mydisenchantedeulogy - Tumblr blog

mydisenchantedeulogy · 6 days

Text

Dark Secret [Chapter Two] Say Something [Ace Merrill]

Warning(s): seizures, dread, fear, nightmares, female OC, Ace being Ace, violence, comfort.

No Minors Allowed!!

At daybreak, the kitchen phone rang with a sharp brring-brring, stirring Elise from a restless sleep. She sat up, feeling more exhausted than she did before she laid down and crawled out of bed. It was no surprise to her that the space beside her was empty; she even doubted that Ace had come home. He normally crashed at the Emporium, much to his uncle's dismay when they had an intense disagreement.

After he left yesterday, Elise sat for hours thinking about their argument. She pushed him, she knew, but her fear got the best of her. It was hard enough for her to balance the majority of the bills on her own; the house was in such disrepair that she couldn't keep up with the payments. All the money Ace earned went to making sure the utilities stayed on. When he told her he quit, she felt overwhelmed, like she was the glue holding their relationship together, a relationship he wasn't all there for.

The idea that she was overthinking things crossed her mind, but perhaps she wasn't. Perhaps Ace did think she was a nag, a thought Elise put aside as she reached for the phone, lifting the pale blue receiver to her ear. Whoever was on the other line was persistent.

“Hello,” Elise uttered, horsely. She stifled a yawn and pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear.

“Hey, doll. It's Pop.”

At least she knew where Ace was now. But why was he calling her? A rolling pain turned her stomach.

“Mornin’. Is Ace sleeping off a hangover?” Elise asked. She honestly hoped.

“Now listen.” Her heart began to race. Oh goodness. What happened to Ace? “I don't want you to panic or hear it from someone else but John had a seizure last night and was taken to Stephens Memorial in Norway.”

A seizure. Elise slid her hand over her mouth and leaned her arm against the wall in sadness. There were so many questions running through her mind. Was he alone? Or behind the wheel? Her thoughts were so jumbled that Pop's voice almost didn't reach her.

“...you there…doll.”

“D-did they say anything?”

Pop hummed.

“A business partner of mine called. They wouldn't tell him anything on account he isn't family.”

Of course, they wouldn't. For fucks sake.

No. It isn't their fault.

The hospital was only doing its job.

“All right…um, I'm gonna go up to the hospital and check on him. Thank you, Pop,” Elise uttered.

“Catch me up,” Pop insisted.

Ace was the last thing on his mind, but Elise agreed. She ended the call and raced up the stairs to the bedroom, changing her lavender nightie out with a pair of jeans and a button-down. In her haste, she forgot her keys and cussed as she had to go back into the house to get them.

Norway was northeast of Castle Rock, a thirty-minute drive, give or take. Being so early, there was not much traffic to deter her, so Elise sped on the backroads. She reached the hospital in record time and parked like someone she would consider an asshole, then rushed through the emergency room doors.

By the time she reached Ace, she learned that his seizure had ceased before he reached the hospital; and that Pop's contact left him shortly before his EEG. At the current time, he was asleep, attached to a computer via sensors connected to his head and body. In a sleep study, a nurse named Thurber told her to monitor his brain waves.

There was not much she could tell her without the EEG results, but so far, Ace was fine, other than some bruising on his chest from the seatbelt. Or so he appeared to be. He honestly looked like he was part machine lying there, an image that turned Elise's stomach. Something wasn't right; she could feel it.

For the next few hours, she rested uncomfortably in the waiting area, relying on snacks and bottled water to keep her going. Her nerves were shot, but she asked to use a phone and made two important calls, one more than the other. The first was to Pop, as she promised, but there was not much she could tell him.

“Does he have a history of seizures?” Elise asked him. One of the nurses had asked her, but honestly, she didn't know.

Pop snorted. “How the hell should I know, I ain't his momma.”

After that, she didn't bother to catch him up again.

The second call she made was to her supervisor to inform her that she was not coming in. She explained the situation and was given the OK; all those days she could not afford to use stacked up. It was fine, but she had a list of bills to go over when she got home, considering Ace was now unemployed unless Pop took sympathy for him. Elise doubted it.

Once she returned to the waiting room, she felt emotionally drained. Elise curled up the best she could on one of the chairs and tried to get some rest. It was hard, but she managed to get at least an hour before a nurse woke her.

“Mr. Merrill is awake if you want to see him.”

Elise eagerly agreed. She followed Nurse Thurber back into the behavioral and mental health corridor and to Ace's room. When she saw him resting on the bed, her stomach twisted. He looked especially exhausted with red puffy bags beneath his eyes, and for the first time since she knew him, Ace Merrill looked weak.

His jaw tightened as Elise reached the bed, and then he averted his attention, pulling at the adhesive patch on his hand, an action Elise understood.

“When can he leave?” She asked.

“There are a few papers you need to fill out, then once the doctor OKs him, he can go home,” Thurber answered. “Let me get you those to fill out while you wait.”

She sauntered out, leaving the room in an awkward silence. Elise sat in an uncomfortable chair beside the bed and watched Ace for a moment, peeling the patch from his skin with a soft rip. She frowned and then stood, gently untangling a patch from his hair.

“You have a Westworld look going on.” She tried to make herself sound sanguine, but her voice was hoarse and heartbroken.

Even so, Ace snorted.

“Chill out, nerd. It isn't November yet.”

Elise grinned. Regardless of their money issues, Ace always saved back a little money to take her to the drive-in. Sci-fi and horror movies appealed to her more than jewelry and makeup, a notion he teased her for but was no less grateful for.

“Westworld” didn't come out until November but Elise was already excited. It was a nice distraction at the moment, but it was fleeting. She sat back down with a sigh.

“Pop is the one who called me.”

“Did he say anything about the job?” Ace asked.

Of course, he was more concerned about the job than his health. Elise wondered if it was because of their argument; because she put it in his head that he needed to find work.

“I don't think he would discuss that with me.”

Ace grunted in annoyance. No, he wouldn't. He was certain that Pop was going to cut him out of the business because he did not make it through the entire trip. All because he had a damn seizure. His luck was shit after he broke that statue…or bone. A sharp pain turned his stomach. What was it about that damn thing that made him physically ill when he thought about it?

“Ace,” Elise uttered in concern. Her ring felt cold against his heated skin as she gripped his hand.

“It's nothing,” he dismissed.

She wasn't assured, and she remained apprehensive even when the doctor gave his OK for Ace to leave. Elise filled out his paperwork and even suggested that she would drive, much to his dismay.

“Keep it below 80,” he ordered as he begrudgingly crawled into the passenger side seat - luckily he didn't comment about her quick parking.

Elise opted not to mention that she had sped the majority of the way to Norway and started the Chevelle, leaving the hospital for what she hoped was the last time. The results for the EEG and the sleep test would take about a week to come in, give or take, but she gave the nurses the house number so they could call her.

By the time they reached Castle Rock, it was close to noon. The sun was bright and the sky was clear. Despite the incident, it was a nice day. Elise darted her eyes over to Ace for a moment to see him rummaging around in the glove box.

“Are you hungry? We can stop in at Nans or Patsy's.”

Ace merely shook his head. Food was the last thing on his mind; his body was sore and he felt a bit sick. The nurse told him to drink lots of fluids but he had that at the house. No beer though, but he was certain Elise would tell him no if he suggested getting some at Brownies.

“Go home.”

He slammed the glove box shut in annoyance, earning a curious look from his wife. The sun was irritating his eyes; he felt disoriented.

“Where are your sunglasses?”

“Must have slid beneath the seat,” Elise answered. “You wouldn't have worn them anyway; they're purple.”

Ace grunted. No, he wouldn't have, but it was tempting, given how sensitive his eyes were. He opted to lean back and shut them, not opening them until Elise announced that they were home. The blonde tightened his jaw as he noticed the vacant space beside them.

“I left my car at the Emporium.”

“We can bring it back tomorrow. I'm sure Pop will take care of it another day,” Elise suggested.

He would but he would certainly let him know that he wasn't a damn babysitter. Ace took an uneasy breath and rose stiffly from the car. He felt a little better being home - hospitals were lame - but not much.

