honeybutter @sirenmouths @almostelectroniccheesecake @liquorlaughslove @meleekabenjamin @19jammmy @thoseprettywords @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @stellarxfresh @noirelyfe @moooonluvr @kinginwithbreezy-blog @bunniibooooo @sk1121-blog1 @luckydaye777 @hgabdakhtui @ovohanna24 @bratattack209 @greantii @rue0224 @jazziejax @whatdreamsaremadeofbitch @absentmindeddreamer @soft-persephone @dragonfly1207 @strawberrymoon45 @kxngkaykay @nayaesworld @uzumaki-rebellion @wolfiediaries @off-pink @zoey101-2 @acuriousself @sinnthahuman
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I just know Terry's got the type of dick where he needs to force you to sit on it. You're just hovering over a few inches, baby so big you don't got the strength in you to willingly take him fully.
First, he'll tell you nicely "C'mon, sit on it baby. You got it. What you can't ride your dick?"
But he won't ask again. If you don't get it right after that, he's placing his hands on your hips and lowering you onto him. He'll go slow, though. Rest assured. If you're in reverse, he'll praise you in silent, wet kisses on you back.
He's a soul snatcher, I just know it. And until you've a little limp in your step the next morning? A random smile on your face everytime you think of him. He's doing it again, and again and again.
Shit, I need to lay of the wine. It's really gets me to thinking😭
-🌹
A/N: I can never write a drabble for this man, I fear 😪 But I appreciate your faith in me to deliver a little sumn 🥵
The Little Death
Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader
Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Fluff, cursing, smut, PIV, sweet and possessive Terry, oral (female receiving), teasing, dirty talk, established relationship, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some.
Summary: After an incredible date night out, you can no longer stick to the six-month no sex rule you have in place. Terry makes it extremely difficult to think of anything other than him and the sexy promise in those beautiful eyes of his.
Word Count: 4,287k
AO3 Link
A/N: I may have mixed feelings on the actor, but baby, I am still over the moon for Terry. Thank you for rocking with the new way of doing things. I've been missing that man so I hope a few others have been as well. I've been busy revamping this novel so it's something I'm proud of. I swear it's coming LOL. But that's where my focus has been. This will be the last regular one-shot for a while so I can dive into my 14 series.
PSA, I no longer have a taglist for Terry fics. Please follow the side blog @lost-lovers-club and turn on all notifications. The only ones still tagged are part of my permanent list. Please don't ask to be on the permanent list just to get tagged for Terry. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.
Terry Richmond would likely be the death of you.
Not for any violent reason; the rough pads of his fingers just felt heavenly against your skin as he idly rubbed them across your neck. He sat behind you on a stool and had you tucked in front of him, so that the heat of his chest seeped through your back and warmed you in all of the right places. All of them.
A soft rock band called Infinity Song was on a small stage belting out their most popular song, Hater's Anthem. The sibling quartet had a vibrancy on stage as they danced along with the music, played instruments, and engaged back and forth with the intimate audience.
When Terry suggested that you go to a distillery for a date…yeah, you had reservations. But it surprised you with the wide open patio behind the distillery's bar that had a roof so you weren't getting burnt by the setting sun, a food truck that made the most delicious pizza you'd ever had outside of Italy itself, and plenty of wooden benches, tables, and stools to linger around. Plus, the smell from the grains used to make the whiskey was absolutely divine and you wished you had a candle to capture it. The music had a folksy, almost R&B kind of feel that made you sway your shoulders.
The middle of the floor was kept open for people who wanted to dance and there were plenty of couples both young and old who took advantage. There was an older Black couple on the floor dancing, the man twirling his wife around. His wife had the biggest grin across her face, instantly making her look like she was in her twenties again. The husband only had eyes for her and you had to blink away some unexpected tears.
"You want another drink?" Even sitting down, Terry was a massive giant. His lips pressed against the top of your ear so as he spoke his lips tickled you. His breath fanned across your neck and you suppressed a shiver.
"Yes, please," you said.
"Another Sweet Potato?" He asked. You nodded so he collected the empty glasses on the small, square table and walked towards the bar. He wore light wash denim jeans, a long sleeve white thermal, and thick heavy boots. His gold chain rested on the inside of his shirt, but every now and then, it caught the light and sparkled against his almond colored skin. The bar was located inside the distillery, so he bent to clear the door and then disappeared inside.
You finally had time to breathe and collect yourself. It had been six, long months of not going further than second base. That was your decision and Terry had been nothing but a gentleman, willing to go at your own pace. You started the six month standard because these men out here were absolute dogs.
You'd never met a consistent liar who could be patient for six months and abstain from sex. If you were going to invite someone into your bed, they better have the personality to match the bass in their tone. And so far…Terry most definitely matched it. He was funny with his dry humor, sexy as sin, and was nothing but a gentle giant. Those stormy eyes and secret smirk of his promised there was a whole other side to him you weren't familiar with and you were excited to see where that took you.
But he also frightened the absolute hell out of you. Terry walked like it was heavy with big steps and a slow gait. More than a few times, you felt that monster brush up against your hand while making out or against your ass when he stood behind you. And that was him at rest. You'd never taken someone as big as him and quite frankly, you didn't know what to do with all of that.
You had better learn quick though, because you didn't know how much longer you could hold out. Terry exited the bar with two glasses and he smiled as he walked back to you. Every time you saw him, however brief the absence, he took your damn breath away. He was letting his hair grow out, so he had a neat crop of curls that made your belly flip. He handed the glass to you and you took a sip, letting the whiskey cocktail work its magic. It had a toasted marshmallow as a garnish and you took bites as you sipped the drink.
Terry returned to his seat behind you, tucking you back into his chest. One hand wrapped around your waist possessively, while the other wrapped around his own drink. You weren't typically a whiskey girlie, especially the high proof ones Terry preferred, but this had been one of the best dates you'd ever went on.
"So what did you think about my band?" Terry asked.
"Not bad, not bad," you had to turn to the side just to be heard over the music. Your shirt rode up, exposing your back. Terry adjusted your shirt without prompting, pulling it down to protect your modesty. Your heart and pussy melted even further.
One of the female members, Momo, wore a sparkly blue dress that caught the light from the bulbs around the sign proclaiming them as the headliner for the night. She was in the middle of a solo song, so it was easier to talk, but only just.
"I see why you like them. They have a vibe," you continued.
Terry nodded. "A friend introduced me to them after her wife put her on. I figured you'd like them."
"Oh, you know me like that, huh?" You asked. You grinned at him and he playfully narrowed his eyes.
"I know a lot about you," he said quietly and from the look in his eyes, you wondered just how much he knew. As if he could read your mind, his thumb absently caressed your hip.
"Yeah? Like what?" You asked.
Terry only responded with a smirk. The bastard. He took a sip of his drink and his fingers wrapped around the glass in a way that made it look tiny. His lips wrapped around the edge and you watched, mesmerized, as his throat worked to take a quick sip.
The song ended and everyone began to clap and cheer, pulling you from eye-fucking the man. The oldest band member, Abraham, started talking to the crowd, saying they were going to play one more and then end the night. He thanked everyone for coming out, sounding like he was sixty-seven with his mannerisms and proper way of speaking.
"Dance with me," Terry said.
You turned back to him and nodded. Maybe that was what you needed. Because after sitting and drinking, you were warm and fuzzy all over forgetting why you had the rule in place. You needed some movement, somewhere for all the pent-up energy to go.
Terry stood and held out his hand for you. Other couples had the same idea, getting onto the dance floor as well. You took his hand and let him lead you to a spot and then he drew you closer, pulling you by the waist so that there wasn't an inch of space left to the imagination.
Terry drew you into him and you fit like the last piece of the puzzle. He was able to hold you and make you feel wholly engulfed in him even though your hand was on his shoulder and not round his neck or he had to bend slightly to hold you. He didn't complain, didn't show an ounce of it bothering him, as he carefully maneuvered you around the other dancers flailing their partner around.
Terry's thumb rubbed circles into your back and you kind of regretted the thick, ribbed, mustard colored shirt. You felt his thumb, but you wanted to feel it skin to skin. You shook that errant thought away.
