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ch33z3grits · 21 days ago

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Crimson Obsessions | A Terry Richmond Series

pairing: Aaron Pierre as Terry Richmond x Justine Skye as Camille DeWaterson

warnings: 18+ mdni, dark romance, obsessiveness/possessiveness, mentions of cheating, mentions of BDSM themes, mentions of mental breakdowns, mentions of violence, angst, manipulation, AAVE, mentions of kidnapping

word count: 9,369

glossary:

Indulgences: human beings that vampires deem romantically and sexually desirable

The Veil: the dark magic that enhances supernaturals’ ability to manipulate the human world

Imps: demon-like supernaturals that can easily pass as human

a/n: hi everyone!! this chapter, I really wanted to lean in to dark, psycho!Terry teehee 😁I just feel like I haven't really touched on him that well. so hopefully this part does that lololol. ALSO, that little teaser of aaron with the tongue kiss (iykyk), MY GOD! 😫😫😫😫 It don't make any sense for that man to have me in this much of a chokehold. Anywho, enjoy! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated :)

Terry's song: Come Live With Me Angel-Marvin Gaye | Camille's song: Not Allowed-TV Girl

Pt. Eleven

Terry

Terry had told himself it would be enough to satisfy him. At least for now. A few months of dating Camille, just long enough to make it acceptable to ask for her hand in marriage by human standards. He had hoped that wearing the title of “boyfriend” would somehow suppress the dark obsession he carefully masked. But as his eyes landed on the vampire-human couple who glided into Red Rum, glowing with the warmth of effortless intimacy, resentment began to swirl inside of him.

He had been at Jabari's celebration for hours at this point. He had several drinks and numerous pints of blood flowing through his system, making him drunk in more ways than one. The blunt in his hand heightened everything too. But once his best friend walked in with his wife, Terry’s mind seemed to immediately clear. And for all of the wrong reasons.

He couldn’t focus on the chaos of pleasure unfolding around him. The music pounded through the walls of the club. Shots were knocked back, cocktails were spilled, blood dripped lazily out of vampires’ mouths, bodies moved and writhed and fucked under sensuous red lights. Every corner of Red Rum throbbed with decadence and danger as a few of Texas’ most notable supernatural beings celebrated Jabari’s accomplishments. It wasn’t just an after party; it was much more than that. A celebration of a vampire who had clawed his way up the ruthless hierarchy. A fledgling turned into a made man. Most turned vampires never made it beyond the lower levels of status. They were doomed to lives that were all too ordinary and far too long.

But Jabari was different. Ambitious. Clever. Ruthless enough to survive, and charming enough to be rewarded. Red Rum was buzzing for him tonight. Vampires, humans, and the rare magical beings lucky enough to mingle in such exclusive circles all tangled together. Pleasure was currency here, and everyone was trying to spend it.

But even during the celebration of a prince, a king could attract plenty of attention. Dozens of women–vampire, human, fae, and a few with unknown origins–drifted toward Terry like moths to flame. A year ago, he would’ve indulged in every one of them, gladly. But now, he dismissed them all with the same lazy flick of his hand, not even bothering to look at them. None of them could hold a candle to Camille. Not in his eyes.

Instead, Terry’s gaze twitched, just a flicker, as he tracked Elijah and his human wife, Dolores, gliding effortlessly through the sea of bodies. It was as if gravity itself bent to their presence, parting the crowd around them in quiet reverence. They didn’t flinch at the chaos that surged and throbbed through Red Rum, didn’t even seem to register it. Their focus was entirely on each other, as if the music, the bloodlust, the writhing pleasure-seekers meant nothing.

There was something mesmerizing about them… about how freely they existed in each other’s orbit. Dolores didn’t tense at the flash of fangs from a nearby vampire or shrink away in horror from a threesome unfolding in their path. Her gaze remained steady, her presence remained unshaken. And Elijah wasn’t the slightest bit tempted by what was going on around him. Not by the sensual games, the lust-drenched offers whispered in his ear, or the intoxicating scent of blood in the air. His instincts were no match for his love for Dolores. Around them, the club pulsed with sin and celebration. But they floated through it, untouched. Unbothered. Unbreakable.

And although Terry sat at the highest point in the den with his favorite indica and sativa blend burning in his hand, surrounded by the best liquor and food Houston had to offer, he couldn’t help the sharp, deep, twisting pang of jealousy in his chest. It wasn’t just an ache, it was envy. He wanted what they had. Full, complete honesty and love that wasn’t confined to just the human world and was much deeper than “boyfriend and girlfriend.”

He wanted Camille to know his truth. All of it. Not the “human” version of him that he so carefully crafted so she could fall under his influence. He wanted her to know the full weight of who and what he was. He wanted to show her his world without apology. And more than that, he wanted her to stay. To be comfortable in the dark alongside him. To belong there, not as a guest, not as a hostage, but as his willing equal.

He wanted more than the flimsy boundaries of an exclusive relationship. That label felt juvenile as fuck. He was too damn grown for that. Boyfriend didn’t speak to the depth of what he felt for Camille, nor to the hunger he had to claim her in a way that was sacred, permanent, and recognized by every realm, mortal and supernatural.

Marriage held a different weight. It wasn’t just a title; it was a tether. Marriage meant building something together, laying roots in the same soil. It meant a shared home, and a bed that belonged to no one else but them. It meant he could provide for her fully, not just with gifts or gestures, but with stability, protection, and devotion.

Marriage meant she would be his in a way no one else ever could be, and he, hers. It wasn’t about possession; it was about meant access. Not just to their bodies, but to their secrets, to their fears, to the dreams they spoke about in the dark. It was permanence. And it was the only thing that felt big enough to hold what he felt for her.

If they were married, if Camille were his in that irrevocable, sacred way, he could’ve ended the night in a much more satisfactory way: slipping into their home and finding her there, tangled in their sheets, her scent and warmth clinging to the air.

He imagined it so clearly it hurt. The slight smile that would tug at her lips when he kissed her awake, tipsy from too many drinks. She’d protest in that sleepy, soft voice he adored, annoyed at the interruption but already folding into his touch. She would gasp and moan softly as he pumped her full of dick and filled her with his cum, leaving her worn out from multiple orgasms that would lull her back to sleep. And to make up for interrupting her dreams, he’d rise early and bring her breakfast in bed. Then he’d whisk her away for a lazy morning shopping, her hand tucked into his arm as he spoiled her without apology.

But no. Terry would be returning to an empty and silent apartment. Returning to a cold bed. And the worst part? She wasn’t far. Just across the street. Close enough to feel like a cruel tease, but still out of reach. Still not his in the way he craved. Not yet.

But Terry clenched his jaw and forced himself to breathe through the jealousy as his friend and his wife climbed the stairs to Terry’s section. Elijah had earned the love he shared with Dolores. He had fought for it, sacrificed for it, and nurtured it into something rare and beautiful. Terry had no right to resent him for that.

Besides, Terry needed him. Desperately. The slow, measured path he had chosen, waiting for the perfect moment, the socially acceptable time to reveal himself fully to Camille, was starting to feel like a trap. A dangerous one. Playing nice with time, with restraint, was becoming unbearable. Worse, it was reckless. Every moment he delayed, the darker parts of himself stirred restlessly, taunting him to feed from her or let his mask slip. All of that put Camille in danger and their bond in jeopardy.

He needed to act. Fast.

