Oc Fic - Blog Posts

Day 1, In The New World

(It was getting dark and Lag and Glitch were able to set up camp)

Glitch: (was trying to make a fire)

Lag: Can’t you just use your skin to make the fire?

Glitch: I can try… (Puts his hand on some twigs, some smoke started to form but no fire. He takes his hand back) It looks like it’s disintegrating them then making a fire… dammit…

Lag: I don’t want to sleep in the dark…

Glitch: Well deal with it kid there’s no night light out here, besides you’re 11, you’re able to handle it

Lag: Well you’re… a… a bug man!

Glitch: Kid I’ve been called worse than that… (lays down on the ground)

Lag: (Lays down on a pile of leaves) I want to go home… Our real world…

Glitch: I’m sure if we were able to go back to our “real” world, they’ll kill us the second the people see what we look like now

Lag: I want to be back at my birthday… I was about to eat cake…

Glitch: just go to sleep… Tomorrow we can go explore whatever this place is early and try to go back home

Lag: Alright, good night Glitch

Glitch: Good night Lag…

(Want a part 2?)

Lady in red

My trade part for @phoenix-the-mistfit-fire-bird, hurt/comfort oneshot featuring her OC Amelia and someone's else OC Katie and her child.

TW: tiny bit of gore, shooting, alcohol mention.

Also WLW ship and author's first language is not English.

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Lady in red

At the morning Amelia is sitting in the kitchen and drinking her coffee. It’s black and bitter, so she adds balsam. Not too much, just a couple of drops. Maybe a little more but not more than usual. She sips her drink, quiet and calm. A few precious moments of peace she’ll miss all day. Air smells bitter, just like her coffee, and also a bit rotten. It’s fall.

The skyline is painted red, yellow and purple, sunlight casts golden flares on the windows. It makes her eyes hurt a little. Not more than usual.

The fox leaves her house, slowly slipping in her officer Holmes persona, cold and relentless like nature around her. Officer Holmes doesn’t stop, doesn’t hesitate, she’s watching, listening, investigating and then she acts, quick and clean. She’s not afraid to get herself in danger. She’s not afraid of blood.

But Amelia is.

Amelia fears, shivers and breaks every time she sees blood, her ears crack and ache with every shot, her paws feel so so heavy when they raise up a gun. She doesn’t even realize at first that one of the bullets hit her. But when shootout is over, officer Holmes bursts and underneath this shell appears hot, pulsating, wet flesh of Amelia. It’s her who bleeds all over her already red fur, not the hero of the day. Shot didn’t get to her bones, but muscles burn with pain, and blood just keeps pumping making her shirt red too. “Talk about one splash of colour” the fox thinks tiredly.

When tight stitches cover the wound, she exhales. It’s almost like at the morning, but instead of soft rustle of leaves there’s sharp buzzing of the lamp. It makes her skull itch. Soon some of her colleges come in, they ask how she doing, wish her to heal fast. They congratulate officer Holmes, she did great they say. Officer Holmes is grateful and proud. Amelia feels lonely. Maybe a little more than usual.

A few hours pass when suddenly she hears a knock at the door. It crack the silence and cracks her loneliness. It’s Katie.

- It’s me, - she says.

- It’s you, - Amelia smiles weakly.

Katie apologizes for making her wait for so long, gives her homemade Toad in the hole, inspects her wound. Bobcat’s paws are warm and her touch is gentle. It rebuilds Amelia piece by piece, quiet and calm. They drink coffee together, and there’s no balsam in the hospital, only cheap and plastic cream. But Katie is smiling back at her and jokes and laughs and the tips of her ears shake a little, so it tastes better than what Amelia had at the morning. The visitor gives fox a painting, clumsy scribble from her kid. It shows an animal, splash of red colour, crooked but happy. Little Amelia replica eats the biggest cupcake ever made. Katie says, they really had some at home but David got so scared and worried for auntie Mia, he ate it all. It’s okay. None of them are mad.

And then it’s unexpectedly so late already. Amelia wants to stay up, but she knows it’ll slow her healing and Katie will bite off her ears for this. She also knows David needs his mom. They share goodbye and then last it a bit longer.

- Pass David from me, - the fox asks, ruffling other’s fur.

- And you take it from me, - Katie grins coyly before giving her quick peck on the cheek.