Once he was inside, he kicked off his boots not caring where he left them, and padded up the stairs toward the bedroom. Elise followed soon after, bringing up a glass of water from the kitchen that he chugged down.

“I'm fucking exhausted,” he stated.

Elise was sure. The nurse informed her that Ace would most likely sleep until he felt better. As she watched him sprawl out on the bed, she realized just how sleep-deprived she felt.

“Can I join you?”

“Don't you have to work?” Ace asked.

Elise sat down beside him and undid the button on his jeans. If he wasn't so tired and sore he would have taken her action as a sign that she wanted to have sex. He didn't think he could get it up anyway in the state he was in. Instead, he helped her remove them, leaving him in a pair of black boxer briefs, and watched keenly as she stripped down to her panties.

“I took off,” Elise answered.

She ignored the stern look Ace gave her as if calling her a hypocrite and then crawled into bed beside him.

“We’ll figure it out later.”

Ace tightened his jaw but silently agreed. He was not in the mood to argue. Turning onto his back, he shut his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

It didn't take his sick mind long to conjure up a nightmare. In it, he saw himself walking through the house in the dead of night, as though he were a character in a movie. But something was not right about him. His eyes were pitch black like that of a barn owl, soulless and wicked. He could hear himself whispering, but he could not understand the words, though from his mouth, an oily substance oozed, darker than any black he had ever seen.

He crept like a shadow into the basement to an old wooden bench his father, Junior Merrill used to sit at for hours when he wanted to be alone and retrieved a hammer that was covered in a thin layer of rust and cobwebs. Lifelessly, as though he were sleepwalking, Ace watched himself ascend the stairs and enter his room. Elise lay asleep on the bed, facing the wall and unaware that he was looming over her.

An intense fear swallowed him. What did he intend to do? Ace felt his stomach roll in dread but he continued to watch. What else could he do? He couldn't stop his nightmare. The dream version of him loomed over Elise, watching her as she slept, whispering that same inaudible sentence over and over, and then like the snap of a finger, the whispering ceased.

He leaned down and pulled the floral print comforter that his wife was wearing completely over her, then raised the hammer high into the air before bringing it down onto her head.

Ace let out a terrified shout, then came to reality. To his horror, he was standing at the edge of the bed, looming over Elise. In his hand was a rusted hammer. He dropped it to the floor with a loud clatter and watched as his wife jerked awake and turned to look at him in confusion.

“Ace?”

There was nothing he could say. His body was frozen in fear, the kind that squeezed his blood vessels shut and chilled him to the bone. He was suffocating.

#ace merrill x oc #stand by me fandom #ace merrill #stand by me fanfic #oc #alternate universe #Spotify

3 notes · View notes

mydisenchantedeulogy · 9 days

Text

Dark Secret [Chapter One] Whispers in the Dark [Ace Merrill]

Summary: 'Forever and Always'. That is what Elise promised Ace when she married him. But how true to her word is she? Especially when Ace returns to Castle Rock playing host to an Ancient God, who enslaves the weakwilled and spreads its misfortune one disaster at a time.

A/n: Welcome to my new Castle Rock fic. One thing to remember while reading this is that it's based in an alternative universe. I mixed the movie lore for "Stand By Me" and the short story "The Body" on which the movie is based. Characters share their movie appearances, only older, and their lore matches the short story. It's also heavily horror-based with Lovecraftian themes. Please enjoy.

Warning(s): Implied or referenced death, suicide, unexplained disasters, unease, rumors, referenced robbery, language, religious beliefs, smoking, alcohol, arguments, Ace being Ace, OC, ancient beings, alternative universe.

No Minors Allowed!!

In the summer of 1973, a string of unexplained disasters spread through Castle Rock like wildfire. It was the year Ace Merrill nearly died. He reckoned, in retrospect, the events started when he broke that damn antique statue, but his wife believed it started with the death of Owen Bundy.

Owen was a South Paris local, a big-name officer with the Paris Police Department (PPD) who was well into his sixties and pushing retirement. Those who knew him would often say that he was kind and generous, a man who gave more back than he took. For that reason, the community was rocked when boaters pulled him from the Little Androscoggin River a week after he went missing.

His body was bloated and some of his skin had peeled away like an orange from the tissue, most likely eaten by the marine wildlife - Ace even made the crude remark that he had become fish food, a joke that did not sit well with some.

An apparent suicide, the papers claimed.

Few were in disbelief, including Elise, Ace's sensitive wife, who swore there was something unusual afoot.

“Some people, no matter how fucking well they hide behind a smile, are truly lonely,” Ace told her on the matter.

Elise was not sold. She could not explain it, but something didn't sit right. No. She wasn't like some of the Castle Rock residents who insisted that foul play was a factor in his tragic death, though she did believe he didn't just toss himself into the river. Honestly, she wasn't sure what to believe.

One thing was for certain, the entire town was in a state of unease. Elise could feel it. The air was stale and thick, and to make matters worse, a week later, another sudden disaster out of South Paris had dug its hooks in deep with the community. A fire.

Elise was in line at Brownies, a small country store, when she heard the news. Martha Young, a regular with a love of gossip, was in front of her talking loudly about the incident. Ace liked to call her a ‘fucking twattle-basket’, a nickname that made Elise laugh every time she heard it.

She had to hide her wide smile behind her hand as the memory came to mind. Luckily it was just her, Martha, and Jessie Emerton, the cashier inside the store.

“My brother said it was really bad. He works with the county and saw the damages,” Martha stated. She paused and drew a cross in the air over her chest. “Poor souls. I reckon they lost five.”

Elise felt her heart race. Five, and then Owen Bundy. What sort of misfortune was brewing in South Paris?

When it was her turn to approach the counter, Martha turned and noticed her, painting on the fake smile she always wore when she saw someone she disliked. Elise heard she had as many friends as she had manners, and that wasn't many. If she turned up her nose to her enemies, then there would be no one for her to gossip to.

“Elise! Why I didn't notice you behind me,” Martha lied, speaking like they were old friends who were reuniting for the first time in years. “Did you hear about those poor people in South Paris?”

“Yeah, I did. It's unfortunate,” she uttered, opting not to mention that she overheard her talking to Jessie. The entire store could have heard her.

Martha frowned.

“I'll pray for them all.”

Elise had no doubt. She was a devoted Christian, or so she claimed to be, but everyone knew she liked the taste of gin a bit too much. The aroma was strong on her today, no matter how much perfume she put on.

“I will make sure to pray for that ruffian husband of yours too.” She drew another cross in the air in front of her chest, then turned and walked out the door.

Bitch.

Elise tightened her jaw and tried to ignore the obvious insult. The chime of the overhead bell on the door eased her a bit, but she was heated. Her marriage was a hot topic amongst the residents of Castle Town. She couldn't be seen with Ace without a person spreading a rumor.

Are those bruises she's covering?

Look how unhappy she looks.

Gossipers rejoice. It was bullshit, but it wore on her.

Elise was warned about marrying Ace, by friends and family alike. They were opposites, but she fell hard. She was young, in her early twenties when he tossed her the ring; no ‘down on one knee’ or ‘special moment’. It was the best day of her life. Then he went away.

Ace was arrested for attempted robbery and caught cracking a safe at the Mellow Tiger. He was sent to Shawshank Penitentiary for four years and not a day passed that Elise didn't consider calling off the engagement. But for some reason, she stayed. Love, perhaps. Rumors spread that she was lonely, that she had no one after her daddy died. At the time, maybe the rumors were true. She didn't know.

Either way, she said ‘I do. Forever and always’ to Ace in 1970 at the courthouse in Castle Rock. Richard Chambers was the witness; wasted but in attendance. And she never felt regret, not in the three years she carried his name. Aside from his dark sense of humor and controlling nature, Ace took care of her. The scrutiny she tried to overlook, but it was hard.

Sometimes she couldn't control herself.

Elise charged out of Brownies, ready to berate Martha Young. Narcissistic old drunk. A gentle breeze tossed her cornflower blue baby doll dress as she crossed the parking lot, carrying sacks of groceries and searching for the beat-up cream-colored Buick that Martha drove around in, but to no avail. She had left. Elise tightened her jaw in irritation.

Chill. She isn't worth the effort.