"You are so damn beautiful," Terry said, his deep voice rumbling in his chest and vibrated against yours.
You dipped your head so he wouldn't see the bashful grin on your face. "You are very good for the ego, Mr. Richmond," you giggled. "Thank you."
Terry chuckled, spun you away from him, spun you back, and dipped you slightly. "You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" You couldn't help but ask. This man was impossible.
Terry righted you and smirked. "Doing what?" He asked, picture of innocence.
"This…you…" You couldn't bring yourself to name it because he had it. He had a presence most people didn't. Intense but not stiff, confident without being cocky, or secure without throwing his weight around. It was honestly a miracle no one had snatched him up by now.
Hell, you were doing the same thing in a way. Keeping him at arm's length because there was no way someone like him could exist. He wasn't perfect, not by a long shot. He had a few habits that bothered you but not enough to kick him to the curb. He was a terrible dancer with any song faster than a slow dance, drank whiskey that could choke a horse, and was an early riser.
None of that lessened the impact he had on you whenever you got around him. Like all of those minor annoyances faded to the background the minute he smirked or joked. And when he gave you a full, unobstructed view of that grin…it fueled plenty of fantasies over the weeks.
It doesn't have to be a fantasy.
Terry spun you again, waiting for your response. But the only thoughts on your mind right now…was filthy and disgusting and you were tired of fighting it. You gave up, gave in, and surrendered.
When you were back against his chest, you looked him in the eye and grinned. "Take me back to your place?" You asked.
His eyebrows shot up in the most adorable way but he recovered enough with a grin. "Are you sure? There's no pressure," he said.
You pressed closer to him, your boobs resting against his chest. "I want you," you said with a low, sultry tone. It'd been long enough. You were God's strongest soldier for six months and now you were beyond denying yourself what was clearly a fun ride. You'd just have to communicate that he had to go extremely slow. Otherwise he'd split you open and you didn't want to explain that to EMT's.
Terry's eyes dipped from your titties and then to your face. Without hesitation, he grabbed your hand and dragged you off of the dance floor. Your giggles were impossible to stop as he grabbed your jacket and helped you into it. He chuckled with you, the both of you acting like you were teenagers off to do something naughty.
Terry pushed the boundaries of speeding as he drove to his place, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on your thigh. The casual way he showed his possession was one of the first things that made you fall for the man. Consent was always sexy, but sometimes you wanted to feel wanted. And he made you feel wanted each and every time you were around him.
Terry pulled into his driveway, outside of a modest one story brick house with white trimmings and a black roof. You'd been here plenty of times before over the months you'd started dating, but now practically felt like the first time.
Terry hopped out, coming round to your side to help you out of his colossal truck. Once out, it took no time at all for him to open his door and let you inside. He flipped on a few lights to illuminate the way, but once the door was closed, his lips descended upon yours.
You kissed him back, no longer restricting yourself. No longer holding yourself back. You gave yourself permission to enjoy the way his soft lips crashed to yours, as if should he stop, even for a second, you'd disappear. Your hands wrapped around his shoulders, digging your nails in.
His knee pushed your thighs apart and then he rested it against your pussy, giving you much needed pressure but it wasn't enough for any true relief. His hands grabbed and squeezed your ass, sitting you more fully on his knee. You moaned into his mouth, the whiskey on your tongue dancing with his.
Your brain needed more oxygen so you were forced to break apart to get more air into your lungs. Terry's hands went wandering, unbuttoning your shirt to reveal your brown lacy bra beneath it.
He groaned as he looked his fill. He cupped your breasts, kneading the soft flesh, and ran his thumbs across your nipples.
"Fuuuuck," you moaned.
"So fuckin' beautiful," he murmured.
The alcohol plus his comments made your cheeks turn flaming hot. Sweat beaded against your temple and your rational side fought with your irrational side. You needed to slow down, needed to get a few ground rules out of the way. But your body wanted more, more, more. Your hips canted against his knee, seeking a type of relief that only comes with either his mouth, fingers, or dick.
His juicy big lips returned to yours and he sucked on your bottom lip. You felt the answering tug in your pussy, your clit throbbing for some attention as well.
"Terry, wait," you whispered, so out of breath you were light headed.
Terry immediately stilled, his hands around your waist and he pulled back to look at you. "Talk to me," he said.
You giggled at the seriousness but he was only turning you on more. "I, uh, I should," you started but took a deep breath and started over. "I very much want to have sex with you. But I think we should go slow. You know how big your dick is, right?"
Terry chuckled, closing his eyes to laugh with his full body. He shook in your arms and you couldn't help but join in. When he sobered, he gave you a serious look. "We can go as slow as you want, I promise."
You nodded but you weren't that convinced. After all, that monster pushed against the fabric of his jeans and it looked painful. Something on your face must've given away your thoughts, because Terry retreated.
"Wait, no!" You said.
Terry chuckled and stepped closer once more. The heat of his skin was a balm to your racing heart. The woodsy scent of his soap wrapped around you until that was the only thing you could smell. One of his hands came up to cup your face. His thumb traced a pattern against your jaw and he gave you a kiss so damn tender, you gasped. "We have plenty of time to explore all of the ungodly things I want to do to you. But tonight, we'll take it as slow as you want. Deal?"
"Deal," you said with a grin.
He stepped back so he could untie his boots. You did the same, kicking off your shoes and taking off your jacket. Your shirt hung loose from when he opened it, so you let that fall to the floor as well.
Terry grabbed your hand and led you further into the house, bypassing a cozy living room with the bare essentials and dark, wooden tables and a leather sofa. His kitchen was just as clean, not a fork or cup out of place. At the end of the hallway, Terry turned on the light to his bedroom, dimming it to make it more intimate.
The curtains were drawn and his king-sized bed still looked too small for his big ass. The carpet underneath muffled your footfalls as you joined him at the foot of the bed, reaching for each other at the same time to peel off your clothes.
His shirt went first, his gold chain swinging and then settling back against his broad chest. He had a light smattering of hair dusted around and you greedily ran your hands all over him. He did the same, his hands never lingering anywhere long as if he didn't know where to start.
He opted for your jeans, unbuttoning them and stripping it and your panties in one fell swoop. You stepped out of it, taking your socks off as well. You helped Terry with his pants, giggling as you fought with the button.
"It's a little tricky," he said.
"I can handle a button," you said, tugging the damn thing free and sliding the zipper down. He hissed as your fingers brushed his erection through his boxer briefs, his long eye-lashes fanning across his cheeks as his eyes narrowed with unfiltered lust.
Fully naked, Terry backed you into the bed. Once the back of your legs hit the edge, he pushed you onto it and encouraged you to bare yourself to him. He kept his hands on your knees, looking at the very core of you.
"Terry," you squirmed from his scrutiny.
"You are so damn gorgeous," he said, looking at you like you just presented him with the best gift ever. Yup, this man would be the death of you.
"You're so fuckin' hot, it hurts," you confessed.
Terry gave you a sexy grin and then knelt on the ground. He wrapped his arms beneath your legs and then yanked until your ass half hung off the bed. Without preamble, his lips suckled your clit into his mouth and you screamed from the pressure.
Terry suckled, licked, and kissed on your pussy until his mouth was coated with your juices. Your body flailed on the bed, gripping the berry colored comforter with everything you had. Your nails dragged against the fabric as your body tried to process Terry's wicked machinations.
"Oue shit, oue shit," you moaned, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. His popcorn ceiling winked in and out of view, your mind caught between the physical plane and somewhere else entirely. Somewhere of Terry's own making because all you could hear was him moaning. All you could feel was his tongue lapping up your juices like a man starved. The scent of your essence filled the room quickly; Terry turning you on so much that you'd explode right there on the spot.
One hand kept you open for him while his other arm jerked. You had enough strength to peek and found his arm jerking furiously. You moaned and went off like a firework, building and building, until your body broke apart in a shower of sparks and light and colors.