The light still buzz even louder in now asleep and quiet hospital but it doesn’t bother Amelia anymore. Tossing in bed, fox can feel herself turning red.

A little story in the Middle Zone’s Chimeveil Codex

Adimus and Vaelis are both my OC, and I’m in the mood of writing a fic about their first time meeting :)

The overall (detailed) description of these two will be up here, so no worries about having to scroll at the very end to understand what the hell is going on.

Name: Noctaire Vaelis

Nickname(s): Vaelis, “Goat Librarian,” “Sleepy Spook” (by Xiangli), “Mr. Chimes” (by Alvoz)

Age: ~300 years

Race: Goat Beastman

Gender Identity: Gender-neutral (he/him used for simplicity, but Vaelis doesn’t care what you call him, Vicent once try to call him ‘babygirl’, get no reaction.)

Height: 169,7 cm (excluding heels)

Role: Keeper of the Chimeveil Codex, Librarian of the Forgotten Threshold

Appearance

Hair: Short, greyish-white, naturally tousled

Eyes: a color of candy pink, I don’t know what else to say, it’s like a pastel pink or something ;-;

Skin: Vitiligo patterns bloom softly across his tan complexion, like celestial maps scattered over his frame, beautiful.😌

Horns: Two smooth black goat horns, curling gently back from his forehead

Ears: Long, droopy goat ears, soft and expressive

Footwear: Wears custom-crafted heels (8cm), black with golden embroidery – fancy enough to be worn to a gala.

Earrings: Twin wind chime earrings—delicate, haunting, and melodic with every turn of his head

Belt Accessories:

A ring of keys (some mundane, some ethereal)

A simple cross, old and faded

A pure aesthetic chain, just for the vibe

A stunning golden dreamcatcher-like charm, feathered and whispering faintly with enchantment

Description: Finding solace in the Middle Zone, he took up a quiet life as a librarian, tending to an enormous and ancient collection of books. His soul-like hands, once feared, became an invaluable tool—helping him retrieve books from impossible heights, clean the endless halls, and organize forgotten knowledge.

But even in his safe haven, he never quite escapes his fears.

He still flinches at the sight of ghostly figures, despite wielding spectral hands himself.

The wind chimes on his earrings were a gift, meant to ward off evil spirits—but to others, they look eerily like a priest’s bell calling restless souls.

The chains on his belt, carrying a cross, a key, and a dreamcatcher-like charm, are all remnants of his past—symbols of faith, imprisonment, and longing for peace.

Personality & Fun Details

Awkward but Well-Meaning: He has a scary smile despite his delicate, cute appearance. He’s not trying to be creepy—he just doesn’t know how to react in social situations.

Struggles with Self-Acceptance: He once considered using makeup to cover his Vitiligo, but in the end, decided against it. He’s on a journey to try to love himself instead.

Aesthetic Taste: He wears subtle lipstick, eyeshadow, and sometimes eyeliner, adding a hint of elegance to his otherwise solemn aura.

Despite his Trauma, He’s Kind: Even after everything, he never turned bitter or cruel. He prefers silence over conflict, books over arguments, and will avoid unnecessary fights if he can.

Full Name: Adimus

Age: Unknown

Race: Celestial (Angelic Being)

Gender Identity: Male (he/him)

Height: 179,8 cm

Occupation: Bartender at Viccent’s Bar (Middle Zone)

Appearance:

Hair:

Muted grey-blue, shoulder-length

Worn in a low ponytail tied with a black ribbon, or braided to the side depending on his mood

Sometimes styled into a half-up, half-down bun when in deep thought or focused work

Eyes:

Striking vibrant cyan, glowing subtly in low light

Often noted for the way they reflect both serenity and deep sorrow

Skin:

Pale, almost moonlight-like, delicate and cool to the touch

Celestial Traits:

Three sets of wings sprouting from the back of his head—elegant and symmetrical, lightly feathered, appearing more aesthetic than functional

A constantly glowing halo floats above his head, soft golden in color and reacting subtly to his emotional state (brightens with joy, dims with sorrow)

Attire:

Wears a classic formal bartender uniform, well-fitted and clean-cut

Always dressed neatly, often with dark gloves or a black tie when working

When off-duty, he still prefers structured clothes, hinting at his dislike for disorder or vulnerability.