It still would have been nice to call her out. Elise took an uneasy breath and left the lot, heading south on Route 117. Her Chevelle, left to her by her father, rolled down the blacktop with ease without squeaking thanks to Ace. He was passionate about cars and nearly refused to let her drive it once it was fixed.

“It’s too much car for you to handle, darling,” he told her.

“You're too much for me, Ace, but I handle you just fine,” Elise retorted.

She never heard a complaint after that, but his stern blue eyes turned to her from time to time when she hit 80 on Pleasant Road just after the Bowie Stream Bridge.

On Cranberry Bog Road, a two-story farmhouse came into view. It belonged to Ace, given to him by Junior Merrill, his father, before his death. It was the only nice thing that man ever gave him and even then it needed a lot of love and care.

A sleek blue Ford Galaxie was parked in the gravel driveway near the front porch, windows down. Elise raised a curious brow and pulled into her spot next to it. What was Ace doing at home? He normally worked at the junkyard from 6 to noon, and sometimes he would stop by the Emporium Galorium to check in on his cheapskate uncle before returning home for the afternoon. It was odd.

Elise got out and gathered the groceries, then took them inside. The screen door creaked loudly as she walked into the house, realizing immediately it was cooler outside. She groaned in irritation. The AC unit must have given up and finally died; it had been messed up for a month now.

As she sauntered into the kitchen, she saw Ace leaning against the counter with a beer in hand. The electric fan plugged into the wall beside him tossed his side-swept blonde hair out of place as it rotated from side to side. Even with it on, Elise could see that it was still hot. The white slim-fit t-shirt he was wearing was damp with sweat.

“I see the air is out,” Elise mentioned, setting the sacks down on the table.

“Compressor is bad. It would be cheaper to buy a new unit than to waste money tryin’ to fix it,” Ace retorted. He gulped down the rest of his beer and then crushed the can, earning a wide-eyed look from his wife.

Elise sighed.

“Bobbie won't take those if you crush them.”

“Take ‘em to the scrap yard. You get more money for them,” Ace retorted.

He was always suggesting better ways for Elise to earn more, but she was stubborn. The grocery store was paying her in dimes and nickels for the cans; the scrap yard would pay her more, and he could crush them without one of her ‘I can't believe you just did that’ looks.

Walking over to the sacks on the table, he looked through them, narrowing his eyes as he realized that she had not bought more beer, an action that didn't go unnoticed by Elise.

“My check was less than I thought it would be. ”

Ace hummed. Cheap ass bozo. Mason Gilmore, the practice manager at Castle Rock Family Practice, was just sore because Elise was not hot for him, a statement that his wife always laughed off.

“Mason? He's just overly nice,” Elise had stated.

“All guys who wanna get laid are overly nice.”

Ace knew he acted the same way when he first met Elise. Hook, line, and sinker.

Who caught who, though?

Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her against his chest despite the uncomfortable heat. She was thick in the thighs with a round butt, fitting to him like a glove.

Elise chuckled as Ace's short scruffy beard tickled her neck. He leaned in and blew air in her ear.

“That's because you won't wear those cute cutoffs I like. Let him look but not touch.”

Elise snorted and turned up her eyes.

“He's a good man. A Baptist.”

“Then he can thank God for what he made for me,” Ace retorted. He smacked her rear, then went back to the counter to stand in the path of the fan.

It was scorching.

Elise emptied the sacks and then began to put the few items she bought in their designated areas. The cool air from the fridge was a welcomed surprise. It was a shame neither of them had the money to buy a new unit though.

Speaking of…

“Did something happen at the junkyard?” She was referring to the reason he was home early.

“I told that old fuck to shove it and left,” Ace retorted as though it were no problem at all.

Elise could not believe him. He quit. Milo Pressman was an angry old drunk, but he at least went out of his way to hire Ace despite him being a felon.

As if he knew she was on the verge of reminding him how broke they were, Ace let her in on his plan.

“Pop might be starting a moving service. He has a friend in South Paris who needs some antiques moved to Jerusalem's Lot. If I do this, that cheap fucker might let me in on the business. I'll make more, a hell of a lot more than I was at the junkyard.”

Elise was happy for him, she was, but he should have made sure first before he quit his job. Reginald “Pop” Merrill was his uncle, but he was also a greedy old man who cared little about his family.

“Hon, your uncle is just…not reliable. It feels too good to be true.”

Ace tightened his jaw. He knew how bad his family was. Hell, he made mistakes too, but it still irritated the hell out of him when Elise tossed their faults in his face.

“You married into this family, darling. But that doesn't make you an expert.”

Elise took an uneasy breath.

“I'm not trying to belittle you, Ace, or your family, but times are different. We need to start thinking about tomorrow and not just how we plan to make it through today.”

“What the fuck do you think I'm doing?” The blonde snapped. He pointed his finger to nowhere in particular. “I'm out there bustin’ my ass every day only to come home to you, breakin’ my balls.”

Elise had nothing more to say; warm tears stung her eyes. Was she really putting so much of a strain on him? Did he really feel this way? She averted her attention to the floor, wanting to think about anything but this, but Ace walked forward and turned her toward him.

“Forever and always, remember.”

Elise shook her head the best she could with Ace's fingers holding her jaw. Of course, she remembered. She said it in her wedding vows.

He stared at her a moment, eyes as dark and stormy as the sea, then released her.

“Don't bother waiting up.”

Ace stormed out of the house, letting the screen door crack against the frame, a sound that for some reason made Elise overly nervous. She sprinted out onto the porch to catch him, but he was already tearing out of the driveway, heading up Cranberry Bog Road.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. Something did not sit right about this.

–

Amid the quiet, humid night, Ace Merrill flicked the spark wheel of a cheap disposable lighter and lit the cigarette between his lips. He took his first draw in what felt like hours; his fussy ass partner, a man in his late fifties, had been smoke-free for three months and pitched a fit when he lit up in his truck once they left Castle Rock, so he had no option but to go cold turkey for the 18-mile long stretch to South Paris.

The nicotine made him feel a little less antsy, standing beside the moving truck near some shady as fuck alley while he waited. The cargo was loaded, but the store owner had another important piece she wanted them to take to Jerusalem's Lot, paying them upfront for the transfer. It was a hassle, but at least he earned a little extra. Elise could finally get her panties out of a twist about their lack of income.

When Ace stormed out, her blue eyes were glistening with tears. She was an emotional one. He felt bad, but he was not going to apologize to her; she pushed him to anger. If all the cards fell into place and Pop came through, then he'd buy a new unit for the house and maybe let her go shopping at that boutique in Castle View she always talked about.

That ought to put her on cloud nine. And put him in the door for some boss sex. Elise was always her best when happy, but there was no denying her ability to blow his mind when she was mad.

If he pushed her–

The sound of faint ringing tickled his ears. Ace swallowed hard. There was an intense pressure like he had submerged his head beneath the water, and then it stopped. He removed the cigarette from his mouth and walked to the back of the truck, peeking over the ramp at the alley beside the antique shop. There was a dim light above the stairs leading into the store's basement that bathed the surrounding bricks a burnt mustard yellow, a light that drew him in like a moth.

The old Ace, the free spirit, would have checked to see if there was a lock on the door. Antiques sometimes sold at a decent price. His old buddy from Shawshank, Nat Copeland, knew some guys who could help him find a buyer.

There was a lot at stake if he got caught again, however. That was the domesticated Ace's way of thinking; the old Ace didn't care; the Ace who was whispering in his ear to man up.

Whispering.

Ace swore he could hear someone, but their words were jumbled, an echo of hisses and grunts that didn't sound like a language, yet he knew what they were saying.

Come and see…come.

He stalked robotically toward the alley, stumbling over the ramp once, but never stopping. His cigarette fell onto the asphalt, forgotten. Closer and closer like the voice implored. If the light were a Zapper, then Ace was an insect, walking in a daze toward it, unaware of its true intention. Unaware that he might die.

Come and see…come…come.

The whispers increased, so much so that Ace didn't hear his name being called until someone roughly grabbed his shoulder.

“The fuck you doin’, boy?” Henry Rawlins asked. He was an associate of his uncles - Pop didn't have friends - a stocky man who reminded Ace of a lumberjack. “You on drugs?”