Terry’s grin curled across his face as he pushed off the balcony and made his way toward Elijah and Dolores, who had just appeared at the top of the grand staircase that overlooked Red Rum’s crimson-lit den. Terry chuckled under his breath, the sound buried in his throat, as he considered how humans might interpret the sight of them. Elijah and Dolores’ bond slowed her aging significantly, but she still aged.

Elijah, eternally frozen in the prime of his life, looked every bit like he was in early thirties.

Dolores, on the other hand, bore the graceful marks of time. She didn’t look anywhere near her actual ninety-eight years, but she could easily pass for someone in her early fifties. Dignified, striking, with silver threads beginning to weave through her dark hair, and laugh lines that only deepened her allure.

To the unknowing eye, the age gap must’ve looked amusing, maybe even scandalous. A man in his thirties with a woman who could be old enough to be his mother? It would’ve confused the casual observer. Terry smirked. Shit, I’m trying to get just like them, he thought.

“Damn,” Terry said with a crooked grin, eyes glinting under the club’s deep red lighting. “Didn’t think y’all’s old asses would actually show up to the after party.” He snickered as he reached out, dapping Elijah up and then pulling Dolores into a warm, respectful side hug. “Glad y’all could make it.”

Elijah laughed, the sound barely audible over the bass rattling the walls. “Aye man, we just needed a quick nap between the Veil ceremony and all this madness. We ain’t that damn old.”

Dolores gave Terry a playful side-eye, her smile sly as she looked around, finally lifting her head from Elijah’s shoulder like she was waking from a dream. “My, my, Terry,” she said with mock surprise, her voice laced with amusement. “You sure know how to throw a party.”

Terry’s grin widened, pride settling in his chest as he watched her take in the scene. Red Rum was alive tonight, and even though it wasn't his club, Terry had made sure of that.

“Appreciate that, D,” he said, voice smooth and laid-back. “After all these years in the club game, I gotta keep raising the bar. Can’t let the scene get stale, y’know?”

Dolores nodded, clearly impressed, while Elijah scanned the room with a watchful calm.

“Yeah, man, you keep this up and you’ll never leave the top,” Elijah chuckled, glancing around at the packed club. But his voice dipped a little lower, the amusement thinning. “But I know that look in your eye. What’s going on with you?”

Terry exhaled slowly through his nose, cursing himself for momentarily forgetting how well Elijah could read people.

“Actually…” Terry began, eyes flicking briefly to Dolores before settling back on Elijah, “...I was hoping I could talk to you for a minute. Got some things I need to run by you.”

Dolores caught the look immediately. Terry’s polite, pointed side glance said more than words. She rolled her eyes with a small smirk and tilted her head knowingly. “Mmm. One of those talks, huh? You want me to vanish like a good little human?”

Terry laughed under his breath, grinning. “Not forever. Just long enough for him to talk me off the edge.”

Dolores sighed with mock drama and spun on her heel, already heading toward the food spread. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave y’all to your spooky little heart-to-hearts.” She pointed with her chin toward the towering meat and seafood display near Terry’s VIP table. “I saw coal-roasted oysters. If y’all are gonna whisper and plot, I’m at least gonna get something to eat.”

Elijah called after her, grinning. “Grab me a plate too, baby!”

Dolores didn’t break stride. “You better be lucky I love you,” she tossed back, her voice floating through the thumping music like a kiss on the wind.

Terry shook his head, watching their banter with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Man,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, “that thing y’all got? That’s what I want. What I need.”

Elijah’s smile faded and brows furrowed as he turned to face him more fully. “What you talking about? You got that. You secured Camille without shit getting out of hand. Did something happen?”

“Nah,” Terry said, guiding them both toward a quieter corner of the section, away from the flashing lights and curious ears. “Nothing like that. It’s just… I’m losing patience. With the whole waiting game. It’s messing with my head. Got me on edge.”

Elijah’s expression shifted, his usual calm giving way to something more serious. He tilted his head slightly, reading between the lines. “Wait… are you talking about the cravings?”

Terry didn’t answer right away. He just looked away, jaw tight, the silence saying everything Elijah needed to know.

Elijah gave a slow, measured nod, eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned against the wall, tapping into his medical persona, scanning Terry like he was trying to diagnose him.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I figured this was coming. Ever since you fed from her that one time… it was only a matter of time. Once you get a taste of your Indulgence, it changes you. It’s like a drug. Eventually, they’re the only thing you want. You can push it down and fight it. Maybe take a break away from her. Somewhere tropical and remote, reconnect with your control–”

“That’s the thing,” Terry cut in, voice sharp. “I don’t want to fight it anymore.”

Elijah froze, blinking once. Terry stepped closer, eyes burning as his voice dropped an octave.

“I’m tired of pretending like I can keep this act up. Tired of acting like this little plan I made is enough to keep the hunger in check. It’s not. I don’t want to keep holding back.” His voice dropped, thick with something dark and unrepentant. “I want all of it and I want it now. Her. The blood. The bond.”

I want to have my cake and eat her too, Terry thought.

He knew how it sounded. Knew it was twisted. But denial had never been his game. He always gave into hedonism. And pretending otherwise? That was starting to feel like an unnecessary burden.Elijah straightened slowly, jaw tightening as he searched Terry’s face for some flicker of restraint. “Terry…” he started, voice careful, deliberate. “You don’t want to fuck this up. Camille loves you, no doubt. But fear? Fear can twist love into something unrecognizable. You reveal too much too soon, you risk losing her for good.”

“Exactly,” Terry said, voice syrupy with something that almost sounded like amusement, but there was no humor in his eyes. “So help me out, bruh. What should I do? Because this waiting shit?” He shook his head, smiling like a madman. “That shit ain’t an option anymore.”

And why the fuck should it be?

He didn’t do all this to sit on his hands and play the perfect human boyfriend. He didn’t slink into her workplace, fuck Stephanie’s desperate ass, pull her too-perfect fiancé into an outrageous gambling debt, have her apartment torched, or dangle her parents over their hotel balcony in the middle of the night to play fucking patty cake.

Elijah exhaled slow and deep, dragging a hand down his face as he looked away. Terry watched him, knowing full well Elijah wasn’t the type to argue when someone’s mind was already made up. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to guide the fallout.

“You really sure about this?” Elijah asked at last, meeting Terry’s gaze with a steady, searching look. “You don’t got a few more months left in you? Not even a little patience?”

Terry didn’t blink. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Elijah rubbed the back of his neck, visibly torn, jaw working through the hesitation. “Alright,” he muttered. “Then you better listen close. All of what I’m about to say. This isn’t a move you can finesse your way out of if it goes left.”

Terry nodded once, resolute.

Elijah sighed again, slower this time, the sound seeming to drag from the part of him that had been here before. “You gotta ease her in, Terry. Slow. She needs to see pieces of you, pieces of our world. Not all at once. Don’t drown her in the truth. Let her wade in on her own.”

Terry raised a brow, skeptical. “Like?”

Elijah leaned in slightly, voice lower now, more serious. “You start letting the cracks show, just enough to catch her attention. Start doing things people shouldn’t be able to do. Pick up something too heavy without thinking. Move too fast, then play it off. Go days without sleep or food. Let her start wondering. Let the impossible wrap around the edges of what she knows. Make her question. But keep it beautiful. Mysterious. Not monstrous.”

Terry let out a soft, dry chuckle. “That’s poetic as hell, bruh. But it don’t sound like I’d get that far any faster.”

Elijah didn’t return the laugh. “It will be fast. Just not the kind of fast you would like. You let her investigate. Let her choose to follow the thread. She can’t do that if she’s terrified outta her mind.”Terry’s eyes darkened slightly. “And when do I actually tell her? Like, say it?”