Terry didn't slow. He kept going, tasting one orgasm with a lick of his lips and a curse and then wrung another one right behind it. "Shiiiiiit," you moaned, your thighs squeezing his head. You didn't mean to, but fuck, you couldn't help yourself. It felt too good. Too amazing. So damn good you feared you died somewhere in the middle of it and his tongue brought you back.
Terry moved both his hands to open you wider while he drowned in your pussy. Your legs shook from being too sensitive. You slapped at his head and whined. He chuckled and then moved to nibble and kiss your thighs.
"I want you to ride me. You can control the pace," he whispered against your slick thighs.
"Can't. Too dead," you panted for air.
Terry chuckled. He nipped your thigh and you jerked, ending it with a giggle. He chuckled again while he stood up. "Dead folk don't giggle."
You groaned but it was time to put your money where your mouth was. You got to your elbows and examined every delicious inch of him. His body was well-honed and chiseled from many hours spent in the gym or hiking. Corded muscle flexed with every movement he made. His dick swung heavily, tapping lightly against his thigh.
You lied. You were not prepared for how big he was. The pants he's worn around you must've been designed to hide it, because there was no way this was the same dick you felt up on earlier.
"You better stop lookin' at me like that," he said with a smirk. He turned to approach his nightstand, pulling out lube and a condom.
"Or what?" You taunted, getting onto your knees to walk across the bed to him. He sighed as you ran your hands over his shoulders, his back, and down his bubble ass. You gripped him tight and he chuckled.
"Or I'ma put you through this mattress," he said. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but he turned away to uncap the lube.
"I'm on the pill," you said and kissed his back.
He stilled. "Don't play with me right now." His voice took on a darker, raspier tone that made you shiver.
"I want you. No barriers. If you're comfortable," you said. You waited long enough. You just wanted to feel him in every way you could. Anyone else, you'd tell them to double wrap it. But Terry could have you ten ways from Sunday and you were done denying yourself that.
Terry growled low in his throat. He turned and gave you a scorching kiss, hot enough to make your skin bead with sweat. He climbed onto the bed, positioning himself in the middle. He pulled you until you climbed on top of him, reverse cow girl, popping your ass in his face.
He chuckled and gave you a few quick smacks. You moaned while he grabbed the lube and rubbed his dick with it. "We go at your pace, okay?"
"Yes, sir," you said.
"Fuck me, you're perfect," he said. He helped guide you until he was lined up. Then he let you take over as you slowly took him in.
It burned deliciously but it did burn from the stretch. How the hell did women bounce on big dicks like their favorite trampoline? His tip was barely inside you and you were ready to call it quits.
"Nice and slow. There's no rush. Take your time, baby," he encouraged as you slipped further and further down. You leaned up and then slid back down on it, finding a nice, slow rhythm.
He hummed and groaned, digging his thumbs into your back. "Ouue shit," you moaned. Between his fingers and his dick, fuck cloud nine. You were on cloud five hundred.
He gave you wet kisses to your back while you rode him but you couldn't manage to fit all of him inside. It was already too much. He filled you completely, dick throbbing deep inside. You felt every last veiny inch of him sliding against your slick inner walls.
"Sit on it," he demanded.
You shook your head, though he couldn't see your face.
"No fuckin' way," you sighed with a giggle.
Terry chuckled. He gripped your arms and pulled you backwards, opening you in a way that you were able to fit more of him inside. He leaned forward and then trapped your arms when he brought his hands around to cup your breasts and squeeze your nipples.
"Oh fuck," you moaned, your pussy clenching around the length of him.
"Sit your pretty ass on this dick. To the base," he commanded, his deep voice working a spell on you.
"I can't," you whispered. You were too afraid, too nervous to take him fully. You didn't know why. Or perhaps you did and you just didn't want to face the truth. This man was going to ruin you for all others.
He already has.
You whined, but you worked with him, trying to work more of him inside. He retreated so that he could apply more lube, the sweet, sweet man making sure that you were comfortable. Then, he slammed you down in one rough thrust that immediately made you scream, curse, and go cross eyed as another orgasm tore through you. Your nails raked his thighs as the overwhelming pleasure was a little too much. Nothing made sense; you're pretty sure you could taste colors, as Terry fucked you through it.
Nonsense poured from his lips as you took him to the base. The pace was still lazy and slow, but he made you feel it all. He thrust a few more times.
"I'm finna bust," he groaned low in the back of his throat.
He bit your shoulder, fingers pinching your nipples to bring delectable pain, as he finally bust. His hot cum flooded you, gushing out, causing you to smack lewdly against his pelvis. He groaned and jerked, his dick throbbing a steady beat.
"Fuuck," you whined. You couldn't describe how otherwordly it felt while he emptied himself, but it was over too soon as he panted against your damp skin.
"You're fuckin' perfect," he said. He turned your chin so that he could kiss you. It was an awkward angle, but you were already greedy for more. He nibbled on your lower lip before he pulled away to nuzzle your neck.
"Wanna get cleaned up?" He asked.
You already felt him throb once more, his erection was only half mast but seemed to be rising. You chuckled and looked back at him. "You are so damn nasty," you said with a wide grin.
"I can be worse," he promised.
You had no doubt in your mind that he could be. It didn't stop you from following him into the shower where you got all kinds of dirty before you could get cleaned up again.
Yup, Terry Richmond would be the death of you. And that didn't matter one bit to you.
The end.
Thank you so much for reading. There's so much more!
Casting:
You: The Interviewer
Sterling K Brown as Jerry
Sabina Karlsson as Lenora
Nicole Beharie as Beatrice
Morris Chestnut as Roman
Aldis Hodge as Xavier
Tyler James Williams as Mark
Precious Lee as Arabella
Lawrence Fishbourne as Jackson
Luke James as Peter
Disclaimers: DO NOT COPY OR REPOST MY WORK. DO NOT TRAIN AI WITH MY WORK.
A/N: What's Good Everyone!!! I made it! It's the last day of the first quarter, but I made it. I've been working on this one for a little minute now, and this will be interactive. I made a goal to finish this short story. Here, you are The Interviewer. By the end, I will be taking a poll to see how the story ends. If you're here for smut, I'm sorry to disappoint. There will be steamy scenes, but that isn't the purpose or the premise of the story. The purpose is survival. You do, however, have some eye candy joining you in this story.
Summary: When a coordinated attack plunges the United States into permanent darkness, the country's wealthiest find their failsafes have failed them. Their private bunkers — built for exactly this moment — are sealed, inaccessible, dead. With nowhere else to turn, they converge on the only light visible for miles: a lone house on a hill.
Peter: We didn’t think twice about him coming in and out of our houses. He was a contractor. He was there to work. After all, how many of us are used to having help coming in and out of the house, doing things, getting us ready for functions here and there?
Interviewer: So how did you come to hire him?
Peter: stares into the distance. He was referred. We often did things like that. Refer people to one another, especially people who did good work. He came highly recommended. There was this construction company he belonged to, Beams, I think. It doesn’t really matter. I don’t think it ever existed.
Interviewer: What do you mean it never existed?
Peter: When Jackson and I finally made it in for the last couple of days, we tried looking up the company he belonged to. We wanted someone to pay for what happened but when we tried to find it… it was like it never existed.
Interviewer: “Never existed,” like it was hard to find?
Peter: “Never existed” as in “never existed”. You couldn’t find a website, article, listing, title, review, social media post– Nothing! Everything was there a couple of days ago—even a company photo and tons of reviews.
Interviewer: Interesting. So back to this contractor. What work was he doing for you?
Peter: At first, he was doing some maintenance things. I was getting to know him and his work for a few months before I had him build it.
Interviewer: Build?
Peter: A bunker.
Interviewer: Is that commonplace? Hiring contractors to build bunkers?
Peter: I was the last to build one. Friends and I joked about the world ending. Some of the more skittish ones had already started building underground panic rooms and fortifying their homes with artillery and security cams. A lot of us thought that it was just paranoia. But then…
Interviewer: looks at Peter intently as he goes into a distant place, reliving those few weeks
Peter: fiddles with the cup in his hand several times before looking up
We got some information.
Interviewer: What kind of information, Peter?
Peter: Have you spoken to Jackson yet?