Ace blinked, then darted his eyes around the alley. He had walked as far as the corner, just before the stairs. What was he doing? He could not remember.

In annoyance, he yanked his arm away from the old brute and fixed his shirt.

“Chill out, Paul Bunyan. I thought I heard someone.”

Henry raised a brow and glanced down the alley. There was no one there. He turned back and eyed Ace suspiciously for a moment, noting the sheen of nervous sweat that clung to his skin, then grunted. Damn Merrills.

“Come here and help me for a minute. This last crate is fuckin’ heavy.”

Ace considered telling him to shove it, but he wanted to get paid. He followed Henry back into the shop where the store owner, Mrs. Libby, or Lindsey - he couldn't remember - stood; there were puffy bags under her eyes as though she hadn't slept in days, and beside her on the counter was a medium-sized box made of aspen with a latched lid. Chunks were missing from the wood and certain areas were stained black; it had seen better days.

Heavy, my ass.

Ace tightened his jaw.

“Take the box out to the truck, kid,” Henry ordered.

It's for the money.

Gripping the box by the sides, Ace lifted it off the table and knitted his brows. The black stains had a powdery touch to them like ash and came off onto his fingers when he readjusted them. While it had some weight to it, the box certainly wasn't as heavy as Henry let on. One thing was for certain though, it stank.

The musty smell of old wood and something akin to iron permeated his nostrils, making his nose itch.

“What's in this damn thing?” Ace asked.

Mrs. L smiled and reached forward with a bony hand, petting the lid.

“A precious package. Be gentle with it.”

Whatever, creepy lady.

Ace took a step back to detach her from the box, much to her dismay, then turned and walked back outside to the truck. He hurried up the ramp, ready to put the damn thing down, but a headache as quick as thunder pierced his skull, shooting pain down his neck. His grip loosened and the box plummeted to the oak floor with an echoing thump.

“Fuck!” Ace growled.

He was sure he heard a distinct crack from within.

The headache subsided and then faded just as quickly, leaving Ace in a state of confusion. What just happened to him? He ignored the incident and squatted to check the box. It did not appear to be damaged more than it already was, but what concerned him more was inside the box. If he broke the package, then Pop would deduct his pay.

Ace popped the rusted latch; its hinges made a sharp squeak as he lifted the lid and peered inside. The scent almost made him retch. It was far worse than before like hundreds of old pennies were shoved into his nostrils. He covered his face with his hand, smearing the powder onto his skin, and searched the old shredded paper for the package.

A corner of it was sticking out of the packing, a murky yellowish-brown rock that looked like an old bone. Ace reached inside to pick it up, but to his dismay, a fragment broke off into his hand. It felt brittle and smooth, then Ace noticed that it was hollow inside.

“So much for–”

Suddenly a black smoke, darker than any shade he had ever seen lurched from the hollow rock like a predator and covered his face. Ace tried to wave it away, but it clung to him. To his horror, it flew up his nose and into his throat, filling his lungs. He sputtered, trying to catch his breath, but it seemed impossible; he felt like he was drowning.

Then all at once, it stopped and the smoke vanished.

Ace gasped for air, taking in as much as his lungs could hold. His throat was sore and his eyes were glistening with tears. Visibly he was shaken. He slammed the lid back down onto the box not concerned that he had broken it, then raced down the ramp, almost slamming into Henry.

“What the fuck has your panties in a twist? You almost look like you've seen a ghost, kid.”

A stray tear slid down his face, but Ace wiped it away.

“It's–” He paused. What was it? How could he explain it? Ace tightened his hand into a fist. “Nothing. It's nothing.”

He ignored Henry's curious look and walked to the passenger side door, hauling his trembling body into the truck. Henry could deal with the rest; he wasn't going anywhere near that damn box again.

Ace sat in silence, turning the band of his wedding ring around his finger as he listened to Henry whistle a jaunty tune, entering the truck on the driver's side once he secured the back. He started the engine and off they went, up Brigg's Avenue toward Main Street.

The silence between them was deafening. Ace stared out the window almost in a trace, watching the town rush by in a streak of vivid light. It wasn't until they passed a house that lay in a heap of burnt plastic and twisted metal that Ace snapped to like he had been struck by a brick. His stomach turned and he felt strangely sick.

Wasn't that the house that he heard about? The family of five. It struck a chord in him, for some reason; he wasn't sure why. It just felt…connected to him. Ace turned the band around his finger again and again, an action that did not go unnoticed.

“Someone actually decided to marry you,” Henry teased. “She must have been desperate.”

No Merrill was a good Merrill.

He grunted in annoyance as Ace ignored his comment, looking more unfocused than ever. Must have been some strong stuff he was on. Henry leaned forward and turned on the radio, anything to drown out the silence.

[We've only just begun…]

An intense bout of anxiety suddenly overtook Ace. He couldn't make heads or tails of it; he could hardly think.

[Sharing horizons that are new to us…Watchin the signs along the way…]

The music began to fade, sounding muted as though the Carpenters had been submerged in water. Their voices were drowned out by the eerie hiss and grunt of a voice that spoke in tongue; a voice that Ace could understand.

Abandon thy will…come unto me.

The last thing he felt before he seized up and went unconscious was the band around his finger biting into his skin.

#stand by me fandom #ace merrill x oc #stand by me fanfic #ace merrill #stand by me #the body fandom #alternate universe #lovecraftian #oc #Spotify

4 notes · View notes

mydisenchantedeulogy · 9 days

Note

Thank you for answering my questions I'm sorry if I'm being annoying😅😞

It's no problem, hun, and you aren't annoying. I can do my best to answer the questions but when it comes to how others will react to an OC that I know only a little about, it's hard to get in that mindset for a genuine answer.

I appreciate the questions.

1 note · View note

mydisenchantedeulogy · 9 days

Note

I hope this isn't weird but how would a yandere chuuya react to kianna"s need to drink blood

Or else her throat will dry up and she'll start to

suffocate but instead of asking him if she can drink its blood

She asks dazai if she can drink his blood and he said yes

I thought it would be interesting to add the fact that she was a vampire and in her edited

backstory she left Subaru alive

Since he helped her kill and Escape his brothers and he became her adoptive brother also

Sorry for the cash of character lore😅

Also I love your art it's pretty

It's hard to say given you are more of an expert on Kianna than me; you created her. But if I had to make a guess, I'd say he would be unfazed by her need to drink blood. He's a member of the mafia. Blood doesn't necessarily bother him. Since Kianna needs the blood to survive, he wouldn't put her down for needing it.

Thank you for the question. I answered it to the best of my ability.

#oc: kianna

1 note · View note

mydisenchantedeulogy · 9 days

Note

I'm going to be honest with you I actually thought your account was deactivated

Oh. Did it show I was deactivated? I'm still here; I've mostly posted art, and I've been slower on updates than usual, but I'm still here.

#disenchanted answers

2 notes · View notes

mydisenchantedeulogy · 9 days

Note

Just a question but how would a yandere dazai

React to kianna being able to turn herself into a cat

it's actually Canon that she can do that

Also sorry for my curiosity and how are you?

Hmm, that's a good question. I feel like Dazai would like cats more than he does humans, and even possibly himself. Seeing Kianna turn into a cat - is this based on a special ability? - would probably interest him and him being Yandere, his interest would border on the obsessive. He certainly wouldn't want anyone to touch her in this form and he'd be curious about her nine lives and whether or not she has lost any of them and how, in great detail.

It's no problem, hun. I don't mind the questions.

To answer your second question, I'm doing good. Hard at work on some projects. Thank you for asking. I hope you are also doing well. 😊

#oc: kianna #bungou stray dogs x oc

1 note · View note

mydisenchantedeulogy · 9 days

Note

If I can ask what do you think of kianna's updated character design?

She looks amazing. The red highlights in her hair suit her well. Are these all picrews? Thank you for sharing your character with me, I always enjoy seeing the original characters people come up with.

#oc: kianna #oc

1 note · View note

mydisenchantedeulogy · 11 days

Text

Sneak Peek: Dark Secret

Fandom: Stand By Me/The Body

Pairing: John "Ace" Merrill x Elise Merrill (Kensington) [OC]

Can she save her husband? Or will she too become tally on Castle Rock's long list of tragedies?