Elijah’s voice dropped, flat and certain. “When she asks. And trust me, she will ask. When the questions stack up and the world stops making sense, she’ll turn to you. That’s when you tell her. But keep it gentle. Truth without too much horror.”

Terry tilted his head, arms crossing. “So, a slow leak instead of a flood.”

“Exactly,” Elijah nodded. “She’s smart. Let her build the picture herself. It’s less terrifying when she feels like she’s discovering the truth, like she still has power. Not like she’s walking into a trap.”

A silence settled between them, heavy and contemplative. Then Terry spoke, quieter this time. “And if she runs?”

The words barely left him before the weight of them hit. His jaw flexed hard, a flicker of something primal twisting in his chest. The thought of Camille leaving clawed at his insides like broken glass.Elijah didn’t flinch. “Then you let her,” he said, voice even, eyes steady. “That’s the part they don’t tell you about love, especially our kind. It only works if it’s chosen. Freely. You can have her heart, or you can own her fear. But you can’t have both.”

Terry swallowed hard, fighting the war raging inside him. The part that wanted to protect her, keep her safe, cherished. And the part that wanted to consume her completely, to sink into her like a predator claiming prey.

He nodded slowly, chest tight. “Alright.”

Elijah clapped a solid hand on his shoulder. “Good. Just… don’t let the hunger speak louder than your heart, man. That’s when you stop being someone she can love.”

Terry didn’t respond. He just thought. And he kept thinking as he and Elijah walked back toward the VIP section, the noise of the club swallowing them whole. Laughter, food, and liquor flowed freely again as the group welcomed them back. Even as they laughed watching Jabari stumble blackout drunk across the ground floor, celebrating like he’d won the world, Terry remained in thought.

Wondering if he could truly follow Elijah’s advice.

Camille

Camille groaned softly as the shrill cry of her alarm pierced the early morning silence. Her hand fumbled across the nightstand, eventually landing on the glowing screen of her phone. 6:30 a.m. The numbers glared back at her, nearly two hours earlier than her usual wake-up time. She squinted at the display, wanting it to be wrong, then let out a long, resigned sigh.

Still buried beneath the cocoon of warm sheets, she stretched sluggishly, her limbs heavy and uncooperative. A dull throb pulsed behind her eyes, the inevitable aftermath of a lunchtime cocktail turning into three, followed by an impromptu wine session with her sister. The decision had seemed harmless, even fun, at the time. Now, it felt like a mistake soaked in regret and Sauvignon Blanc.

Muttering a curse under her breath, she tossed aside the blankets and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The floor was cold against her bare feet, sending a jolt up her spine that did little to shake her grogginess. She padded toward the bathroom. Her morning routine blurred into a series of automatic motions, brushing her teeth, taking a quick shower, smoothing out her boho braids. No time to dwell. Lorenzo would be downstairs in thirty minutes, punctual as always. She needed to be ready.

As much as Camille longed to crawl back beneath the comfort of her covers, to lose herself in the softness and forget the day ahead, she couldn’t afford it. Not today. Not when there was still so much she didn’t know, so much she needed to uncover. Aston was still missing, and she wasn’t the kind of person who could walk away from something like that. Not when the man she had once planned to marry had vanished without a trace.

She had been investigating since the day after the gala. The story people told themselves, that Aston had snapped, had some kind of breakdown, never sat right with her. He wasn’t perfect. Far from it. But he wasn’t unstable. He didn’t have a history of mental illness, no whispered stories of rehab stints or secret addictions. Something had happened. And whatever it was, Camille couldn’t stop herself from needing to know.

What hurt the most was the silence she kept around her search. No one knew. Not Kali, not Chloe, and definitely not Terry. Her new boyfriend didn’t have the slightest idea that every week, without fail, Camille carved out a day to continue looking for her ex. She had no idea how Terry would react if he found out. Would he be angry? Hurt? Would he understand that this wasn’t about love anymore, but about decency? About loyalty?

So she kept it quiet. And every week, she followed the same solemn ritual. She drove herself to the fringes of Houston, visiting rehab centers, emergency rooms, and psychiatric hospitals within a fifty-mile radius. Anywhere a lost man might land if the world had swallowed him whole. She watched faces in waiting rooms and quietly asked receptionists questions that were always met with the same head-shake or polite deferral. So far, all she had were leads that dissolved into nothing. No one matching Aston’s description, no admissions, no incidents, no threads she could follow that didn’t fray apart in her hands.

But she refused to give up. Even if they would never be lovers again, she couldn’t just pretend he hadn’t existed. Couldn’t accept that someone she had once shared a life with could disappear so completely, so quietly, and no one would care enough to look.

This weekend would be no different. Despite her sister borrowing her car, Camille had already planned the trip: Magnolia Oaks, a private in-patient psychiatric facility tucked twenty miles north of the city. She only wished her mode of transportation was more anonymous. An Uber Black would’ve been appealing, but the idea of sitting next to a stranger for that long made her skin crawl. So, instead, she had asked Lorenzo for the favor. She just hoped he wouldn’t ask too many questions. And she really hoped he wouldn’t go back to Terry about this.As Camille tugged on her shoes, the sharp buzz of her phone cut through the quiet of her apartment. She glanced at the screen, seeing that she had a text from Lorenzo, letting her know he was outside and already had the GPS pulled up to go to Magnolia Oaks.

Perfect, she thought, a flicker of relief settling over her nerves. She stood and crossed the room to the mirror, giving herself one final once-over. She slipped some sunglasses on, a final barrier between herself and the morning she didn’t want to face, then stepped out into the hallway.

The elevator ride down was uneventful, the soft hum of descending machinery filling the silence. The lobby, all glass and polished marble, echoed faintly with the distant clack of her heels. It was a normal morning on the surface, but Camille couldn’t shake the strange weight pressing against her chest. Something about the air felt... off. Like the day held something she wasn’t expecting. Still, she forced the unease down, sealed it behind her resolve. She had made up her mind.

Outside, the black Suburban waited at the curb. Lorenzo stood beside it, already stepping forward as he spotted her. He smiled warmly and gave a short wave before opening the rear door with a flourish. “Good morning, Ms. Camille,” he greeted, his voice bright and full of cheer. “I hope you had sweet dreams.”

Camille’s smile faltered for a heartbeat, and she cringed slightly at the oddly intimate comment. But she recovered quickly, slipping into her well-worn role. “Good morning, Lorenzo. How are you? I hope Terry didn’t keep you waiting too long last night.”

Lorenzo chuckled and shifted the door open wider, his expression laced with amusement. “I wish I could say he didn’t, but I don’t mind. Boss had a great time last night. I’m sure it was a night he won’t forget anytime soon.” He drew out the word ‘great’ with a knowing smile, like he was replaying some private joke.

Camille’s brow furrowed as she slid into her seat, her curiosity flaring. What does that mean? She turned slightly, ready to press for more, but Lorenzo had already closed the door and was moving briskly around the vehicle. By the time she heard the front door click shut, the moment felt like it had passed.

As the engine purred to life and the Suburban rolled away from the curb, Camille considered bringing it up again, demanding clarity, but something stopped her. Don’t poke at it. The last thing she needed was to stir up something that might find its way back to Terry.

So instead, she leaned back against the seat, folded her hands in her lap, and stared out the window. Still, that uneasy feeling lingered, quiet but persistent. Like the day was waiting for her to let her guard down.

