Hi guys, this is my masterlist. There's quite a mix of fandoms and I'm still adding to it as I work out the kinks of everything but it's a work in progress.
For now though, I hope you enjoy!
I recommend dark mode! (last edited/added to 9/23/25)
Jujutsu Kaisen
Collateral Heart
Toji x M!OC β EXPLICIT SMUT | MDNI
It begins with pure, unapologetic smut (dilf!Toji in his prime) before spiraling into messy domestic life. Megumi stays bratty and forever his dadβs #1 hater. A canon divergence that slips into something softer and stranger.
Tokyo Revengers
You're In Danger
Wakasa x M!OC x Shinichiro β EXPLICIT SMUT | MDNI
A poly relationship built on stolen moments and heavy history, revealed through flashbacks as the main story unfolds. The present centers on Wakasa x M!OC, but Shinichiroβs shadow lingers in every scene. Canon bends to fit the OCβs presence, threading them through Takemichiβs timeline in ways no one expects. Loyalty, danger, and desire twist togetherβbecause nothing in this world stays untouched.
EPIC: THE MUSICAL
While You Were Gone
OC-focused | Romance themes with platonic core
A reimagining of Penelope and Odysseusβs story. Penelope x Oddy remains central, but her staff take the spotlightβships, spies, and allies working beneath her, carrying the weight of waiting.
Daughter Daughter
Antinous x F!OC
The daughter of Odysseus, blessed by Ares, is ready to wreak havoc (and maybe get wrecked). Penelope schemes, Telemachus overprotects, and Antinousβstill an ass, canon or notβmakes things complicated.
KPOP
Like Lovers Do
Vampire!Jungkook x Human!Taehyung
Vampires, cinematic tropes, and dark romance. Cameos from OCs, other ships, and crossover groups deepen the bite.
Archive of Our Own
Rebel
Badass!Jungkook x BTS (OT7)
Dark, sharp, and rebellious. OCs, ships, and crossovers collide in a world built on loyalty, betrayal, and fire.
Archive of Our Own Link
Beneath the Makeup
BTS x F!OC
Behind the gloss, thereβs grit. Sheβs caught in their world, blurred lines and unspoken tension.
(Might be retitled Blushes and Brushesβbecause itβs cute and fits β¨).
BANG!
Namjoon x Female Reader (Y/N)
Mafia heir meets CEO. Forbidden romance, sharp power plays, and the kind of tension that burns slow but heavy.
It Was All Yellow
Taehyung x F!OC
A model and an idol collide. Tension simmers, PR chaos explodes, Sejin despairs, and Bruno? Heβs thriving in the mess.
HARRY POTTER
Atlantis
M!OC x Various | Side Ships | Crack / Canon Divergence
A chaotic AU where everyone somehow lives, and everyone either has kissedβor wants to kissβeveryone else. An M!OC gets dropped into the middle of the wizarding mess, weaving through rivalries, alliances, and questionable romances. Expect side ships, canon-bending survival, and more crack energy than anyone asked for. Itβs messy, itβs loud, and itβs a little unhinged, but somehow it still works.
TWILIGHT
Half-Light
F!OC x Twilight Universe
A girl in Forks who doesnβt crave mystery, just solitude. A fresh perspective with more realism, less obsession. No romance (yet), but the tension lingers at the edges of the unknown.
Wild Child Series
F!OC X M!OC Twilight Universe
She isnβt the chosen one β just the cousin who refused to sit down. Too loud, too stubborn, too much heart. Dropped into Forks at its messiest, she finds herself tangled in wolves, fire, and family, rewriting the story from the outside in.
DC Universe
Silent Hero
DC!SIBLING X BATFAM -platonic
DC!SIBLING X OC (add ins tbc)
Where Oakly Wayne sets aside his cape to pursue a life of normalcy.
But normalcy is a stretch when the unknown starts circling him. From mysterious bruises to the feeling of being stalked, Oakly has to navigate the fact that he might want to put the life of crime fighting behind him but that life doesn't seem want to let go.
His Own Hand
Genderbent!Merida X M!OC
A Brave retelling β genderbent, reimagined, and tangled in love.
A prince who defies tradition.
A spell that changes everything.
And a choice that could rewrite fate itself.
You're my Orange
Genderbent!Eric X Genderbent!!Ariel X M!OC
A Little Mermaid retelling β reimagined, reshaped, and quietly undone.
A royal who lives for the sea.
The attendant who never leaves his side.
And the prince who comes ashore and sees the wrong man first.
Please note that I have not yet named ether MC (this is due to allowing readers to insert their own name) and my character OC because I cannot decide on one.
Keeping memes and actual storyline separate from now on btw.
The gang from Stigma are here for shits and giggles fyi
Please note that I have not yet named ether MC (this is due to allowing readers to insert their own name) and my character OC because I cannot decide on one.
I think this is my longest meme chap? I did end up editing how I format so the other meme chapters will get edited later on as well as possibly added to.
Keeping memes and actual storyline separate from now on btw.
neglected to regressor batsis! reader x platonic batfam
what if after 20 years of neglect from your family full of vigilantes, you face an unfortunate death, only to find yourself regressed back to when you were 16?
β€· lots of emotional neglect, reader was batgirl, reader was a tryhard and an overachiever, reader had no social life in her first life, mentions of drugs, mentions of human trafficking, mentions of death, regression themes, toxic and unhealthy relationships, dysfunctional family, toxic mentalities, reader and everyone else needs therapyβ¦, canon typical violence, canon divergence, major character death(s) | tba | based on this
β€· info! (background) 1 | 2 | read this first to understand the plot and each batfam better :)
β€· all uf art βΌοΈ
β€· uf chapter covers β€οΈβπ₯
β€· uf memes π«΅
β€· if youβre bored π (iβll eventually get to tagging all of posts..)