“I see the air is out,” Elise mentioned, setting the bags down on the table.

Elise sighed.

“Bobbie won't take those if you crush them.”

“Take ‘em to the scrap yard. You get more bang for your buck,” Ace retorted.

He was always suggesting better ways for Elise to earn money, but she was stubborn. The grocery store was paying her in dimes and nickels; the scrap yard would pay her more, and he could crush them without one of her ‘I can't believe you just did that’ looks.

Walking over to the grocery bags on the table, he looked through them, narrowing his eyes as he realized that she had not bought more beer, an action that didn't go unnoticed.

“I didn't make a lot of money with tips yesterday.”

Ace hummed. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against his chest, despite the uncomfortable heat. His short, scruffy beard tickled her neck as he leaned in close to her ear.

“That's because you won't wear those cute cutoffs I like. You'd make more tips that way.”

Elise snorted.

“You want me to wear those for the little old men who come in with their wives after church?”

“Make ‘em thank God for what he made,” Ace retorted. He smacked her rear, then went back to the counter to stand in the path of the fan.

Stay Tuned

#ace merrill x oc #stand by me fandom #alternate universe #ace merrill #stand by me fanfic #sneak peek #oc

2 notes · View notes

mydisenchantedeulogy · 12 days

Text

[Stand By Me OC] Elise Merrill (Kensington). The story is an AU-type set in 1973. Elise is married to Ace Merrill, and to her horror, after an accident, he comes home as the host to an ancient horror known as the Darkness from the Cosmos, or the Abyss, who unleashes a string of bad luck and death on Castle Rock.

#stand by me fandom #ace merrill x oc #stand by me fanfic #ace merrill #oc #alternate universe

2 notes · View notes

mydisenchantedeulogy · 13 days

Text

I have a horror fic idea in mind where Ace is infected or turned into a monster and starts killing and turning those around him. I plan for him to be married to an OC, but I have no idea what he should be. This idea came to me after watching Castle Rock season 2. If I forget one, please let me know.

I forgot Werewolf as a choice. Lol. Let me know in the comments if that's the choice, and I will reround the percentages at the end.

#story idea #ace merrill #writing poll #stand by me fandom #stand by me fanfic #the body fandom #alternate universe

1 note · View note

mydisenchantedeulogy · 14 days

Text

Love Me Bitterly [Chapter Five] Labyrinth [Adam]

Warning(s): Foreshadowing, OC, short chapter, Adam being Adam, mixed emotions, religious themes.

Tag list: @lala-1516

Previous Chapter

No Minors Allowed!!

“I'm so jealous,” Rilea whined. She fell back in her seat and despite Marcella's plea to be quiet, she continued to wiggle restlessly until the blonde turned to her and raised a curious brow.

“And why might that be?” She asked. She was not curious, but she knew Rilea would not be quiet until she asked.

Rilea got up and moved to sit beside her near the viewing portal. Her green eyes stared at the glistening cosmos in front of her before she turned to Marcella.

“Because Adam is so into you and he's hot.”

He's OK, in Marcella's opinion. His personality is terrible, but he can be nice if he feels motivated.

“I honestly think he's into me just because he's bored.”

Rilea frowned. “Did he say that? Assumptions and truth are frequent bedfellows.”

Marcella snorted.

“So is love and desire.”

The redhead turned up her eyes. She understood the point Marcella was trying to make, but honestly, she didn't think her assumption of Adam was the case. Yes, he was a jerk, but based on what Nera told her, he talked frequently about the Commander's daughter. Her recent performance in Seraphim Square really struck a chord with him.

Even so, it was not her business to push them together. If Marcella gave him an option, something to think about, then it was between them. She and Nera were already giving Adam information; he was just too ignorant when it came to relationships to know what to do with it.

Rilea took an uneasy breath.

“What do you want out of this?”

Marcella hummed. She reached forward and touched the portal, watching as it switched to Earth, a peaceful meadow somewhere in Iceland.

“I'm not sure and for some reason, I'm fine with that.”

On one hand, a relationship with Adam seemed impossible. He was too loud; too full of himself. A one-night stand, on the other, meant that there were no strings attached. Adam did have sex appeal; his mouth made it hard to like him, however.

“It's up to Adam at this point.”

Rilea said nothing more about it. She sat in silence with Marcella until the door opened and Leena sauntered in. She was an anthropomorphic lioness with a brunette mane styled in dreads and dark fur. Sometimes she swapped duties with Rilea but today she was meant to be in the field.

“Is watch over today, sister?”

Leena turned up her slitted brown eyes.

“No. I left Earth early. The observee is grating my nerves.”

Marcella knew the feeling. She gave the lioness a sympathetic look.

“I'm sorry, sister. Perhaps it will get better.”

Leena hummed.

“Perhaps. But I doubt it. I reported him to the Commander once already for misuse of his authority, but she insisted that I ignore it. You would understand, Marcella, he was yours before your demotion.”

That creep. Marcella tightened her jaw and turned to the portal, switching it to a view of the man. He was Caucasian with salt and pepper hair, a charming manipulator, in her opinion. At the moment, he was writing in a ledger of some kind, listing names and ages.

“That is…ominous,” Rilea stated.

No kidding. What was he doing?

“Self-proclaimed Saint Hunter,” Leena mentioned with a frown. “He is currently amassing followers who share his views.”

“And Imelda is ignoring this?” Rilea asked in disbelief.

Leena nodded. She had no idea why and based on the look Marcella was giving him, neither did she.

“The best we can do is keep an eye on him.”

If things continued to escalate then Marcella would have no choice but to take the matter to a Seraphim. Wickedness no matter how small had a connection to the Root of All Evil, and it was the “Powers” job to find and eliminate it.

This was not good.

–

‘Saint’ Hunter stayed on Marcella's mind long after she left headquarters. He put her on edge and the more she tried to ignore him, thinking that things would fix themselves, the more worried she got. She was starting to question whether the Seraphim would intervene or not.

Her mind was a labyrinth. Marcella did not even hear her name being called until whoever had addressed her chased her down, nearly frightening her when they leaped in front of her.

“Sorry, mate. Yor an easy one to spook,” Willow stated with a laugh. She was the lead singer of Frisson, a songbird with white plumage and ombre feathers that faded to mint green.

Marcella sighed in relief.

“I'm sorry. I was distracted. How are you?”

Willow snorted.

“Good ‘nough. Yor gonna freak when I tell ya this, but we got a gig.”

A gig. Marcella widened her eyes.

“Where? When?”

She honestly needed a distraction to clear her head, at least for a brief moment.

“At Seraphim Square in two days,” Willow chirped. “The Celebration of Lights festival, ya know. The band ‘as to keep it cleaner than usual, but that's no problem.”

“That's amazing,” Marcella stated.

She was excited, but her mind was so exhausted, a notion that reflected on her face.

“Yor up for this, right mate?” Willow asked, raising a worried brow. “I ‘eard the “Arches” might show. Ya know what that means.”

Azrael. The blonde felt her face heat up. Was he really going to be there? She had never performed in front of the “Archangels” or the “Seraphim” before. All this was so exciting.

“You don't have to worry about me. I'll have my head in the game by then.”

“Rock on,” Willow retorted, bouncing on her feet. “I'll see ya at Lita's house tomorrow for rehearsal.”

Marcella agreed with a nod, then saw her off as she flew away. She felt a bit better, but work still put a damper on her mood. Opting to turn in early, after a long shower, she hurried home unaware of the attention that she had drawn.

–

Two months and fourteen days was what stood between the Exorcists and Extermination Day. Two months and fourteen days, Lute reminded herself, and Adam was not feeling it.

The stoic woman watched him shove a donut into his mouth from across the table, having been dragged to some café on the square with him. At first, he was attentive, then like the flip of a coin, his attention went elsewhere. It was not unusual for Adam to lose interest in what she had to say, but when his attention diverted to a certain blonde-haired Heaven-born, she grew curious.

“She must live around here,” Lute stated.

It was just a test, but Adam fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

“Does she?”