Interviewer: I went to the spot where you told me he would be. His tent was gone when I got there. I asked the other dwellers around asking if they’ve seen him. They all said that he had been there up until yesterday. No one has seen him since.
Peter: Oh.
He looks around nervously.
Interviewer: Peter, what information did you get back then that started all of this?
Peter: You should really speak to Jackson. It was his information. He knew it was going to happen before it happened. That’s what he was mad about I think.
Interviewer: Peter, I’m trying to make sense of what you’re telling me but I’m confused. Who was mad about what? What information did Jackson have?
Peter: He knew that we were going to get bombed before it happened. He knew it because he was the reason why it happened. The Bunker guy was mad about it. He knew Jackson knew and what he did.
Interviewer: Let's take a step back. How was Jackson involved in this national tragedy?
Peter: You should really talk to Jackson.
11/30/2025
Interviewer: You are a hard man to find. May I speak with you for a couple of minutes?
Jackson: I’m not interested.
Interviewer: You’re not interested in telling me what has you living in a tent in the middle of the woods when you own five 50-acre estates in five different states across the country?
Jackson: Fuck off
Interviewer: I will but only after you tell me why Peter is convinced that you can predict the future, especially as it pertains to the bombing.
Jackson: He freezes
He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.
Interviewer: Judging by the wave of pallor that coated your skin just now, I think he knows a lot about what he’s talking about. Care to share?
Jackson: No
Interviewer: That is fine. I’ll just have to ask more questions. Someone at your company has to know why you know so much.
Jackson: He eyes the interviewer in clear contempt
I’ve already told that son a bitch what happened and he told me that if I made it out of that fuckin maze that he would leave me alone. If he sent you, tell him to ‘fuck off’. I held up my end of the bargain.
Interviewer: You made a deal with Peter?
Jackson: Don’t play dumb! I know that son-of-a-bitch sent you!
He lunges at the interviewer
Interviewer: Who sent me?
Jackson: That bastard that left us out there to starve, kill, and die!
Interviewer: You mean the man who built the bunkers? Mr. Greavesend?
Jackson: Leave me alone! I have a rifle and if you don't get out of here in the next second, I will shoot you.
Interviewer: Please. I just want to know what happened to you all.
Jackson: Turns to around and digs around for something
Interviewer: backs away a couple of steps
Jackson, that’s not necessary
Jackson: cocks a long-barreled rifle and points it at the direction of the Interviewer.
Interviewer: I’m leaving. I’m leaving!
12/03/2025
Interviewer: I just wanted to speak with you to make sense of everything. I didn’t get much from the other two gentlemen I tried talking to you. Well, just one of them was a gentleman.
Arabella: I don’t know how much help I can be. I was going in and out of panic attacks or asleep most of the time. I actually remember thinking that I was surely going to die the day everything happened. Not sure how I made it when the others didn't. She looks at the floor, then away in the distance.
Interviewer: Okay let’s start with the start of the day of the bombing. What do you remember?
Arabella: Well Mark and Jackson were all worked up about something and I heard them from all the way down the hall. I went to see what was going on and well…
Interviewer: eyes will for Arabella to continue
Arabella: Well Mark’s hands were grabbing at Jackson’s shirt. I’m not sure what would’ve happened if I didn’t come in when I did.
Interviewer: Okay so there was conflict. Did you ever find out what the argument was about?
Arabella: No. Mark and I don’t talk about his affairs. I learned from his first wife not to ask too many questions and just enjoy the life afforded to me. I guess at some point that comes to bite you in the ass.
Interviewer: Okay then what happened after that?
Arabella: Jackson stormed out. I looked at Mark, and he left the room. I went to the kitchen to tell the cook that we may need an early lunch. The parlormaid made some drinks and went to find Mark.
Interviewer: Drinks in the morning?
Arabella: Kept him from having shakes.
Interviewer: Okay what happened next?
Arabella: Nothing for a while. Then after lunch, Mark told me that I needed to pack a suitcase for the children and me because we were leaving tonight. When I tried to ask him why, he just glared at me and told me to do as he said if I wanted to survive. I figured that it had something to do with the fight he had with Jackson. I thought it would blow over after everyone had time to put their egos aside. They’ve been in business together for years. Anyway, I packed lightly.
Interviewer: Where did he take you all?
Arabella: That was the odd thing. Instead of heading to the front of the estate where the chauffeur would be waiting with the car, he headed to the back of the estate. I was about to ask why we were headed out the back when the lights started flickering. By the time we got to the back the house went completely dark. Mark was fumbling with a keypad that I’ve never seen before by the stairwell. At this point, Isadora started crying because she is scared of the dark.
She stopped speaking. Her silence draws on uncomfortably
Interviewer: Arabella, are you okay?
Arabella: It’s a funny thing how you actively have to will your mind to speak about someone in the past tense even when you body rejects it
Interviewer: Where are Mark, Walter, and Isadora?
Arabella: They were eaten.
Her eyes gloss over in despair.
12/07/2025
Interviewer: Hello. It is very nice to meet you. We spoke over the phone.
Xavier: He steps around the interviewer and peers in every direction
Hi. Come in
Interviewer: Is now still a good time?
Xavier: Yeah, now is fine. Can I get you anything?
Interviewer: No I’m fine thank you.
Xavier: leads the way into a vast living room with furniture tossed about and ripped open.
Excuse the mess
Interviewer: Should we call someone? looks of concern riddle his face
Xavier: No, it’s fine.
Interviewer: Should we stand?
Xavier: Yea actually. We should.
Interviewer: Okay. I’ll just get on with it, then. Can you tell me what happened the day of the bombing?
Xavier: If you were in the U.S., you know what happened? Everybody knows what happened.
Interviewer: Yes, I know, but I want to know what happened to you. It seemed as though a group of you had an experience that was different from mine. Different from the rest.
Xavier: There’s nothing to tell, really. Everything went dark. We all tried to get inside our bunkers and weren’t able to. We found it weird because the bunkers weren’t supposed to be hooked up to the power grinds— that’s why we paid extra. But, he shrugs, it seems like they were so we were all locked out. We went outside to wait it out like everybody else. I know some people tried to go into town to see what they could find. Those people never came back so we never got to ask what was happening. Then, after a couple days, things came back online.
Interviewer: Right, but what happened in those couple of days.
Xavier: Nothing much. We waited.
Interviewer: Waited where? Waited how?
Xavier: We went to the house far up the hill so we could get a better vintage point. That also happened to be the only house with lights on at the time and we were all wondering how that was possible. Everyone’s generators were out too.
Interviewer: So you all waited inside the house until the power lines were functional again?
Xavier: I didn’t say that.
Interviewer: So you all waited outside. Was there anybody home?
Xavier: There was someone there.
Interviewer: Xavier, this will go a lot faster if you just told me everything that happened because this doesn’t make any sense. Everyone knew what happened that day after a matter of house except those living off the grind and they would’ve had access to a radio. If you’re telling me that there was a house with lights on and someone inside but you all waited for 2 days outside that home with little water and some food, then either the person was scared of you all or he wanted to see you all die.
Xavier: looks intently at the interviewer in silence for a long while before speaking again.
Who else have you spoken with?
Interviewer: There aren’t many people who know enough and aren’t hysterical or don’t mind speaking with me.
Xavier: And who do you work for again?
Interviewer: I work for the Post, and I am doing a compilation of stories of people’s experiences that day. Just as some journalists did on 9/11 in New York.
Xavier: How did you find out about us? We are out in, practically, the middle of nowhere.
Interviewer: I have excellent sources. A lot of them started to get worried when five billionaires didn’t show up for work for weeks. People talk.
Xavier: Like I said, there’s not much to tell. We went where the lights were. We saw a figure moving, that’s how we knew at least one person was in the house. We asked to be let in and we weren’t, we waited by the house until all the power came back on and we left.
Interviewer: Then why are there only four of you left when thirteen of you went up to that house?
12/12/2025
Interviewer speaks into a cell phone
Patient Beatrice Corven is still in a coma. She has lines and tubes. Doctors have not been in yet. Nursing has been changing her dressings. There are wounds on her arms and legs. Deep vertical lacerations with exposed flesh. There are some wounds that look like… Are those bite marks?