Description: Once a proud angel who believed in the beauty of mankind, Adimus now walks the liminal streets of the Middle Zone—a city suspended between worlds—serving drinks and silent comfort to souls too tangled for heaven or hell. He pretends not to care, but his eyes always linger a second too long on those who hurt, and his hands never falter when mixing drinks meant to soothe more than the tongue.

Personality:

Composed & Calm: Adimus exudes a quiet grace—serene, measured, and almost soothing to be around. Rarely raises his voice, even in moments of crisis. He carries the air of someone who has lived many lives, each one leaving him more patient.

Empathetic but Detached: Deeply understanding of others’ emotions and traumas, yet maintains a certain emotional distance. Not because he doesn’t care, but because caring too much has burned him before. He's the type to listen to everyone’s problems and keep his own tightly sealed.

Wise but Wounded: His advice is often laced with experience and old-soul wisdom, yet there's a faint melancholy to his words—like a being who has seen too many things go wrong. He has made peace with pain, but not necessarily healed from it.

Protective in Silence: He won’t tell you he cares. He’ll just show up when no one else will, fix what you broke, and leave before you can thank him. He’s the type to take burdens quietly, especially those he feels only he can carry.

Dry Humor & Sass: Though dignified, he has a surprisingly sharp wit. His sarcasm is elegant and always delivered in a dry, deadpan tone. He enjoys light teasing but knows when to draw the line.

Loyal to a Fault: Once he trusts you, you have his unwavering loyalty. That’s why betrayal (even unintentional) cuts him so deeply—he holds bonds close, and takes their breaking as a failure on his part.

Notable Traits and Quirks:

Mood Hair Styling: How his hair is styled often reflects his emotional state, even if he doesn’t show it outwardly. Braids often mean he's reflective or emotionally tangled. A neat bun can mean he's focused or burdened. Low ponytail means he's calm or passive.

Wing Movements: His wings twitch or ripple when his emotions fluctuate, acting like subconscious tells. When frustrated, they may fold inward. When peaceful, they slowly flutter.

Subtle Halo Behavior: The halo glows brightly when he’s joyful, and dims or flickers when he’s anxious or hiding sorrow. It sometimes flares if he’s deeply moved or in protective mode.

Signature Drink Mixing Style: Known for creating drinks that seem to match the customer’s mood, even if they don’t say anything. He remembers drink preferences by heart and uses them to cheer people up silently.

His Smile: When Adimus genuinely smiles, it’s rare and carries deep warmth—enough to disarm even the most bitter heart. But most people will only ever see his polite bartender smile, reserved and courteous.

A Library Between Life and Death

Adimus had stepped into many places in his life. Grand halls of gold and marble, silent gardens untouched by time, temples where the wind itself seemed to hum prayers. And yet, nothing compared to this.

The moment he crossed the threshold, he felt it.

The air was thick, not with dust or decay, but with a presence. Not oppressive, nor hostile—just there. An undeniable existence, like something ancient watching, not with eyes, but with knowing.

His feet met water instead of stone. A shallow, glass-like surface barely reaching his ankle, stretching as far as the endless bookshelves. Not a ripple disturbed it—until he moved. Each step sent gentle waves outward, the sound echoing in the silence, swallowed only by the towering walls of books.

And then, there was the illusion.

The water reflected the towering bookshelves perfectly, creating a dizzying effect—as if the world had been turned upside down, as if there was no ground at all. For a moment, it felt as though he was standing midair, suspended between an infinite abyss of knowledge.

Yet, a single path cut through the mirrored world—a long, crimson carpet, unfurling across the water like a lifeline. A stark contrast to the pale glow of the aquamarine souls floating lazily between shelves, their presence the only light source in this strange place.

Above him, the ceiling stretched into a void of pure darkness, swallowing the tops of the shelves. No end in sight. It was as if the library itself stretched endlessly upward, reaching toward something unseen.

And the sound—

Flip. Flip. Flip.

Books hovered in midair, pages turning by unseen hands. The steady, rhythmic rustling of parchment created an atmosphere neither eerie nor welcoming, but something else entirely—something that made it impossible to look away. It was as if the library itself was breathing, whispering, waiting for something.