The hum of the road filled the Suburban’s cabin as the city slowly gave way to open stretches of highway. Buildings fell away behind them, replaced by sprawling parking lots, weathered billboards, and wide patches of green that blurred under the pale morning light. The ride had been quiet for nearly twenty minutes, save for the steady rhythm of tires on pavement and the low murmur of the radio playing some mellow jazz station Lorenzo always seemed to favor.

Camille sat with her arms loosely folded, her gaze fixed on the landscape beyond the tinted window. Fog clung to the low hills in the distance, the kind that never quite burns off until late morning. She tapped a fingernail idly against her thigh, lost in thought, until Lorenzo’s voice broke through the stillness.

“So,” he began casually, a bit too loud against the hush of the car, “this place must be pretty special if you’re leaving at the crack of dawn to get there.”

Camille flinched slightly. Not visibly, but enough to feel the tension ripple through her chest. There was that tone again. Friendly, yes. But laced with something more pointed than usual. She forced a polite smile and pushed the unease down.

“Oh no,” she replied with a soft giggle, practiced and airy. “Nothing special, really. I just have a packed day ahead with my sister, so I wanted to get this little errand out of the way early.”

Lorenzo nodded, keeping his eyes on the road, but his lips curled into a smirk she caught in the rearview mirror.

“That’s sweet,” he said, tone smooth, almost too smooth. “At least you’re being productive. Maybe once the boss recovers from his crazy night, he can do the same.”

Camille blinked, her expression tightening behind her sunglasses. What the hell? she thought, shifting slightly in her seat. His comments are weirder than usual today.

She glanced toward the rearview mirror again, catching another glimpse of Lorenzo’s face. He looked calm, unfazed. But something in his voice carried a knowing edge, like he was toying with the boundaries of casual conversation and dipping into something more personal.

Outside, the suburbs gave way to back roads lined with thickets of trees and aging gas stations that hadn’t been updated in a decade. Long drives had always been a bit meditative for Camille, a stretch of quiet time where she could think clearly, away from the chaos of her life. But today, the stillness felt different. Stiff. Unsettling.

She tried to refocus, telling herself that Lorenzo was just being... Lorenzo. Chatty. A little too familiar, maybe, but ultimately harmless. And yet, with every mile they covered, a low buzz of anxiety thrummed in the back of her mind. Something about the way he said ‘crazy night,’ something about the way he had smirked, she didn’t like it.

Still, she said nothing. She didn’t want to give him anything more to read into. So she looked back out the window, watching the gray morning sky stretch endlessly above the trees, and hoped the next hour would pass in silence.

The drive dragged on, broken only by the occasional sound of the creak of the Suburban’s leather interior or the steady swish of tires on the road. Camille’s nerves hummed just beneath her skin. She watched landmarks flicker past. An abandoned diner with a crumbling neon sign, a lonely strip mall, a sharp turn where the woods grew thick and wild on either side.

Finally, the road curved gently uphill, revealing a long iron gate framed by stone pillars. Beyond it stood Magnolia Oaks Psychiatric Facility, its cream-colored main building nestled quietly amid towering oaks and manicured hedges. A stone fountain trickled water in the circular drive, and the early morning mist still clung to the hedges like breath on glass.

As the Suburban rolled up to the gate, Lorenzo leaned out slightly and pressed the call button. A sharp buzz crackled through the speaker, followed by a clipped voice: “Name and purpose of visit?”

Lorenzo shot a quick glance back at Camille through the rearview mirror. Camille rolled her window down, answering, “Visitor for a patient inquiry.”

There was a pause, then the gate creaked open with a slow groan. The SUV glided forward up the winding drive. Camille’s fingers curled around the strap of her bag. Her heart thudded, not in fear exactly, but in that heavy way it always did when she approached a place like this. Hope and dread, tangled so tightly she couldn’t tell them apart anymore.

Lorenzo pulled the vehicle up to the front entrance and shifted into park. He turned around, his usual grin softened into something more neutral. “Want me to wait here?” he asked, his voice lower now.

Camille hesitated. She considered asking him to come in with her, just to have someone nearby. But she couldn’t. “Yes, please. It shouldn’t be more than fifteen minutes.”

Lorenzo gave a small nod, then reached across to open her door. “Alright, Ms. Camille. Be safe.”

She slid out of the car, her sandals landing softly against the stone path. The door shut behind her and the SUV eased away.

Squaring her shoulders, Camille adjusted her bag and walked toward the entrance. The glass doors opened with a mechanical hiss, and a rush of cool, sterile air greeted her. She stepped inside, ready, again, to ask if anyone had seen Aston.

The interior of Magnolia Oaks was bright, clean, and eerily quiet. The walls were painted a soft, calming shade of sage green, punctuated by abstract art and small brass plaques that offered inspirational quotes Camille didn’t bother to read. The floor gleamed beneath her, too polished, almost unnatural. It smelled faintly of disinfectant and lavender air freshener, an odd, sterile kind of comfort.

At the far end of the lobby stood the front desk, a semicircle of light wood and glass manned by an older Hispanic woman in pale blue scrubs and a cardigan, her badge and a small pin of the Cuban flag clipped neatly to her collar. She looked to be in her early fifties, yet there was something elderly about her. Something Camille couldn’t quite place.

Camille walked up, forcing her expression into one of polite confidence.

“Good morning,” she said gently, resting her hands on the edge of the counter. “I’m here to ask about a potential patient. I’ve been checking around a few facilities, and I was hoping you could tell me if someone named Aston McCoy has checked in recently.”

The woman looked up from her computer, her gaze assessing her as if she had seen a ghost. “Are you family?” she asked with a slight accent, fingers poised over her keyboard.

“No,” Camille admitted. “I’m... an old friend. He had an incident a few weeks ago and just vanished. I just want to make sure he’s safe.” She hesitated, then added, “I’m worried he might have come here for help under a different name.”

The receptionist nodded slowly, the lines on her forehead deepening slightly. “Do you have a photo, mija?”

Camille reached into her bag and pulled out her phone, swiping across the screen until she reached a picture of her and Aston at a vineyard just outside Napa. He was smiling, arm wrapped casually around her waist, wind tugging at his collar. She slid her phone across the desk.

The woman took the phone carefully, her eyes scanning it for a few seconds longer than Camille expected. “We don’t usually release patient information unless you’re an authorized contact,” she said carefully, handing the device back, “but I’ll take a look through our recent admissions list. If anyone matching his description has checked in, even under a different name, I’ll see if it flags anything.”

“Thank you,” Camille said softly as she stepped back. The receptionist turned to her computer and began typing. Camille watched the soft clicking of the keys, her pulse quickening with every second. The lobby had grown even quieter, the buzz of fluorescent lights suddenly very noticeable, pressing down on her like static. After a minute or so, the woman frowned slightly, leaning in toward her screen.

Camille took a small step forward. “Did you find something?” The woman hesitated, then shook her head. “Nothing under Aston McCoy, or anything matching his physical description. We had a few new admissions this week, but no one who fits. I’m sorry.”

Camille nodded, swallowing a wave of disappointment that was already too familiar. “It’s alright,” she said. “I appreciate you checking. Have a good day.”

She turned and walked back toward the doors, her shoes echoing off the marble floor with every step. The cool air outside hit her like a wall as the doors slid open again, and for a moment she just stood there, staring at the horizon. The morning sun had risen higher, burning off the last of the mist. The brightness made her squint behind her sunglasses, though it did little to warm the cold knot in her chest. Another dead end.