“I'd imagine, sir. The “Powers” set up their headquarters near here.”

Adam tossed her a glare.

“No shit. Like I hadn't fucking noticed.”

She knew he had. Adam went there to talk to their Commander. Her point was that it made sense for Marcella to live nearby. He could be dense.

“That bird is a bandmate of hers,” Lute pointed out.

Adam didn't seem to care. He puffed his cheeks and blew bubbles in his cup via the straw. Lute turned up her eyes.

“They might play at the festival. You can see her there.”

Adam groaned. His mask flashed to show a look of annoyance.

“If you don't want me to get to know you as a person, then we need to draw a line here and now.”

What did he want?

“She wants to get to know me,” he blurted out.

“And?” Lute asked.

Adam shot her a glare. What the hell did she mean?

“And what?”

“It's not my place to tell you what to do, sir, but if you want her to get to know you better you might want to put aside your insecurities,” Lute stated. She tapped her face to emphasize her point.

Insecurities. What a joke.

I'm Adam. The first-fucking-man. I don't have–

His mask glitched, interrupting him. Adam frowned. His mask. He hid his face for a reason. Hesitantly his hand went to his stomach, feeling the pudginess beneath his fingers. So what; he wasn't muscular, but he also wasn't overweight. It had been so long since he let a woman get to know him.

What would Marcella even think?

Insecurities. Yeah, he had a few, he reckoned. But he understood what Lute meant. For once he understood.

Frowning, he took a drink from his soda.

“Who the fuck asked you?”

His lieutenant grinned.

“No one, sir.”

#hazbin hotel fanfiction #adam x oc #hazbin hotel fandom #adam hazbin hotel #oc

5 notes · View notes

mydisenchantedeulogy · 15 days

Text

Love Me Bitterly [Chapter Four] Game On [Adam]

Warning(s): family drama, OC, Adam being Adam.

Tag list: @lala-1516

Previous chapter

No Minors Allowed!!

A sharp, loud knock on the front door woke Marcella from a dreamless sleep. She sat up on her bed, ignoring the chill of her apartment as her nightie rode up her thighs. It was not dawn yet, or else her eternal clock would have woken her, but she knew it was early.

Marcella reluctantly crawled out of bed and tottered to the front door, noting that the sun had yet to come up. She held back a tired yawn and opened the door; the person on the other side made her turn to stone.

Mother.

Once it sank in, Marcella stood up straight and saluted her, placing her hand over her heart. Imelda, a blonde in her late 50s frowned. She might have been her parent, but she was also her Commander.

“Are you still in bed?”

“I wake up at 6,” Marcella uttered.

She waited for her mom to order her into a relaxed position before she stepped aside and let her in.

“What do I owe the pleasure?”

Imelda hummed. Her armored gauntlets clanked as she reached out to touch Marcella's p-bass. Her dark blue eyes glanced around the room, settling on the DIY press and frames scattered across her table.

“Celeste would be proud.” Her aunt. Imelda sighed. “I came to tell you personally that as of today, you are no longer on library duty. Consider yourself blessed.”

Did that mean…

“I can return to my post?”

Imelda gave her a pointed look.

“Yes, though I do not think you are ready. It's too soon.”

“Then why are you sending me back…if I may ask?”

Marcella didn't understand her reasoning. Did they need her that much? Rilea did say Imelda was busy as of late. She watched her mother cross the living area and sit at her spot near the bay window.

“Are you and Adam close? He is courting you isn't he?”

Adam. Did she know him? Marcella frowned.

“No. How do you know he was courting me?”

Unsuccessfully, she opted to mention.

“He came to me yesterday and argued for me to take you off library duty. I admit, at first, I disregarded him as a foul-mouthed fool, but as one who shares a rank with me, he knows the value of a warrior,” Imelda explained. “He threatened a transfer.”

Marcella widened her eyes. A transfer.

“Me, an Exorcist? I–”

“Do not dwell on it. I said no. He's a sly little Virtuous. Someone up high in the hierarchy must have his back.” Her eyes narrowed. “Was it you who asked him to speak with me?”

Was she serious? Marcella returned the glare.

“I have spoken to Adam only once…and furthermore, I don't need him to fight my battles for me. While I was sore about the punishment I understood why you demoted me.”

Unexpectedly, Imelda guffawed.

“As expected of my daughter.” She stood and sauntered over to Marcella, resting her hand on her cheek. “I'll see you at headquarters. But do remember, if you slip up again, Adam will not save you no matter which Seraphim he has on his side.”

Marcella bit back a retort and shook her head in understanding. She escorted her mother out, then leaned against the door with a deflated sigh. While the visit was unpleasant, she was pleased that she was allowed to return to the field.

I guess I owe Adam a thank you, even though he made the situation worse.

What was he thinking? How did he know?

Her mother was a proud woman and even more spiteful while in command of the “Powers”. She was not certain what punishments her mother had in store for her.

For the next few hours, Marcella rushed through her morning routine in a bit of a daze. She made a strawberry smoothie for breakfast, then bathed and got dressed in her work uniform. With what time she had left, she checked on the clovers and the buttercups inside the wooden press, then bound them again; the instructions said it sometimes took weeks.

Now that she was reassigned, she would have less free time, which worked for her. At least she would not be bored to tears waiting for the flowers to press.

Speaking of work.

Marcella rinsed out her cup and put it in the sink, then left her apartment. She had a feeling that it was going to be a long day.

And she was right.

While she was permitted to return to Earth, she was assigned to observe, which entailed that she sit and watch the cosmos through a viewing portal. It was tedious work. Not much ever happened on Earth or in Heaven, besides the tragedies that angels had no business meddling in - such business is what got Marcella in trouble to begin with. She would be sure to mind her Ps and Qs this time, as the humans called it.

At break, she flew to Seraphim Square for lunch and bought an extra donut from Sweetly. As much as she did not want to see Adam, she felt like she at least owed him a thank you for sticking it to her mom, even though it annoyed her more than anything.

The Exorcist Headquarters was a block from the Gates of Heaven, on the far side of Halo City. Marcella slipped inside and sauntered down a bright hall, the faint and lifeless sound of an electric guitar without an amp echoed through the vacant building. She followed it, curious as to where everyone was.

The sound brought her to an office door with a stained glass window that depicted a floral meadow on it. She traced a pink lily, then knocked. The guitarist continued to play, so hesitantly she knocked again.

“Fuck,” someone grunted. The sound of clashing notes followed. Then a chair squeaked. “I told you dumb bit–”

As Adam pulled the door open, on the verge of unloading a mouth full of curses at whoever was interrupting him, he noticed Marcella on the other side and immediately shut his mouth.

What was it that Nera had said? She didn't care for his mouth. Not like she knew what he could actually do with it. Adam grinned at the thought, prompting a curious look from Marcella.

“Should I come back another time?”

“I was…planning,” Adam lied.

Marcella hummed.

“Do you play often without an amp when you plan?”

He was impressed. The display on his holographic mask mocked his emotion, much to his annoyance. Adam dismissed it and crossed his arms.

“I play better with an amp. But Lute was all ‘Bitch, bitch. Can't focus. Bitch, bitch’.” He puppeted his hand like a mouth to emphasize his point.

Marcella frowned.

“It wasn't bad…what I heard.”

“Duh! I fucking rock.” Adam noticed the unamused look on her face and rubbed his arm. She was a hard woman to impress. “You play…good too, from what I've heard.”

Marcella felt her face heat up.

“You've heard me play?”

He acted like it was no big deal and hummed.

“In the square a few times. I dig the girly pop meets heavy metal vibe. It's hard-core and hot.”

A part of her was flattered, but the other part felt replaceable. Adam didn't seem to know much about her aside from how she performed. She was not even sure why he liked her. Perhaps he didn't.

“Look, I wanted to thank you for what you did. That's the reason I came here,” Marcella mentioned. She offered the box with the donut in it to him. “I hope you don't mind sweets.”

“Fuck yeah,” Adam declared, taking it from her.

The women he went after never bought him food before. He was flattered. Taking out the donut, he hummed as he sank his teeth into it.

“You're welcome. A badass like you shouldn't be confined to lame-ass library duty.”