Soft mist curled around his form, brushing against him like a mother shushing a child. The whispers weren’t words, yet they carried meaning. "You are safe here." "No harm will come to you."

It was surreal. It was beautiful. It was—

—completely and utterly abandoned.

Or so he thought.

At first, Adimus didn’t notice him.

Tucked away between two massive bookshelves, on a wooden desk half-submerged in water, lay a figure. Noctaire Vaelis, draped in dark robes, his face half-buried in his arm, fast asleep.

Above him, a dozen spectral hands floated, each moving with purpose. One was holding a book, another lightly tapping his shoulder, and another—perhaps the most insistent one—was shaking him awake.

“Mmnn… No,” the librarian grumbled, voice muffled. “Go away. No one ever visits this place anyway.”

Adimus raised an eyebrow.

One of the spectral hands suddenly froze midair. Then, as if sensing something amiss, it turned its palm toward him—almost like an eye blinking open. A second later, the others followed, their fingers curling slightly, hovering between curiosity and caution.

Noctaire groaned, rolling onto his back, still half-asleep. His earrings—wind chimes that softly tinkled—shifted with his movement.

"No one ever comes here," he repeated, stretching. "So why should I—"

His voice cut off.

His eyes, sleepy and unfocused, met Adimus’s. He blinked once. Twice.

Then, with all the grace of someone biting back their own words, he bolted upright, nearly slipping off the desk in his panic.

"Oh."

A beat of silence.

Then, softly, uncertainly—

"Hello?"

Adimus glanced around. He had been in many libraries before, but none like this. The outside had been deceiving—a small, shabby-looking bookstore, the kind one might find in an old countryside town. No windows, just a door with a simple, weathered sign:

“Library.”

Yet, inside, it was as if he had stepped into another plane of existence entirely.

"You work here?" he asked.

Vaelis sighed, rubbing his temple. "Something like that."

He gestured vaguely at the library around him, spectral hands mimicking the motion. "This place… The Chimeveil Codex. That's what it’s called."

"You named it?"

"No." A pause. Vaelis glanced at the spectral hands, his expression unreadable. "I asked them what this place was called. That's the answer they gave me."

Adimus looked up at the towering bookshelves that seemed to go on forever. "How tall are these shelves?"

Vaelis scoffed, leaning against his desk. "No idea. But I do know they're at least two kilometers high—because I once spent an entire week trying to climb one, and I didn't even reach the top."

"...That sounds like a terrible idea."

"It was."

Adimus hummed, stepping further into the maze of books. "And how much of it have you read?"

Vaelis let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. "Not even a single shelf." He gestured toward the endless rows of books, the ones that hadn’t been touched for centuries, gathering no dust—because there was no dust here. "It's been centuries, and I still haven’t finished even one."

"Centuries?"

Vaelis shrugged. "Time is... strange here. This place isn't normal. It feels like a pocket dimension, like it shouldn’t exist at all. And yet, here it is."

He let his fingers trail against the surface of the water, watching how the reflection rippled, distorting the endless bookshelves.

"And yet... I stayed."

Adimus tilted his head. "Why?"

For a moment, Vaelis said nothing. His wind chimes swayed with an unseen breeze. The spectral hands hovering around him seemed to pause, as if waiting for his answer.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"Because I think... this place holds answers about me."

His fingers curled slightly, eyes flickering toward his spectral hands. "I don't know how I got this ability. Or why these hands feel so familiar with this place. But I do know that this library was abandoned... forgotten."

A shadow of a smile tugged at his lips.

"And maybe, in some way, I saw myself in it."

Adimus exhaled softly, glancing around once more. The mist, the water, the glowing spirits, the turning pages—this place truly was unlike anything else.

"...I see," he murmured.

He could have left then. Could have turned back and walked out the door, back to the world where time moved normally, where books had ends and libraries had limits.

But instead, he pulled out a chair, the water rippling beneath him, and sat.

"If you don't mind," he said, reaching for a book, "I think I'll stay a little while."

Vaelis blinked. Then, slowly, his lips curved into something that was almost—not quite—a real smile.

"...Suit yourself."

And with that, the spectral hands returned to their work, the whispers of the library resuming their endless hum.

I completed this writing that was abandoned for about two months instead of sleeping, why am I feeling productive at a seriously wrong time-