Nurse: Excuse me, can I help you?
Interviewer: I was visiting, but I’m just now leaving.
Interviewer leaves the room.
12/21/2025
Interviewer: I haven’t gotten very far with anyone else that you’ve pointed me to. We’ve been working together for some weeks now. Tell me what happened.
Peter: What did Xavier say?
Interviewer: He lied.
Peter: How do you know he was lying?
Interviewer: Well, for one, everyone is so cagey about that night. Jackson threatened to shoot me. Two, Xavier’s house is trashed. I sat on his house for two days before going in and there were no housekeepers, groundskeepers, security, or anyone going in and out. When I finally went in, it looked like he was robbed or the Feds trashed the place. Three, Beatrice is still in a coma and has bite marks and torn flesh along her arms and legs. So I’m going to ask you again, Peter. What happened?
Peter: sits down in her chair and sighs.
I don’t think anyone has spoken about those days since the power came back on. At least I know I haven’t. It doesn’t even seem real.
Interviewer: What doesn’t seem real?
Peter: takes a long swing of the drink in his glass.
When everything happened, and the power went out, I had already tried getting into the bunker three times and couldn’t get in. I was calling the company of the Bunker guy to understand what happened but the line went dead. Before that, the number was giving a busy signal. Cell towers were down so my cell phone was useless. I told my wife Dahlia to take the car and head downtown to see if she could get help. The kids were out of town on trips with their friends. She just thought that it was a power outage in our area. I thought otherwise. I took a flashlight and trekked up until I reached Xavier’s house first. We tried to open his bunker together, but we were unsuccessful. We both went and got Jerry. He came with his two kids and wife, Lenora. Then Mark and Arabella were already making their way down with their two kids. They had suitcases. Down the road, we saw Jackson and Beatrice coming towards us, their flashlights in hand. Jackson kept a radio with him and we all heard that three bombs were launched at all three major power Interconnections. We waited for them to tell us when the fail-safes were coming on and they didn’t. They couldn’t. I knew why.
Interviewer: How did you know?
Peter: Just let me get this shit out!!!
Interviewer: Sorry. Please continue.
Peter: The fail-safes weren’t coming on. Of course, there would be some areas with light. There are so many redundancies in fiber optics that it would be impossible to knock out everything, unless you knew where to send additional bombs. They did. What they couldn’t kill were the backup generators in all locations. As long as there was diesel or gas, your generator should work. When none of ours came on, I knew something was wrong. We weren’t directly hit. As we were listening to the radio and trying to figure out a game plan, house lights up the hill came on—Roman’s house. The thing is, Roman left for France two days before everything happened with his wife and kids. I took them to the airport myself because I wanted to discuss some things with him before he left. We took two cars. I saw them off and headed home. We headed up there because we thought that maybe someone had broken into Roman’s house for shelter and supplies. It took about an hour for us all to get up there. Everyone’s cars were in their garages. All electrically operated garages. We walked for about 45 minutes. The children were all grumbling. It was chilly out. And that’s when we saw it.
Interviewer: Saw what?
Peter: The figure. We started trying to get its attention. We rang the doorbell. Knocked for a while. Shouted. We told him we could see him, and we knew he wasn’t Roman. After an hour of all that, we started threatening to knock down the doors and call the police. Xavier and Jackson tried kicking down the doors, but it didn’t help. At this point, the sun was going down. It was getting colder. The children wanted to go home. We turned and headed back down the road we'd come, since this was apparently useless, and then we heard it.
[Voice: Not all of you will survive. Some of you may have to sacrifice your own young to make it. You will have to use strength, cunning, information, and sheer will to go on. Don’t hesitate. Choose well.
Dahlia: What the hell is this? I don’t like this. We should take the children and leave!
Mark: What does he mean by “sacrifice your own young”?
Arabella: How do we know it’s a “he” up there talking?
Jackson: How do we know this isn’t Roman pulling some kind of prank?!
Peter: He isn’t even in the country, remember?
Jackson: He could be! We don’t know if he actually took off. He could’ve messaged us from anywhere.
Xavier: I’m with Dahlia, let’s just leave.]
A blanket of mist arises from the base of the house, covering everything within a 50-mile radius of the house.
Peter: We woke up, and all of us were chained together at the base of a tree in the back of the house. There was a figure watching us from the patio of the house. We were a distance away, but his presence was still felt. One by one, each one of us started to panic when we found that the chains were real and that we were covered in fluid of some kind. Beatrice cried out for help, forgiveness, anything. Her voice got hoarse, so she stopped pleading and just resorted to sobbing. There were more sobs, but one grew louder than the rest. We all looked in Lenora’s direction, and we all saw what made her scream. He falls silent as his eyes start to gloss over. Benji called me Mr. Pete. He had a broad smile that would just suck you in. We used to say that one toothy smile from Benji could cure cancer. Thing about Benji was that he was always sick. Lenora got Jerry to build a state-of-the-art medical room for him in the house. His room was better than most hospitals I grew up visiting. There was something always bothering him, he said, it was because he could make the kinda cells needed to fight infections and things. Usually with his medicine and all the gadgets he carries, his able to play with friends. Their bunker was equipped with all of that stuff. He had his backpack with him.
Interviewer: What happened to him?
Peter: We all fell asleep and woke up in the dead of night. He didn’t. Lenora kicked his lifeless body in a panic, trying to break free from the chains. She called out to Bella and got a response. She did the same for Benji. When there was no reply, she realized that the lifeless body she was trying to free herself from was …. was Benji. The intercom came back on, and the voice spoke to us again.
[Voice: It seems one of you has fallen. To prevent all 12 of you from going the same, one of you must come clean and confess to being the reason that we are all here today.
Jerry: When I find you, you are going to wish you were dead.
Voice: I welcome death. At this stage, it is better than living.
Jerry: I’ll be happy to arrange the meet, you sick fuck. Let me out of here!
Voice: If you are able to answer this riddle, I’ll let you put me out of my misery. If not, you will feel the agony I do.
I do not sleep, I do not tire, My belly burns with endless fire. Gold and glory fan my flame, But nothing sates me all the same.
The more you feed, the more I crave, From pauper’s pocket to king’s grave. I wear no face, I take no lead— Yet all are ruled by me: I’m ___."
You have one hour.]
Peter: Jerry sat there and thought for a minute before he started looking around for something sharp to cut at the chain. Bella yelled for him to think of the riddle but he refused. He was angry and didn’t feel that playing games was what would free him from this psycho’s wrath. We stood all sat chained, listening to him scrape and tug and pull at the chains on his hands and feet. Lenora was still crying out about Benji. I don’t know if it was resignation, shock, or fear that kept the majority of us silent but when the hour was over the voice appeared again asking for the answer.
[Voice: Time is up. Do you have an answer?
There is silence
Voice: I will ask again. Jerry, do you have an answer to my question?
Jerry: Fuck you!
Voice: Very well then.
Jerry: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!
Lenora: screams. Stop! Stop! STOPPPP!]
Peter: Jerry screamed, and those who could turned around to see what had happened. Xavier vomited all over his shirt. Jackson screamed and cursed. Dahlia cried. Bella and Mark’s kids screamed. Mark was trying to console Arabella. There was so much commotion. So much wailing. I finally screamed that I knew the answer to stop whatever was making everyone scream.
[Voice: Your time will come.
Peter: Please! Stop this! I have the answer! Let us go!
Voice: Your time will come.
Peter: PLEASE!!!!
Voice: Note that if you answer incorrectly, your fate will be his and his yours. Do you accept?
Peter turns stiff with fear and anxiety. He hears the constant screams of those around him.
Voice: DO. YOU. ACCEPT?!
Peter: Yes!
Voice: What is your answer?
Peter: GREED!!!!]
Peter: The same mist that fell over us the first time came again. We woke up to Lenora’s screams again. The wails were deafening, and we knew then that something else had happened. We knew then that the mist would signify us waking up to horror unimagined until that sick fuck decided to let us go or kill us off one by one. We were still chained in a circle around the tree, only this time Jerry and Benji were missing. At my side, I would find a leg with the shackle attached to the ankle. In the darkness, I made out the emblem on an exposed sock. The leg belonged to Jerry.