He did not know a thing about the reason she was demoted, but she was thankful otherwise. On another note, he complimented her, in one form or another, three times now. There was some underlying attraction there. Cat and mouse games were not her style, so she swallowed her pride and looked him in the eyes.

“Are you…interested in me or something? I want to know if I'm reading this wrong.”

“And if I am, babe?” Adam retorted smugly.

Marcella had a feeling he was. But why? She frowned.

“I don't…know you though.”

“I'm Adam, the first man,” he stated in a matter-of-fact tone. His eyes narrowed. “Everyone knows of me.”

In some way, yes.

“Prestige is one thing but that doesn't mean I know you,” Marcella countered.

What kind of fucked up logic was she trying to make? Adam was confused. His LED mask glitched, then corrected itself unsure what emotion to display.

Marcella frowned. He clearly wasn't getting what she meant.

“It's not fair to write him off without giving him a chance.”

She knew that Rilea was right, but all of this seemed pointless. Did he want to get to know her? Or did he want to count her as just another mark in his list of women he took to bed?

“If you don't want me to get to know you as a person, then we need to draw a line here and now. I'm not against one-night stands, but the notes and the gifts are redundant,” Marcella stated.

Adam was shocked. For once, he had no words. Not even when Marcella reached out and touched his arm. He was courting her, wasn't he? He wasn't sure.

“Thank you again, Adam. I need to get back to headquarters.”

Her touch was soothing, so soothing, then the sensation was gone. He stood at the door, watching like a fool as she turned and sauntered away. Even when she disappeared out of sight, he stood there, mask glitching.

What the fuck just happened?

Where was Lute when he needed her?

#hazbin hotel fanfiction #adam x oc #hazbin hotel fandom #adam hazbin hotel #oc #hazbin hotel art

6 notes · View notes

mydisenchantedeulogy · 17 days

Text

I was going to wait to post this, but I drew a piece for an upcoming chapter of Love Me Bitterly where Marcella (OC) sees Adam's face for the first time. I left out their wings.

(Art is by me).

Dialog

Adam: What?

Marcella: Erm...nothing.

(Thinking: He's kind of cute).

[He's a bit self-conscious, so the fact she is staring makes him want to put his mask on].

#hazbin hotel art #adam x oc #hazbin hotel #oc #adam hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel oc #my art

6 notes · View notes

mydisenchantedeulogy · 18 days

Text

Love Me Bitterly [Chapter Three] Fate [Adam]

A/n: This is a shorter chapter with unfortunately no Adam, but it's setting up some things. Also, the song Marcella is singing here is 'The Fighter' by In This Moment. Please enjoy.

Warning(s): Foreshadowing, OC, Adam being Adam (briefly), sexual jokes, short chapter.

Tag list: @lala-1516

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

No Minors Allowed!!

The soft click of footsteps filled the stairwell as Marcella ascended to the library. Her work uniform hugged her body like a warm blanket, feeling stifling in the heat of the day. Once she reached the top, she took in a deep uneasy breath and walked to her desk; the scent of aged paper and weathered leather binds permeated the air.

It was peaceful, but Marcella would rather be in the field. Earth was a magical and wondrous place if one knew where to look. Yes, her job could be quite irritating if an evil-hearted person began to abuse their power, but most days it was serene. Her wanderlust knew no bounds.

Awake and restless, she sauntered over to the drop-off box and began to sort through the few books that were returned. There weren't many, but Marcella figured that it would be better to get her work done than wait. She would go insane if she sat down now.

As she registered the returns in a thick organized book by her desk, she sang, hearing her low husky voice echo off the walls.

“I will fall and rise above. And in your hate I find love. ‘Cause I'm a survivor. Yeah, I am a fighter.”

Humans had such captivating lyrics. They sang of heartache, addiction, and death; all things angels never experienced. She reckoned some Virtuous remembered the experiences of their human lives, but none of them spoke about it. Don't dwell on the past.

Marcella hummed the haunting tune as she flew to the bridge above and put the books in their designated areas. Once she was done, she used her wings to give herself a slight boost and stood on the railing. If Imelda caught her, she would be in a world of trouble. She stared down at the wooden floor cast in an array of vivid colors from the stained window overhead, then leaped off the edge, spreading her wings.

“I will not hide my face. I will not fall from grace. I'll walk into the fire baby,” she sang as she slowly floated toward the ground.

The heels of her boots gently clacked as she landed; a wide smile graced her face. Perhaps the artists of Earth knew their subjects well, inspired and awed by bored angels who were caught descending from Heaven, their voices carried by the wind.

Marcella sighed and walked over to her desk. Her fun was done. As she sat down, she noticed something that she must have overlooked earlier. It was a folded note with a yellow flower resting on it. Upon further investigation, she realized the flower was a Creeping cinquefoil, a common weed.

She was grateful for the gesture, despite the misunderstanding. If not for her aunt and her love of flowers, she wouldn't have known the difference.

The note, however, had her befuddled.

For your lame flower thing.

Marcella raised a brow. What did that mean? Flower thing. Then it hit her like a bucket of ice water, or a cup of iced coffee. Adam. She paled. Was he the one sending her the lewd notes?

–

Around the afternoon, the heat of the day grew warmer. Marcella opted to take her lunch break in the shade of a light yellow umbrella at Sweetly, a little café within walking distance of the historical library.

To join her, she called up her gossip-loving coworker, Rilea, who was thankfully not in the field today. Marcella ordered a green tea and a salad with two chocolate chip cookies to go as she waited.

“I'm here,” Rilea announced as she hurried to the patio table from the street. She greeted Marcella with a smile.

“I'm glad you could make it,” the blonde stated.

Rilea was too. She had a lot of business at headquarters to attend to, but thankfully she saved her break. Imelda was urging her to take it. Giving her order to a waiter, she waited until her dessert was brought to the table before she brought up the matter at hand.

“You sounded urgent on the phone. Are you OK?”

Marcella opted not to beat around the bush.

“Is Adam my admirer?”

“Why would you think that?” Rilea asked. She tried to hide a smile.

Was she serious? Marcella took an uneasy breath.

“I had a run-in with him yesterday - literally - and I made mention of a hobby I currently got into. This morning I found a flower and another note on my desk.”

Rilea squeaked. Her wings rose in excitement.

“That's so romantic.”

No, it wasn't.

“Have you met Adam?” Marcella asked, narrowing her eyes.

“No, but Nera said he's a bad boy who loves music. That's right up your alley,” Rilea explained.

As much as she wanted to disagree, she was right. Marcella did like music and bad boys - Azrael was her crush forever - but Adam was on another level.

“It wouldn't work. Trust me.”

Rilea frowned.

“You don't know that. It's not fair to write him off without giving him a chance.”

The blonde's wings sank. Did she have to? She was right, but it seemed like such a waste of effort.

“But he's so full of himself,” Marcella whined.

“You could be full of him too,” Rilea pointed out.

The blonde nearly choked. Did she seriously just imply that Marcella should have sex with him?

“I'm gonna ignore that you said that.” She took a drink of her tea and opted to change the topic of the conversation. “How is work?”

“Hectic,” Rilea admitted. Her smile faded. “But you know how it is before the festival.”

Festival. Was she referring to the Celebration of Lights?

“Is it already that time?” Marcella asked.

Rilea shook her head.

The festival takes place every year in Seraphim Square, a celebration to honor the Seraphim who govern Heaven. It was a fun event.

“Well, that's something to look forward to.”

Rilea agreed, grinning again.

“Perhaps Adam will go with you.”

Marcella narrowed her eyes. There was no way she was going to attend the festival with Adam. To be honest, she was going to avoid him at all costs.

If I can manage it.

Unbeknownst to her, he had already pulled the strings that would again bring them together.

#hazbin hotel fanfiction #adam x oc #hazbin hotel fandom #adam hazbin hotel #oc

4 notes · View notes

mydisenchantedeulogy · 19 days

Text

Love Me Bitterly [Chapter Two] Dumb Luck [Adam]

Warning(s): family drama, hazbin lore, oc, redemption fic, Adam being Adam, hobbies, accidents.

Tag list: @lala-1516

Previous chapter Next chapter

No Minors Allowed!!