She inhaled slowly through her nose, trying to release the tension that had gathered along her spine, then exhaled just as slowly before scanning the wrap-around driveway. The Suburban was parked in the far corner, idling in a patch of shade beneath an old oak tree. Lorenzo was leaning against the passenger side door, arms crossed over his chest, one foot propped casually against the bumper. He straightened as he saw her approaching, opening the back door.

“That was quick,” he said, giving her a glance that didn’t ask questions.

Camille slid into the back seat without answering. Lorenzo closed the door behind her with a soft thud and circled back to the driver’s seat. Once inside, he adjusted the mirror and met her gaze briefly through the glass. “You want me to take the long way back?” he asked. “Grab a coffee or something?”

Camille considered it for a second, then shook her head. “No. Just home, please.” He nodded, respectful. “You got it.”

They pulled out of the driveway in silence before merging onto the quiet, two-lane road that led back to Houston. Camille leaned her head against the cool window, watching the trees blur past in streaks of green and brown.

The landscape gradually shifted as the Suburban rolled on, wide fields and wooded patches giving way to chain restaurants, gas stations, and the slow sprawl of Houston’s outer edges. Traffic thickened just slightly, the hum of passing cars replacing the quiet stillness of the countryside. Camille sat quietly in the back seat, her cheek resting lightly against the window’s cool surface, sunglasses still shielding her eyes from the late-morning sun.

Fatigue crept in like a tide. The early wake-up, the emotional weight of another fruitless search, it all pressed down on her at once. Her muscles loosened, eyelids growing heavy. Her head lolled gently to the side, surrendering to the rhythmic motion of the car. For a moment, she let herself drift, caught in that strange space between waking and dreaming. But just as her body began to yield fully to sleep, something flickered in her peripheral vision.

Bright. Red. Sparkly.

Her brows twitched beneath her sunglasses. She blinked, straightened slightly, and focused her gaze on the object peeking out from beneath the floor mat behind the front passenger seat. It hadn’t been there earlier, or maybe she’d simply been too tired, too preoccupied to notice. But now it practically screamed for her attention, a jarring splash of color in the otherwise sleek black interior.

Curiosity sharpened her focus. She leaned forward, shifting carefully in her seat, angling herself to get a better view. Her fingers reached out hesitantly, brushing over the glinting edge of the thing. It was soft. Fabric. Camille frowned, her fingers gently tugging it free from where it had been half-hidden beneath the mat.

Crimson red, dusted with shimmer, and as sleazy and intimate as it could be. Without a doubt, it was a thong. A used thong. A recently used thong. And one that definitely didn’t belong to her. Camille’s pulse quickened as her hand flicked the garment away from her. Her stomach grew queasy for two reasons. One, she was just holding someone else’s underwear. Absolutely gross. But the nausea bubbling in her stomach and chest had much more to do with what finding those underwear meant.

Terry–the man who had her nose wide open since the beginning of the year, the one who had touched the most bruised parts of her heart so gently–had a great time last night… because he was with someone else.

Camille sat frozen in the backseat, the soft hum of the car feeling suddenly distant, hollow. She had ignored it, the weird, slightly-too-knowing smiles Lorenzo had given her this morning. She’d brushed off his cryptic comments, told herself he was just being friendly, just chatty. Just Lorenzo.

But deep down, she knew. The signs had been there, flickering at the edges of her trust like warning lights. And she, like a naive little girl playing pretend in a grown woman’s life, had closed her eyes to every single one of them.

The realization hit her chest like a punch, slow and bruising. Terry had been with someone else last night. And that someone was bold enough and comfortable enough to leave behind a trail. Someone who didn’t have to wonder if they were being lied to.

Camille swallowed hard, the motion rough and dry, like glass dragging down her throat. Her chest tightened, with anger, embarrassment, and a grief so sharp it felt like it might cut her in half. She felt heat flood her face, mostly from shame. Deep, scalding shame. How stupid had she been? How blind? She believed in the softness of Terry’s voice, the easy charm in his smile. She had let herself fall for every sweet nothing, every forehead kiss, every time he whispered “you’re mine.”

She thought she was safe. That she'd finally found someone who saw her. Chose her. Loved her.

But in reality, Terry had just chosen her to be his fool. A woman who he probably saw as a form of entertainment. Someone to boost his ego. She was the girl who he knew would be wrapped around his finger, willing to do anything to please him.

How could she fall for this? Everything about Terry screamed red flag. Handsome beyond words. Tall, strong, fit. Charming, seductive, all-consuming. A fucking club owner who probably ran into models, influencers, and other beautiful women all the time. In what world is a guy like that ever faithful? Especially to the women like Camille? The women who weren’t the most sexually liberated or weren’t necessarily the life of the party.

Camille pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window, her breath fogging the surface in slow, shallow bursts, hot tears streaming silently down her face. She could still see her reflection, blurry and ghost-like, and she hated the look in her own eyes. Wide. Hurt. Humiliated.

She had let herself believe she was finally the exception.

But she was just another woman who got played.

And God, did it make her feel stupid.

She leaned her head back against the seat, blinking fast behind her sunglasses and desperately wiping the tears from her face. She couldn’t let Lorenzo see her like this.

She glanced up toward the front, toward the steady line of Lorenzo’s shoulders. He was still driving, calm, one hand resting loosely on the wheel. Oblivious. Or pretending to be. And to think that she actually thought they were friendly. Obviously not. Not with the way he made those mocking comments earlier. Her shoulders slumped slightly as she let the shame grip her again. But she snapped out of her stump as more tears threatened to fall. She had all the time in the world to cry. Right now she needed answers.

“Hey, Lorenzo,” Camille said, her voice cracking halfway through, betraying more than she wanted it to. She cleared her throat quickly, straightened in her seat, trying to force steadiness into her tone as her gaze lifted to meet his through the rearview mirror.

Lorenzo’s dark eyes flicked up, catching hers. Well, what little they could behind the barrier of her oversized sunglasses.

“How long was Terry out last night?” she asked, her voice softer now but more measured, cloaked in casual curiosity. There was a pause. Subtle, but telling. She watched the faint shift in his posture, how his grip on the steering wheel changed, how his mouth pressed into a thinner line. His eyes darted back to the road.

“I picked him up around five a.m., Ms. Camille.”Camille blinked slowly. Nothing’s open at that time but legs, she thought.

Her heart sank further, but she managed a breathy laugh. “Oh wow, no wonder I haven’t heard from him yet,” she said with a smile that didn’t reach her voice. “He must be exhausted.”

She could feel Lorenzo glance at her again, but she didn’t look up. Her fingers moved idly across her phone screen, as though checking a notification, but in truth she was steadying her hands, keeping them busy so they wouldn’t tremble.

“Where was he?” she asked, keeping her tone smooth, pleasant. There it was again. A hitch. A shift. Lorenzo’s shoulders tensed for a fraction of a second before settling. “It was this venue near the Four Seasons,” he said casually, but his voice had lost its earlier playfulness. “I think it was called… Red Rum.”

Red Rum. Camille’s stomach twisted. She didn’t know the place, but she was about to find out about it. She tapped her phone screen with slow precision, typing it into her browser.

The red fabric glittered faintly in the corner that she threw it in. Taunting her as the google search loaded.

At the top of the page was a simple listing: Red Rum – Houston’s Most Exclusive Play Place. A thumbnail image of a sleek black-and-red logo sat beside it. On the surface, it seemed like just another trendy club. Polished. Pretentious. Expensive.