Thanks for reading this very intricate story, and hopefully it wasn't too confusing. I've tagged everyone that I could remember, but if you're coming across me for the first time and want to be tagged in this fic or any others, please comment and let me know you wanna be tagged!
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As always, let me know what you think about this fic. Comment, Reblog, Like, Tell A Friend!
Casting:
You: The Interviewer
Sterling K Brown as Jerry
Sabina Karlsson as Lenora
Nicole Beharie as Beatrice
Morris Chestnut as Roman
Aldis Hodge as Xavier
Tyler James Williams as Mark
Precious Lee as Arabella
Lawrence Fishbourne as Jackson
Luke James as Peter
Disclaimers: DO NOT COPY OR REPOST MY WORK. DO NOT TRAIN AI WITH MY WORK.
A/N: What's Good Everyone!!! I made it! It's the last day of the first quarter, but I made it. I've been working on this one for a little minute now, and this will be interactive. I made a goal to finish this short story. Here, you are The Interviewer. By the end, I will be taking a poll to see how the story ends. If you're here for smut, I'm sorry to disappoint. There will be steamy scenes, but that isn't the purpose or the premise of the story. The purpose is survival. You do, however, have some eye candy joining you in this story.
Summary: When a coordinated attack plunges the United States into permanent darkness, the country's wealthiest find their failsafes have failed them. Their private bunkers — built for exactly this moment — are sealed, inaccessible, dead. With nowhere else to turn, they converge on the only light visible for miles: a lone house on a hill.
Peter: We didn’t think twice about him coming in and out of our houses. He was a contractor. He was there to work. After all, how many of us are used to having help coming in and out of the house, doing things, getting us ready for functions here and there?
Interviewer: So how did you come to hire him?
Peter: stares into the distance. He was referred. We often did things like that. Refer people to one another, especially people who did good work. He came highly recommended. There was this construction company he belonged to, Beams, I think. It doesn’t really matter. I don’t think it ever existed.
Interviewer: What do you mean it never existed?
Peter: When Jackson and I finally made it in for the last couple of days, we tried looking up the company he belonged to. We wanted someone to pay for what happened but when we tried to find it… it was like it never existed.
Interviewer: “Never existed,” like it was hard to find?
Peter: “Never existed” as in “never existed”. You couldn’t find a website, article, listing, title, review, social media post– Nothing! Everything was there a couple of days ago—even a company photo and tons of reviews.
Interviewer: Interesting. So back to this contractor. What work was he doing for you?
Peter: At first, he was doing some maintenance things. I was getting to know him and his work for a few months before I had him build it.
Interviewer: Build?
Peter: A bunker.
Interviewer: Is that commonplace? Hiring contractors to build bunkers?
Peter: I was the last to build one. Friends and I joked about the world ending. Some of the more skittish ones had already started building underground panic rooms and fortifying their homes with artillery and security cams. A lot of us thought that it was just paranoia. But then…
Interviewer: looks at Peter intently as he goes into a distant place, reliving those few weeks
Peter: fiddles with the cup in his hand several times before looking up
We got some information.
Interviewer: What kind of information, Peter?
Peter: Have you spoken to Jackson yet?
Interviewer: I went to the spot where you told me he would be. His tent was gone when I got there. I asked the other dwellers around asking if they’ve seen him. They all said that he had been there up until yesterday. No one has seen him since.
Peter: Oh.
He looks around nervously.
Interviewer: Peter, what information did you get back then that started all of this?
Peter: You should really speak to Jackson. It was his information. He knew it was going to happen before it happened. That’s what he was mad about I think.
Interviewer: Peter, I’m trying to make sense of what you’re telling me but I’m confused. Who was mad about what? What information did Jackson have?
Peter: He knew that we were going to get bombed before it happened. He knew it because he was the reason why it happened. The Bunker guy was mad about it. He knew Jackson knew and what he did.
Interviewer: Let's take a step back. How was Jackson involved in this national tragedy?
Peter: You should really talk to Jackson.
11/30/2025
Interviewer: You are a hard man to find. May I speak with you for a couple of minutes?
Jackson: I’m not interested.
Interviewer: You’re not interested in telling me what has you living in a tent in the middle of the woods when you own five 50-acre estates in five different states across the country?
Jackson: Fuck off
Interviewer: I will but only after you tell me why Peter is convinced that you can predict the future, especially as it pertains to the bombing.
Jackson: He freezes
He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.
Interviewer: Judging by the wave of pallor that coated your skin just now, I think he knows a lot about what he’s talking about. Care to share?
Jackson: No
Interviewer: That is fine. I’ll just have to ask more questions. Someone at your company has to know why you know so much.
Jackson: He eyes the interviewer in clear contempt
I’ve already told that son a bitch what happened and he told me that if I made it out of that fuckin maze that he would leave me alone. If he sent you, tell him to ‘fuck off’. I held up my end of the bargain.
Interviewer: You made a deal with Peter?
Jackson: Don’t play dumb! I know that son-of-a-bitch sent you!
He lunges at the interviewer
Interviewer: Who sent me?
Jackson: That bastard that left us out there to starve, kill, and die!
Interviewer: You mean the man who built the bunkers? Mr. Greavesend?
Jackson: Leave me alone! I have a rifle and if you don't get out of here in the next second, I will shoot you.
Interviewer: Please. I just want to know what happened to you all.
Jackson: Turns to around and digs around for something
Interviewer: backs away a couple of steps
Jackson, that’s not necessary
Jackson: cocks a long-barreled rifle and points it at the direction of the Interviewer.
Interviewer: I’m leaving. I’m leaving!
12/03/2025
Interviewer: I just wanted to speak with you to make sense of everything. I didn’t get much from the other two gentlemen I tried talking to you. Well, just one of them was a gentleman.
Arabella: I don’t know how much help I can be. I was going in and out of panic attacks or asleep most of the time. I actually remember thinking that I was surely going to die the day everything happened. Not sure how I made it when the others didn't. She looks at the floor, then away in the distance.
Interviewer: Okay let’s start with the start of the day of the bombing. What do you remember?
Arabella: Well Mark and Jackson were all worked up about something and I heard them from all the way down the hall. I went to see what was going on and well…
Interviewer: eyes will for Arabella to continue
Arabella: Well Mark’s hands were grabbing at Jackson’s shirt. I’m not sure what would’ve happened if I didn’t come in when I did.
Interviewer: Okay so there was conflict. Did you ever find out what the argument was about?
Arabella: No. Mark and I don’t talk about his affairs. I learned from his first wife not to ask too many questions and just enjoy the life afforded to me. I guess at some point that comes to bite you in the ass.
Interviewer: Okay then what happened after that?
Arabella: Jackson stormed out. I looked at Mark, and he left the room. I went to the kitchen to tell the cook that we may need an early lunch. The parlormaid made some drinks and went to find Mark.
Interviewer: Drinks in the morning?
Arabella: Kept him from having shakes.
Interviewer: Okay what happened next?
Arabella: Nothing for a while. Then after lunch, Mark told me that I needed to pack a suitcase for the children and me because we were leaving tonight. When I tried to ask him why, he just glared at me and told me to do as he said if I wanted to survive. I figured that it had something to do with the fight he had with Jackson. I thought it would blow over after everyone had time to put their egos aside. They’ve been in business together for years. Anyway, I packed lightly.
Interviewer: Where did he take you all?
Arabella: That was the odd thing. Instead of heading to the front of the estate where the chauffeur would be waiting with the car, he headed to the back of the estate. I was about to ask why we were headed out the back when the lights started flickering. By the time we got to the back the house went completely dark. Mark was fumbling with a keypad that I’ve never seen before by the stairwell. At this point, Isadora started crying because she is scared of the dark.
She stopped speaking. Her silence draws on uncomfortably
Interviewer: Arabella, are you okay?
Arabella: It’s a funny thing how you actively have to will your mind to speak about someone in the past tense even when you body rejects it
Interviewer: Where are Mark, Walter, and Isadora?