Marcella woke with the sun. She was an early riser; had been since she was a child. Her mother was strict about certain beliefs. Early to bed, early to rise, she would say. No matter how often she tried to break these rules, Marcella could not. It was hardwired into her brain. Much like her routine.

Like every morning, despite her protests, she eased out of bed feeling relaxed yet worn out and made herself a smoothie - this morning's flavor was pineapple - then she rested on the cushion in front of her bay window and peered out at Halo City as it came to life with the light. In the distance, beyond the glistening crystal buildings, the cumulus clouds stood out, painted light orange and rose gold in the sun's rays. It was a marvelous sight, such pleasures that were everywhere in Heaven.

As she sat there, Marcella tried to look for inspiration as to what hobby she wanted to take up. Photography, perhaps knitting. There was never a shortage of things to do. She reckoned she would know when she saw it.

Finishing off her smoothie, the tired blonde stood and stretched her wings. She then washed out her cup and put on a baby blue sundress before she left her apartment.

Seraphim Square was around the corner. It was an open space used for festivities with a gorgeous crystal fountain in the center. A plethora of Virtuous and Heaven-born crowded the area, enjoying the venues and stores that bordered the square.

Marcella did not have to wander around long before she spotted what she was looking for; Heavenly Crafts, a hobby shop. She sauntered inside and took a curious look around, hoping that something would catch her eyes. There were so many materials, each clustered in distinct categories lined along shelves like a grocery store. Where would she start?

“Can I help you find something in particular?” A feminine voice asked. An anthropomorphic capybara with reddish-brown fur greeted her. The tag on her apron read Cappy.

“I'm…not certain what I'm looking for - aside from knowing I want to start a new hobby,” Marcella answered with a frown.

Cappy smiled.

“That's no problem. I can show you around, perhaps something will spark your interest.”

Marcella was grateful. She nodded, then followed the helpful capybara to the first aisle, listening to her talk adamantly about the hobbies that each material was linked to. Overwhelming was an understatement.

At the end of the third aisle, containing sketchbooks and a wide variety of drawing pens, a stand of flowers wrapped in newspaper caught Marcella's attention. The vivid colors reminded her of the sunset. She gently traced her finger around the pink petal of Magic Star Lily and hummed.

“This might be it,” Cappy stated with an excited chirp.

Marcella raised a brow.

“You can use flowers for a variety of different hobbies. Perhaps you would like to make your own Potpourri or make a beautiful arrangement to display on your dining room table. I like to press flowers and make art from them,” she explained.

“That sounds lovely,” Marcella uttered.

She had heard of flower pressing before. Her aunt liked to hang her finished arrangements on the walls in her homes like a picture. She claimed that it was a type of stress relief for her.

“I think I might give it a try.”

Cappy smiled.

“Say no more. I have you covered.”

The excited woman hurried down the next aisle, leaving Marcella to look through the bouquets. When she returned, some ten minutes later, she had several items tucked beneath her arms; newspapers, untreated facial tissues, and a variety of other items Marcella had no idea what to do with.

“Let's pick a bouquet,” she suggested.

Marcella felt dizzy. She was in the dark about this sort of thing.

“What do you suggest?”

“The simplest most humble flowers to press, in my opinion, are buttercups, clovers, and stitchwort.” She paused a moment to look over the bouquets, then motioned toward one. “The pink buttercups should do nicely.”

Marcella gathered them, then followed Cappy to the front where she had set several more items. The worried look on Marcella's face made her laugh.

“No worries, the instructions are easy to follow. I made sure to include them.”

Marcella hoped so. She watched her place the materials into an eco-friendly bag.

“Besides this, did you find everything that you were looking for?” Cappy asked with a smile.

Of course, she did. And even if Heavenly Craft did not have everything in stock, there was no scarcity of resources in Heaven, everything was attainable.

It was also the reason money no longer existed. There was no reason for it.

“Be careful with this bag,” Cappy mentioned while pointing to the bag closest to her. “There are some glass frames in there, for you to get started with.”

Marcella was grateful.

“Thank you for the help.”

“It was my pleasure,” Cappy retorted. “Please come again.”

With a brief nod, Marcella left the hobby shop and hurried back to her apartment. She still had an hour before she needed to be at the library so she wanted to at least press some of the flowers before she had to leave.

As she rushed around the corner, someone side-swept her shoulder and knocked her off her feet. Marcella fell with a squeak and landed on her rear, dropping her bags. At least one of them made a sharp cracking noise when it struck the ground, the glass in the frames was no doubt broken. And to make matters worse, something cold that smelled distinctly like coffee poured down onto her head. A shiver went down her spine and her feathers stood on end.

“Watch where the fu–”

Adam paused when the angel that knocked into him tossed him a glare. He recognized her; Marcella. His lecherous eyes trailed down her body, noticing that her dress had slid up, revealing her white and blue panties to him.

He was spellbound until a nudge against his side brought him back to reality. Adam tossed his lieutenant an irritated look.

“Stop fucking cockblocking, Lute.”

The stoic woman slid her arms behind her back and gestured toward the blonde with her head as if to tell him to focus. He understood.

To his dismay, however, Marcella had straightened her dress and was checking her bags. Adam cleared his voice and spread his gold wings.

“Hey, bitch.”

Lute turned up her slitted eyes.

Bitch. Was he talking to her? Marcella raised a brow and peered up at him. While not acquainted with Adam, she knew of him…and his antics.

“Excuse me.”

She was a bit sore about her frame - one of them had cracked - and the iced coffee in her hair.

“I said, hey bi–”

Lute nudged him again, shaking her head.

“Erm…what's up?”

Was he an– no that was not fair. He was a Virtuous, the first man of Earth. Of course, he was terrible at talking to women. He did not know better, though perhaps he did.

“Shopping,” she uttered, gathering her things.

Adam snorted. Women. He ogled Marcella as she stood. Despite her dress being stained with coffee, the light reflecting through the crystal buildings cast a vivid array of colors on her. She looked divine…and delicious.

“Cold?” He asked with a toothy grin.

Marcella raised a brow. What was he talking about? It wasn't cold. The weather was perfect, as far as Heaven went.

“Um…I don't–”

Adam pointed a finger at her chest. Upon realizing that her nipples were showing beneath her dress, she squeaked and covered herself the best she could. Marcella was mortified. The iced coffee that had run down her dress paired with the breeze was not doing her any favors.

“Relax, babe,” Adam stated, tucking his wings beneath his arms like a resting bird. “I've seen plenty of nipples…like a lot.”

Right. Well, this was awkward. Marcella frowned.

“I need to go. It was an honor - I guess - to meet you.”

As she tried to walk around him, he extended a wing.

“So, you like flowers?” He asked quickly.

“I guess,” Marcella answered. “These are for flower pressing though.”

Adam raised a brow.

“Lame.”

This guy was hard to be around. How is it that the Seraphim allowed him to command? He was judgemental and a bit rude.

“Not to me,” Marcella pointed out. She took an uneasy breath to control her annoyance. “I need to–”

“Look, sir,” Lute interrupted. She reached forward and plucked something from the bouquet. “A four-leaf clover.”

What dumb luck. Cappy must have bundled a few with the buttercups for her. She would have loved to display a rare four-leaf clover on her wall.

Adam snatched the clover from Lute's hand.

“Fuck yeah! All mine.”

“Lucky you,” Marcella uttered.

Sliding under Adam's wing, she shivered as his soft feathers slid over her bare arm, then once she was clear, she walked toward her apartment. Unfortunately, she was again stopped, referred to as ‘babe’ rather than her name. Marcella peeked at Adam over her shoulder and raised a brow. Her wings rose in annoyance. Patience was not her virtue.

“You got a little something on your head.”

No shit. The coffee that he dropped on her after he knocked her down.

“Thanks for that,” Marcella grumbled.

She turned her back to Adam and walked away, unaware of the lecherous gaze on her rear. She would have to wait to try out her new hobby; she needed a shower first.

Adam grinned and balled up his fist.

“Crushed it.”

Lute bumped his fist. She had nothing to say in regard. This - whatever it was - was never going to work.

#hazbin hotel fanfiction #adam x oc #hazbin hotel fandom #adam hazbin hotel #oc

4 notes · View notes