But Camille didn’t buy it, not for a second. Her thumb hovered for only a beat before pressing the link. The screen shifted. The homepage began to load. And then, like a slap, it was there:

“Red Rum - Where Sin and Pleasure Lives: Houston’s Premiere BDSM Den.”

Her heart dropped.

The banner stretched across the top of the page in bold red script, superimposed over an image of a darkened lounge bathed in red light, where scantily clad women lounged across velvet furniture and masked patrons sipped cocktails under crystal chandeliers.

Camille stared, her breath caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat. Her pulse thundered in her ears. This wasn’t a nightclub, it was a private adult venue. A sex club.

And Terry had been there.

Until five in the morning.

Camille’s fingers clenched tightly around her phone, the edges biting into her palm as her grip turned rigid. Rage, disbelief, and heartbreak surged in waves, each one crashing harder than the last. Her lips parted, breath trembling, ready to speak, but what would even come out? She didn’t know.A thousand words teetered on the edge of her tongue. Fuck Terry. Fuck whoever he was with last night. Fuck Lorenzo, too, for driving her this morning like nothing was wrong. She wanted to scream, to spit out every furious, wounded thing clawing at the back of her throat.

But before a single syllable could leave her mouth, the shrill sound of a ringtone shattered the tension in the car.

Lorenzo flinched slightly, fumbling for his phone. “Sorry about that, Ms. Camille,” he said quickly, voice almost too eager, like he knew she was ready to lash out, and this was his escape. “I have to take this.”

Before she could respond he reached back and, with one smooth motion, raised the tinted separation barrier between the front and back seats. The pane slid up with a low mechanical hum, severing her from him in a single, calculated gesture.

Camille stared ahead blankly. Her mind spiraled. Thoughts screamed over each other in chaos, but her body didn’t move. She sat still, like she had been turned to stone. She could faintly hear Lorenzo’s voice now, low and muffled through the partition, as he spoke into the phone. And still, she said nothing.

Instead, she tuned him out completely, letting her fury, sadness, and humiliation wrap around her like a suffocating fog. There was only the dull roar in her ears, and the echo of one name burning like fire in her chest:

Terry.

She sighed, heavy and deep, mentally kicking herself for being stupid enough to believe he cared about her. Cared for her. Kicking herself for falling so deeply in love with an obvious fantasy.

Camille’s spiraling thoughts were violently interrupted when the Suburban veered sharply to the right. Tires screeched against the pavement as the vehicle jerked toward the shoulder of the somewhat busy road. Her body jolted sideways against the seatbelt, and her heart lurched into her throat.

“What the–” she gasped, eyes wide as she sat up straighter, scanning their surroundings in alarm. Cars zipped past them, horns blaring in protest as Lorenzo slowed to a sudden, jarring stop beneath the shadow of a bridge.

Before she could demand an explanation, the partition between them hissed downward, revealing Lorenzo’s tense profile.

“Just hold tight, Camille,” he said, his voice clipped, devoid of his usual charm.

Her eyes narrowed. “Lorenzo, what the he–”

“Just sit tight,” he cut in, his voice firm and unnervingly calm. “And look at the new message you’re about to get.”

Without another word, the divider slid back up, sealing her off again.Camille blinked, stunned. “Hey! Hey!” she shouted, her palm slamming against the thick glass. “Whatever game this is, Lorenzo, it’s not funny at all.”

His voice crackled faintly through the barrier. “No game,” he said, and this time his tone was dry, almost bitter. “Just following instructions. You should do the same.”

Her blood ran cold.

A fresh wave of panic surged through her as she scrambled for her phone. Her fingers trembled, fumbling the screen as she tried to enter her passcode, twice entering the wrong one before finally getting it right. Her instinct screamed to call for help. Dial 911. Get out. Run. But before she could even swipe to dial the number, a notification flashed across the screen.

Unknown number: 1 video attachment

She froze.

The thumbnail image showed a familiar scene: her and Terry in a parking lot. Her breath caught in her throat. She had on a pencil skirt and blouse and Terry was in a deep purple polo and black slacks. Those were the same clothes from that day back in March. The day she had randomly fainted, and Terry had taken her to the hospital.

Her brows knit together. A sick feeling stirred low in her gut.

What the hell…?

Curiosity crackled through her fear. For a moment, she forgot about Lorenzo, about the bizarre detour and the sealed barrier. Her thumb hovered over the screen. She tapped play and watched the screen flicker to life.

Stephanie

Stephanie’s fingers trembled uncontrollably as she hovered over the screen, pressing send. The video, the one she had taken months ago to blackmail Terry, was finally released. Her heart pounded rapidly in her chest, making it hard to breathe. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. But after getting the frightening warning from her well-paid witch, she thought this would be an appropriate addition to her plan.

Damage control, she told herself.

The call from her bruja, the one she only knew as The High Priestess, had shattered her confidence in continuing with her plan. The witch’s voice had burst through the phone in a frenzy, raw and cracking with fear. Not that vague, poetic dread witches so often draped themselves in, but real, human terror.

“You’re going to get us killed!” the High Priestess had sobbed into the phone, nearly incomprehensible as words came out in trembling breaths. “How could you be so careless, mija?”

Stephanie had tried to hold her ground. But her voice, normally laced with condescension, sarcasm, and veiled threat, wavered beneath the force of the woman’s panic.

“I don’t understand, what are you even talking about?”

“You made a deal with that damn devil man without even understanding what you’re dealing with,” the High Priestess hissed, voice sharp. Stephanie assumed she was referring to Aston’s father, a seemingly normal man who had revealed that he was supernatural over a month ago. “This whole plan, marrying that girl off to keep that man to yourself… did you even know how important she is to him?”

Stephanie snorted, jealousy running through her. “Camille? That bitch is nothing–”

“She is the Indulgence of El Vampiro,” the witch spat, interrupting her. “That man has tied their spirits to each other. He has her protected like a damn fortress. He will kill for her. He will come for you. For all of us.”

That word, Indulgence, hung in the air like an unknown threat. Stephanie didn’t know the full weight of it, but the way the witch said it made her skin crawl.

“I didn’t… I don’t–”

“You didn’t think at all!” the High Priestess screeched. “She walked right into my center this morning, the one where I’m trying to perfect my craft. You know what I saw? Layers and layers of protection woven around her soul. And they weren’t any mortal blessings. She’s wrapped in something ancient. Something blood-bound.”

Stephanie swallowed hard, trying to comprehend how serious this was.

“She’s looking for that gringo you have locked up in that farmhouse, but that’s the least of your concerns, Stephanie.” The witch’s voice dropped. “I felt his signature on her. That’s not just any random, benevolent protection. That’s a declaration. He has spiritually marked her, claiming her as his.”

A brief silence stretched between them, heavy beyond words.

“She’s not just some pawn you can marry off to satisfy whatever agreement you have with that imp,” the High Priestess said coldly. “She’s his. And if you go through with this plan, mija… he will unmake us.”

Stephanie sat frozen in the aftermath of the call, the quiet ringing in her ear more unsettling than the High Priestess’s shrieking panic. No goodbye. No parting words. Just silence.

Her mind raced. She needed advice. Fast. She thought first of Richard McCoy, the charming, cold-blooded demon-in-disguise father of her former coworker. He was as committed to this plan as she was. Maybe even more since he was funding almost everything. He knew how to move forward right?

But the phone rang unanswered. Twice. Three times. And time was not a luxury Stephanie could afford.

So she turned to the only other contact in their dark little network: the minion Richard had recruited over a month ago. Terry’s driver.