Arabella: They were eaten.
Her eyes gloss over in despair.
12/07/2025
Interviewer: Hello. It is very nice to meet you. We spoke over the phone.
Xavier: He steps around the interviewer and peers in every direction
Hi. Come in
Interviewer: Is now still a good time?
Xavier: Yeah, now is fine. Can I get you anything?
Interviewer: No I’m fine thank you.
Xavier: leads the way into a vast living room with furniture tossed about and ripped open.
Excuse the mess
Interviewer: Should we call someone? looks of concern riddle his face
Xavier: No, it’s fine.
Interviewer: Should we stand?
Xavier: Yea actually. We should.
Interviewer: Okay. I’ll just get on with it, then. Can you tell me what happened the day of the bombing?
Xavier: If you were in the U.S., you know what happened? Everybody knows what happened.
Interviewer: Yes, I know, but I want to know what happened to you. It seemed as though a group of you had an experience that was different from mine. Different from the rest.
Xavier: There’s nothing to tell, really. Everything went dark. We all tried to get inside our bunkers and weren’t able to. We found it weird because the bunkers weren’t supposed to be hooked up to the power grinds— that’s why we paid extra. But, he shrugs, it seems like they were so we were all locked out. We went outside to wait it out like everybody else. I know some people tried to go into town to see what they could find. Those people never came back so we never got to ask what was happening. Then, after a couple days, things came back online.
Interviewer: Right, but what happened in those couple of days.
Xavier: Nothing much. We waited.
Interviewer: Waited where? Waited how?
Xavier: We went to the house far up the hill so we could get a better vintage point. That also happened to be the only house with lights on at the time and we were all wondering how that was possible. Everyone’s generators were out too.
Interviewer: So you all waited inside the house until the power lines were functional again?
Xavier: I didn’t say that.
Interviewer: So you all waited outside. Was there anybody home?
Xavier: There was someone there.
Interviewer: Xavier, this will go a lot faster if you just told me everything that happened because this doesn’t make any sense. Everyone knew what happened that day after a matter of house except those living off the grind and they would’ve had access to a radio. If you’re telling me that there was a house with lights on and someone inside but you all waited for 2 days outside that home with little water and some food, then either the person was scared of you all or he wanted to see you all die.
Xavier: looks intently at the interviewer in silence for a long while before speaking again.
Who else have you spoken with?
Interviewer: There aren’t many people who know enough and aren’t hysterical or don’t mind speaking with me.
Xavier: And who do you work for again?
Interviewer: I work for the Post, and I am doing a compilation of stories of people’s experiences that day. Just as some journalists did on 9/11 in New York.
Xavier: How did you find out about us? We are out in, practically, the middle of nowhere.
Interviewer: I have excellent sources. A lot of them started to get worried when five billionaires didn’t show up for work for weeks. People talk.
Xavier: Like I said, there’s not much to tell. We went where the lights were. We saw a figure moving, that’s how we knew at least one person was in the house. We asked to be let in and we weren’t, we waited by the house until all the power came back on and we left.
Interviewer: Then why are there only four of you left when thirteen of you went up to that house?
12/12/2025
Interviewer speaks into a cell phone
Patient Beatrice Corven is still in a coma. She has lines and tubes. Doctors have not been in yet. Nursing has been changing her dressings. There are wounds on her arms and legs. Deep vertical lacerations with exposed flesh. There are some wounds that look like… Are those bite marks?
Nurse: Excuse me, can I help you?
Interviewer: I was visiting, but I’m just now leaving.
Interviewer leaves the room.
12/21/2025
Interviewer: I haven’t gotten very far with anyone else that you’ve pointed me to. We’ve been working together for some weeks now. Tell me what happened.
Peter: What did Xavier say?
Interviewer: He lied.
Peter: How do you know he was lying?
Interviewer: Well, for one, everyone is so cagey about that night. Jackson threatened to shoot me. Two, Xavier’s house is trashed. I sat on his house for two days before going in and there were no housekeepers, groundskeepers, security, or anyone going in and out. When I finally went in, it looked like he was robbed or the Feds trashed the place. Three, Beatrice is still in a coma and has bite marks and torn flesh along her arms and legs. So I’m going to ask you again, Peter. What happened?
Peter: sits down in her chair and sighs.
I don’t think anyone has spoken about those days since the power came back on. At least I know I haven’t. It doesn’t even seem real.
Interviewer: What doesn’t seem real?
Peter: takes a long swing of the drink in his glass.
When everything happened, and the power went out, I had already tried getting into the bunker three times and couldn’t get in. I was calling the company of the Bunker guy to understand what happened but the line went dead. Before that, the number was giving a busy signal. Cell towers were down so my cell phone was useless. I told my wife Dahlia to take the car and head downtown to see if she could get help. The kids were out of town on trips with their friends. She just thought that it was a power outage in our area. I thought otherwise. I took a flashlight and trekked up until I reached Xavier’s house first. We tried to open his bunker together, but we were unsuccessful. We both went and got Jerry. He came with his two kids and wife, Lenora. Then Mark and Arabella were already making their way down with their two kids. They had suitcases. Down the road, we saw Jackson and Beatrice coming towards us, their flashlights in hand. Jackson kept a radio with him and we all heard that three bombs were launched at all three major power Interconnections. We waited for them to tell us when the fail-safes were coming on and they didn’t. They couldn’t. I knew why.
Interviewer: How did you know?
Peter: Just let me get this shit out!!!
Interviewer: Sorry. Please continue.
Peter: The fail-safes weren’t coming on. Of course, there would be some areas with light. There are so many redundancies in fiber optics that it would be impossible to knock out everything, unless you knew where to send additional bombs. They did. What they couldn’t kill were the backup generators in all locations. As long as there was diesel or gas, your generator should work. When none of ours came on, I knew something was wrong. We weren’t directly hit. As we were listening to the radio and trying to figure out a game plan, house lights up the hill came on—Roman’s house. The thing is, Roman left for France two days before everything happened with his wife and kids. I took them to the airport myself because I wanted to discuss some things with him before he left. We took two cars. I saw them off and headed home. We headed up there because we thought that maybe someone had broken into Roman’s house for shelter and supplies. It took about an hour for us all to get up there. Everyone’s cars were in their garages. All electrically operated garages. We walked for about 45 minutes. The children were all grumbling. It was chilly out. And that’s when we saw it.
Interviewer: Saw what?
Peter: The figure. We started trying to get its attention. We rang the doorbell. Knocked for a while. Shouted. We told him we could see him, and we knew he wasn’t Roman. After an hour of all that, we started threatening to knock down the doors and call the police. Xavier and Jackson tried kicking down the doors, but it didn’t help. At this point, the sun was going down. It was getting colder. The children wanted to go home. We turned and headed back down the road we'd come, since this was apparently useless, and then we heard it.
[Voice: Not all of you will survive. Some of you may have to sacrifice your own young to make it. You will have to use strength, cunning, information, and sheer will to go on. Don’t hesitate. Choose well.
Dahlia: What the hell is this? I don’t like this. We should take the children and leave!
Mark: What does he mean by “sacrifice your own young”?
Arabella: How do we know it’s a “he” up there talking?
Jackson: How do we know this isn’t Roman pulling some kind of prank?!
Peter: He isn’t even in the country, remember?
Jackson: He could be! We don’t know if he actually took off. He could’ve messaged us from anywhere.
Xavier: I’m with Dahlia, let’s just leave.]
A blanket of mist arises from the base of the house, covering everything within a 50-mile radius of the house.
Peter: We woke up, and all of us were chained together at the base of a tree in the back of the house. There was a figure watching us from the patio of the house. We were a distance away, but his presence was still felt. One by one, each one of us started to panic when we found that the chains were real and that we were covered in fluid of some kind. Beatrice cried out for help, forgiveness, anything. Her voice got hoarse, so she stopped pleading and just resorted to sobbing. There were more sobs, but one grew louder than the rest. We all looked in Lenora’s direction, and we all saw what made her scream. He falls silent as his eyes start to gloss over. Benji called me Mr. Pete. He had a broad smile that would just suck you in. We used to say that one toothy smile from Benji could cure cancer. Thing about Benji was that he was always sick. Lenora got Jerry to build a state-of-the-art medical room for him in the house. His room was better than most hospitals I grew up visiting. There was something always bothering him, he said, it was because he could make the kinda cells needed to fight infections and things. Usually with his medicine and all the gadgets he carries, his able to play with friends. Their bunker was equipped with all of that stuff. He had his backpack with him.