She hadn’t expected much from him. He was only a driver after all. Maybe a tip about Terry’s whereabouts when Richard decided to pluck Camille out of Houston. Perhaps some advice on how to lure Terry to the farmhouse. But when the driver picked up, Stephanie realized he would be much more handy than she expected. Especially once she realized Camille was in his backseat.

“What the hell is an Indulgence?” Stephanie demanded the second the call connected, her voice a rasp of fear and frustration.

“Don’t worry,” he said after a moment, his voice low and assured in a way that made her skin crawl. “We will make this happen. She’s with me now. We just need to make her afraid of Terry. Fear severs spiritual ties. Got anything that can do that?”

Stephanie latched onto those words.

Fear severs ties.

If she could just break whatever invisible protection her bruja was talking about, maybe this thing, this whole arrangement could still be salvaged. That’s when she remembered her ace, her final card, her last bullet in the chamber.

The video. The footage she had hidden away like a dirty secret. Of Terry, stripped of his charm, caught in a moment of pure, feral hunger. The kind that would make anyone watching look at him in a new light.

All it took was a gentle nudge, some pressure applied to damn-near-braindead Aston, and Camille’s number was in her hands.

Stephanie had sent it. Just like that.

And now, as she stared at the phone, her screen pulsing with a message: Delivered, a hollow chill settled deep inside her.

She had crossed a line. Not the first. Certainly not the last. But this one felt different. Like she’d finally stepped into territory that no spell or scheme could help her escape from.

She was in far over her head—wading through deals she barely understood, making alliances with creatures whose rules weren’t written in human terms.

She had crossed a line. Not the first. Certainly not the last. But this one felt different. Like she’d finally stepped into territory that no spell or scheme could help her escape from.

She was in far over her head—wading through deals she barely understood, making alliances with creatures whose rules weren’t written in human terms.

And Camille, whom she once saw as a pawn, was quickly becoming a problem. Unpredictable. Protected. Possibly the piece that could lead to a cruel death.

But Stephanie wasn’t the quitting type.

She needed Terry. Biblically. Spiritually. Wholeheartedly. She had bent her soul, her future, her very essence around the promise of what her life could become with her at his side.

She wasn’t about to let some witch’s panic get in the way of that.

a/n pt. 2: welp, as y'all can see, everybody is losing their mind. crashouts coming soon :)

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@nayaesworld @slvt4her @writingsbytee @notapradagurl7 @23jammy @kaylaahisthebestest- @theogbadbitch @wabi-sabi1090 @hotgyalaroad @nubiagurllll @lovedlover @dimepiece09 @lavaniiii @simplyzeeka @susanhill @next-bex-bet @sparklytemi @sonotlauryn @ranikyani @daddyslittlevillain @blackchickinthedesert @sparklytemi @sonotlauryn @hello-therree @solunaseira @hotebonynearby @key05marie @moebuttta @winorlosetogether @nohatingpplbczhtingpplr @alexinmotion @queencb2462 @kismet83 @bruleecream @playingaymes

#aaron pierre #terry richmond #terry richmond smut #aaron pierre smut #terry richmond fic #rebel ridge #aaron pierre fic #terry richmond x black character #aaron pierre x black!oc

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secretadventuresociety · 4 years ago

Text

Episode 31 Recap

Get hype, SASholes! I’m Bren, resident SAStorian and manic goblin dream girl. Welcome to Episode 31: A Long Day’s End.

A Challenger Approaches!

With Mother (hopefully) vanquished and Kerti’s whereabouts unknown, our heroes hear fleeting whispers of ‘they’re coming, she’s coming’ whistling in the icy wind flowing through the cave. Sharing a Let’s-Put-A-Pin-In-That glance, the trio check in with each other because-- lest we forget-- they have just survived a run-in with an evil being who was masquerading as Kü’s mom. Sorry, did I say run-in? I meant battle for their lives. Anywho! They all seem to be physically unscathed, though that emotional trauma will last forever. IYKYK. Kü, of course, is the most affected, though his worries go straight to Kess, who Mother had just tried to strangle and not in the sexy way. Pearce attempts to make light of the situation by telling Kü it couldn’t have been too bad because Kess didn’t black out and see her friend, Ashe.

Which, speaking OF ash, the group starts smelling smoke. All of their combined hackles raise-- each probably thinking of a different entity. They really do be running into a lot of fire-related individuals, so this makes sense. When they actually SEE physical evidence of smoke trailing from further in the tunnel, they realize they might not be alone in this cave. Pearce elects Kü to lead them to the source, stating that he has darkvision and that will be to their tactical advantage. I mean, true, but this is also the helmetless kobold who just lost his ‘mother’ for the second time. I’m begging SOMEONE to give him a break. God, Lathander, DM, anyone?? As they go deeper, however, thin sheets of ice on the ceiling seem to be letting blue-tinted morning sunlight in. This literally lightens the mood until they come to a ledge-- one set up with a VERY recent campsite.

The party can tell right away that this is where the smoke has originated from, and looking closer, they spot a figure. A DANCING figure. What appears to be a four foot tall, staff wielding, gymnast built, olive skinned, winged individual is currently stirring an alluring pot of food while having the best time of his life. Understandably afraid, Kü attempts to summon his Blight Bow-- and nothing happens. Instead, he and Pearce decide to ambush the stranger, one going to the left of him and the other going right. Kü is spotted, and in defense, he grabs a broken liquor bottle (that he has been holding onto since the BEGINNING of this campaign, y’all), and chucks it at the head of his presumed assailant. In this instant, everyone braces for a fight, INCLUDING our guest star, Pongu, played by the fantastic Sonny-- who fans may recognize from the Hollaback Charity&D stream!

The Three Mardostateers

Kess instinctively heals herself as she notices her companions go into a fighting stance; having stayed away from the ledge. She was sure the humanoid meant no harm, but it’s hard to preach benefit of the doubt with a hotheaded gunslinger and a manipulated kobold. Instead of retaliating, Pongu tries to diffuse the situation. He laughs off the projectile Kü hurled and tells the group that they didn’t have to throw things if they wanted food; he has plenty to share. It’s then that the exhausted and hungry group smells the bounty for the first time. It is heavy with spices and looks like some sort of chunky soup. As we all know, food is the way to the heart, and apparently to the trust bone, too. Kess joins our apprehensive duo and the trauma of the past two days comes tumbling out of them.

Pongu listens intently, and when they’re done, calls over a beautiful, starry owl (named Nalani) over to him. Kü startles, having instant predator flashbacks. With a smile, the fairy tells his companion that this group needs some extra love, to which the creature replies (only to Pongu himself) that they both have a lot to give. Pongu notices Kü’s changed attitude and requests that the owl take some time away from camp to reform himself into something less intimidating, like a cat. The kobold relaxes as the animal leaves, and Kess changes the subject. She begins to question Pongu about his presence in the cave-- and mentions that she thought it belonged to someone she knew. Pongu assures her that he is just passing through, and had chosen the cave to take respite in.

The fairy goes on to explain that he is from the Feywild, and that he has been searching all over-- sailing the seas-- and winding up on the material plane for the ingredients for a perfect fey wedding cake. He used to be an adventurer long ago-- now at an estimated 300+ years of age-- but now is a professional chef and ‘fixer of things’. This draws Kü’s interest, and he wonders aloud if Pongu might be able to repair his mother’s skulll-- but quickly has this hope dashed when Pongu asks if the kobold has all of the pieces. Pearce, feeling Kü’s disappointment, offers to go back and see if there’s anything left, but is denied. Having gotten Pongu’s life story, the group feels the need to share as well. They first attempt to lie (except for Kess) and say their names are Uk and Ferdinand [I will let you guys which one is which] and that they are all three from Mardosta. The truth quickly comes out, however, and Pongu takes it in stride, excitedly asking if Kess (the true Mardostan native) can get him rare spices from the area.

A Lesson in Bonding

Taking a moment for herself, Kess separates from the group and goes to the neighboring hot spring. She discards some of her clothing and jumps in-- drifting to the bottom. Once she reaches the soil there, the druid draws on her inner power and grows a flower. It is still black with a white iris, but the floret adapts to its watery surroundings-- taking on an aquatic formation. Kess takes no time to marvel at it, instead using the rest of her depleting energy to focus on the plant and attempts to contact Ashe. After a bit, she realizes there isn’t going to be a response. So, the changeling flips off the bloom and pushes herself to the surface, dressing once more and cursing under her breath.

In Kess’ absence, Pearce and Kü warn Pongu about Skugamor and give him a head’s up about Kerti (who we really haven’t gotten to know yet). The gunslinger sighs and half-heartedly complains that everyone has voices in their heads except for him. The fairy listens gratefully while taking out a Santa-Claus-worthy bag of toys to keep his hands busy. He explains that he likes to fix up old toys and give them new homes-- and Kü asks if he has a paddleball related plaything. Pongu brightly hands him a Bilboque (I really didn’t want to write cup-and-ball. But you guys made me anyway. Good job) and takes to it instantly.

Sensing how worn out the adventurers are, Pongu casts Tiny Hut, creating a dome with a starry ceiling and a light scent of flowers swirling through the air. Pearce sees Kess step into the space and he greets her, hugging her to him as she spirals in a panic attack. He tells her that everything is going to be okay, and that he feels that is true because he has not been this comfortable anywhere but Mardosta. The contact soothes the changeling, and she steps back from Pearce and truly looks at him for the first time after their ordeal. Her eyes widen at the state of his hair; and the gunslinger grabs his things to run to the hot spring himself to shower. Pongu stops him, saying that he thinks he could fix the dirty, snow-wet mess, and Pearce relents. The fairy uses Shape Water as a kind of gel to mold the unruly locks-- and when Kess lets Pearce check it in the shine of her canteen, the gunslinger huffs off; happy with his look but pissed that he has nothing to be pissed about.

Look at the Stars

Using his misplaced anger as motivation, Pearce begins to craft more bullets for Iris from the components he purchased at the Night Market. He ends up making fifteen functional bullets, only wasting one defective try at the beginning of the process. The gunslinger thinks of his father and how Pearce used to watch him go through the same activity, and the fire of his rage is stoked by the realization that he actually learned something from the deadbeat. What was it that Smash Mouth said? When the hits start coming they don’t stop coming? Whatever it was, I’m THERE in this DnD stream. Someone make them stop.

As Pearce is artificing the daddy issues away, Kü tries to bring his Blight Bow out one more time. When it still doesn’t happen, the kobold admits to Kess that he has Good News and Bad News. The good news is that he believes Mother to be truly gone, and the bad news is that this means that his powers seem to be gone. Kess reassures him that they’ll figure things out; and Kü distracts himself by catching Pongu up on their exploits so far-- from Evercrest’s dying king to the vampires of New Hexton. The kobold then switches gears and asks the fairy about his parents-- with whom Pongu seems to have a semi-okay relationship. Kü tells him that he’s just trying to feel out where his trauma is-- and that he wants him to be as broken as he is. Big ouch.

Kess takes over at that point, trying to explain LifeWell water to their new friend. A combination of exhaustion and frustration overwhelms her in the middle of it, however, so she excuses herself to sleep it off. She ends up under a constellation of a scorpion, and Pongu suggests to Pearce that he choose one that meant something to him to watch over him as he slept. The gunslinger curls up underneath an arrow (yes, weapons are soothing, just ask my barbarian) and Kü doesn’t even bother looking up-- as soon as his head hits the floor, he drifts off into a deep rest. Pongu watches over them for the four hours they stay unconscious, making them a special (giving them ingame boosts!) bready treat. When they wake up, Kess eats hers and Pearce tosses Kü his-- who catches it deftly in his waiting maw. They take in Pongu now making pancakes for the group, and realize they have some decisions to make.

Case Closed

After throwing out their veritable to-do list, Pearce bangs the butt of his gun against the cave floor, commanding the attention of the other three speakers. He makes an executive decision that they should all go check on the Shadowmore family. They have no idea if they are still safe from Skugamor, and Kess needs to speak with them before they either stay for the Mardosta ball or move on to their next task. The Nobodies look toward Pongu, gauging his interest in joining them for a time. The fairy packs up the leftover food from the night before-- leaving a note that anyone who comes by it is welcome to it-- and agrees to travel with the trio. Kess warns Kü before she shifts back into her owl form, which turns out to be large enough to carry her humanoid companions.

They make a long, cold flight back-- and all seems quiet at the Shadowmore manor. The group makes their way to the fourth floor (you remember, the PARENT wing) and finds it empty. Searching frantically, they finally see them standing in the greenhouse, marvelling over Kess’ new and hydraulic flower. Norse turns around and exclaims her thankfulness for her daughter’s safety, counting the number of still-alive-friends with her, and greets the sunny newcomer. OMG. Did you see what I did there? Sunny cause Pongu is a literal ray of light but also-- Sonny?? His player?! That was COMPLETELY UNINTENTIONAL! WITNESS ME! Fine. I digress. The party catches the elder Shadowmores up to speed just before Brienne, our lovely tabaxi detective, strides into the greenhouse. Pongu introduces himself as Brienne looks over him curiously, and the investigator sighs, grateful that she doesn’t have to question yet another for Xarus’ murder. Hearing of this foul play for the first time, the fairy looks over to his new friends and says, “There’s a lot of death around you three, huh?”

The Nobodies stammer in unison, attempting to laugh off this outburst. Brienne pays it no mind, pushing forward to ask to speak with the group. She tells them that Xarus was found with poison in his system, and had a snapped neck-- probably from strangulation. The tabaxi had spoken with onlookers at the Underfrost as well as the cooking staff at the Shadowmore estate, who both told her that they experienced a similar phenomenon with shadow magic. It’s then that they come clean, handing the detective the page on Skugamor (which Brienne RIGHTFULLY chides Kess for stealing) and Kü recounts his almost-lifelong-ordeal under her influence. With a small, conspiratorial smile-- Brienne concludes that Xarus’ death must have been a suicide. She tells the group that if they did not take care of Skugamor that she would be unable to protect them-- but if the entity was really and truly gone, she was more than happy to close the case. She bids them farewell, and as they all let loose a breath they didn’t know they were holding (hello, YA roots) and Pongu smiles widely at them. He professes that he will be there for this courageous party until they no longer need him.

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TL;DR

Give a BIG SAShole welcome to Pongu and Sonny! You can find him on Twitter: @SonnyPlays and tell him Bren sent ya!

Wait, where’s my starry owlcat!? How do you pspspspsps a fey being?!

Things are looking up for the Nobodies. Be a shame if something happened...

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Don’t Pearce your pants in anticipation, but you can catch the next session over at twitch.tv/lochness on September 22nd at 7:30CST/8:30EST! If you’d like to watch THIS episode, follow the link below:

https://youtu.be/pXQxmi9dGbg

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