Interviewer: What happened to him?
Peter: We all fell asleep and woke up in the dead of night. He didn’t. Lenora kicked his lifeless body in a panic, trying to break free from the chains. She called out to Bella and got a response. She did the same for Benji. When there was no reply, she realized that the lifeless body she was trying to free herself from was …. was Benji. The intercom came back on, and the voice spoke to us again.
[Voice: It seems one of you has fallen. To prevent all 12 of you from going the same, one of you must come clean and confess to being the reason that we are all here today.
Jerry: When I find you, you are going to wish you were dead.
Voice: I welcome death. At this stage, it is better than living.
Jerry: I’ll be happy to arrange the meet, you sick fuck. Let me out of here!
Voice: If you are able to answer this riddle, I’ll let you put me out of my misery. If not, you will feel the agony I do.
I do not sleep, I do not tire, My belly burns with endless fire. Gold and glory fan my flame, But nothing sates me all the same.
The more you feed, the more I crave, From pauper’s pocket to king’s grave. I wear no face, I take no lead— Yet all are ruled by me: I’m ___."
You have one hour.]
Peter: Jerry sat there and thought for a minute before he started looking around for something sharp to cut at the chain. Bella yelled for him to think of the riddle but he refused. He was angry and didn’t feel that playing games was what would free him from this psycho’s wrath. We stood all sat chained, listening to him scrape and tug and pull at the chains on his hands and feet. Lenora was still crying out about Benji. I don’t know if it was resignation, shock, or fear that kept the majority of us silent but when the hour was over the voice appeared again asking for the answer.
[Voice: Time is up. Do you have an answer?
There is silence
Voice: I will ask again. Jerry, do you have an answer to my question?
Jerry: Fuck you!
Voice: Very well then.
Jerry: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!
Lenora: screams. Stop! Stop! STOPPPP!]
Peter: Jerry screamed, and those who could turned around to see what had happened. Xavier vomited all over his shirt. Jackson screamed and cursed. Dahlia cried. Bella and Mark’s kids screamed. Mark was trying to console Arabella. There was so much commotion. So much wailing. I finally screamed that I knew the answer to stop whatever was making everyone scream.
[Voice: Your time will come.
Peter: Please! Stop this! I have the answer! Let us go!
Voice: Your time will come.
Peter: PLEASE!!!!
Voice: Note that if you answer incorrectly, your fate will be his and his yours. Do you accept?
Peter turns stiff with fear and anxiety. He hears the constant screams of those around him.
Voice: DO. YOU. ACCEPT?!
Peter: Yes!
Voice: What is your answer?
Peter: GREED!!!!]
Peter: The same mist that fell over us the first time came again. We woke up to Lenora’s screams again. The wails were deafening, and we knew then that something else had happened. We knew then that the mist would signify us waking up to horror unimagined until that sick fuck decided to let us go or kill us off one by one. We were still chained in a circle around the tree, only this time Jerry and Benji were missing. At my side, I would find a leg with the shackle attached to the ankle. In the darkness, I made out the emblem on an exposed sock. The leg belonged to Jerry.
Thanks for reading this very intricate story, and hopefully it wasn't too confusing. I've tagged everyone that I could remember, but if you're coming across me for the first time and want to be tagged in this fic or any others, please comment and let me know you wanna be tagged!
Tags: @thecapodomme @writers-of-tmblr @melaninpov @spaceslutsworld @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @mymusicbias @the-black-label @master-builder42 @miraculously-dumb-bitch @megamindsecretlair @hopefulromantic1 @tranquilfandomer @thadelightfulone @vivalaorgasm @hotgrlcece @planetblaque @blackgurlnhermoods @andriaharris @theblacklewinsky @kumkaniudaku @lovelyflames @girlbeblogging @toiadeenovels @longpause-awkwardsmile @sweettea-and-honeybutter @sirenmouths @almostelectroniccheesecake @liquorlaughslove @meleekabenjamin @19jammmy @thoseprettywords @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @stellarxfresh @noirelyfe @moooonluvr @kinginwithbreezy-blog @bunniibooooo @sk1121-blog1 @luckydaye777 @hgabdakhtui @ovohanna24 @bratattack209 @greantii @rue0224 @jazziejax @whatdreamsaremadeofbitch @absentmindeddreamer @soft-persephone @dragonfly1207 @strawberrymoon45 @kxngkaykay @nayaesworld @uzumaki-rebellion @wolfiediaries @off-pink @zoey101-2
As always, let me know what you think about this fic. Comment, Reblog, Like, Tell A Friend!
My Request list : Hello, I am a passionate black writer, and if you ever have a request, you can DM me or press the button up top. Make sure to have plot idea when you send it, (the person or any character from a show/movie with whatever genre, smut, fluff, angst)
It's time for the second annual "Celebrating Black History Month with Black Fanfiction!" Black Fanfiction Writers, add your Masterlist of stories (or something you're especially geeked out about right now in your treasure trove) centering Black Characters! Please share with your writing mutuals!
I'm sharing my Masterlist:
💬 0 🔁 115 ❤️ 508 · Uzumaki Rebellion’s Quick and Dirty Masterlist! · I write all the things Black Panther related, Sinners (2025 Movie), T
It's time for the second annual "Celebrating Black History Month with Black Fanfiction!" Black Fanfiction Writers, add your Masterlist of stories (or something you're especially geeked out about right now in your treasure trove) centering Black Characters! Please share with your writing mutuals!
I'm sharing my Masterlist:
💬 0 🔁 115 ❤️ 508 · Uzumaki Rebellion’s Quick and Dirty Masterlist! · I write all the things Black Panther related, Sinners (2025 Movie), T
I know that I’ve been missing. A lot of that was due to studying and taking my board exam, work (work piled up tremendously, me not feeling like I had much to say or that what I was saying was redundant, and honestly, wanting to escape into really good stories. I had a reading goal of 100 books this year. It was a mixture of classics, banned books, historical and contemporary fiction, and SMUT! Lol. I really wanted to do more recon so that I could push my pen and give you all compelling stories in different genres. Which meant unfortunately that I haven’t been getting a chance to read and engage in the works of some of my favs on here… @uzumaki-rebellion @hotgrlcece @megamindsecretlair @kumkaniudaku (I’m sorry I love yall 😘😘)
I also wanted to think. I had so much to say and had so many big feelings (as Im sure many of you did too) about what is happening in this country (the US) and around the world. Global atrocities and political injustices was (and still is) happening daily and I was trying to keep up with it all not to doom scroll but to remain informed so that I don’t give complacent consent to egregious acts that would eventually take me out. I also wanted to help and give back because many are facing financial instability and just plain uncertainties about their future. So I started helping the best way I knew how.
I also met a man 🤭. Getting to know someone or revel in the warmth of love is also time consuming as is keeping up with friends and showering them with love. There was still so much I wanted and still want to do. Unfortunately, that prevented me from keeping myself accountable on here.
Now that we are in 2026 and I still only have 24 hours in a day, I want to hold myself accountable to not only research and read but to also write. I want to give you all good fuckin stories with deep characters, fire dialogue, and a message. I also wanted to finish a series. There is one I started in the last quarter of 2025 that I haven’t posted on here. I think it would be good for what I’m trying to do. Now, I will shoot some smut off every now and again if this is what you originally tuned in for but I want to challenge myself to write in other genres and see what happens!
So HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!!!🎆🎊🎈
I really hope you stick around and bring friends because I’m really trying to do right by all of us this year. Especially since I am anticipating on having and making the time.
P.S. if you would like to remain on my tag list, please comment below! I don’t wanna be bothering yall if yall aren’t interested! And if you aren’t sure if you’re interested, read some of my work ——>