This Uber scene nearly ended me, guys.
Everything else came together pretty easily, but that damn Uber scene? I fought for my life. π
This chapter took me from roughly 11 AM to 1ish AM, and then I had the brilliant idea of trying to merge every scene and idea I wanted into a single chapter. As a result, this thing got long.
Then Grammarly got involved and spent the entire editing process convincing me that every other sentence sounded "too fiction-y." At one point I genuinely considered throwing hands.
The song OC sings in this chapter is "Blow" by Jackson Wayne.
And if you know where the name Stigma came from, I love you.
A small canon change: the pink bandage is staying on Pierrot temporarily for plot reasons.
Also, don't worry.
You, the MC, are still getting your stalker scene with Pierrot while you're asleep. The bandage is gone by then. (Λ΅Β Β¬α΄Β¬Λ΅)
This chapter ended up being around 3000ish words longer than the previous one, which was only about 2,100-ish words. I seriously considered splitting it into two chapters, but every place I looked at felt awkward or abrupt, so here we are.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy! β€οΈπͺ
The two of them finally settled into a comfortable silence.
Dinner had long since replaced the red ticket as the center of attention. At least for the moment.
MC was halfway through her plate already, far less restrained than the person sitting across from her.
"You should come with me."
OC looked up from his food, one brow arching as he speared a piece of broccoli with his fork.
"Circuses aren't my thing."
MC rolled her eyes and continued chewing.
"They're not my thing either."
OC is gaze drifts briefly toward the red ticket still sitting on the table between them before turning his attention back to her.
"Then why are you going?"
MC immediately found her food very interesting.
A bite of rice here.
A bite of vegetables there.
Anything except making eye contact, choosing to allow the sound of the AC to fill the silence.
OC leaned back slightly in his chair, crossing his leg over the other, and picked up where he left off.
"Because a scary mime clown invited you."
MC broke her silence by pointing her fork at him.
"His name is Pierrot."
"Still doesn't change the fact that you're going because some clown asked you to." OC countered with a snort.
"That's besides the point," MC grumbled.
The corner of OC's mouth twitched.
MC narrowed her eyes before shoving another forkful into her mouth.
She hated it when he amused himself with his own jokes.
MC's gaze drifted to his plate and lingered there, her one foot bouncing beneath the table. His plate still looked mostly untouched, and her mouth immediately turned downward.
"You should eat more."
Across the table, OC hummed around a bite of rice he'd just scooped.
"No."
MC lowered her fork with a frown, noting howΒ he'd spent the last few minutes pushing his vegetables around. "That's not enough," she stressed.
"It is."
"It isn't."
She gestured toward his plate, fork raised again to point.
"All you've eaten is the vegetables and rice."
OC glanced down at his plate, hummed, then looked back up at her with one eyebrow raised.
"And?"
MC stared, her eyebrows slowly coming to a knot in the center.
"Eat some meat."
The corner of his mouth twitched.
The concern wasn't new.
Neither was the conversation.
A car passed outside.
Headlights briefly slid across the living room wall before disappearing again.
"I have to sing later."
MC immediately rolled her eyes, the knot in her brows loosening.Β "You always have to sing."
He took another bite, unbothered, and didn't respond.
MC muttered something under her breath and shoveled more food into her mouth.
OC pretended not to hear it.
By the time she looked up again, he was already setting his fork down, pushing his chair out.Β "The vegetables and rice are enough for now."Β He stood, gathering his plate as he moved toward the sink.
"If I eat too much before a shift, breathing gets harder."
Now at the counter, he turned the sink on, and water splashed against the ceramic as he rinsed his plate.
MC twisted in her chair to keep looking at him, the movement causing the chair to squeak against the tile.
"You make it sound dramatic."
OC glanced over his shoulder, turning the faucet off and flicking water at her, making her squeal.
"I make a living being dramatic."
A reluctant laugh escaped her as she wiped at her face.
Oc knelt and opened the cabinet beneath the counter, rummaging until he grabbed a plastic container.
"I'll eat the rest later."
MC watched him start scooping food into it.
Tomorrow's lunch.
Or tonight's.
With OC, it could honestly be either.
Pushing away from the counter, he crossed the kitchen and headed for the magnet-covered fridge. The insulated bag he used for work came out a moment later and landed on the table with a soft thud.
As he unzipped it and began rearranging the containers already inside, he spoke without looking up, "Don't stay up all night."
"I wasn't planning to."
MC was already taking the last few bites of her dinner, talking around a mouthful as she pushed herself to her feet.
OC snorted.
"Liar."
"Rude."
He zipped the bag shut after tucking the container inside.
For a moment, his hands lingered there, giving the strap a small tug to make sure everything was secure.
Then he checked his pocket.
Phone.
The familiar shape earned a small nod.
Satisfied, he crossed the apartment toward the couch.
His leather jacket still hung over the back where he'd tossed it the day before.
The second he picked it up, a faint jingling followed.
His apartment keys.
Right where he'd left them.
"Lock my door when you leave."
He shrugged the jacket on, adjusting the collar before reaching for his bag.
"Yes, mom."
By then, MC was already at the sink, adding her plate to the growing collection of dishes before turning on the water.
OC paused.
"I would've taken care of the rest when I got home."
MC glanced over her shoulder, scrunching her nose at him.
The hum of the refrigerator blended with the distant rush of traffic outside.
"I got it. Go on."
She waved him off with a damp hand.
"Don't be late."
OC shook his head, but a genuine smile spread across his face, hidden before she could catch it.
He crossed the kitchen and pinched both of her cheeks before she could dodge.
"So helpful."
MC squealed and immediately swatted him with a soapy hand.
The hum of the AC filled the space where conversation had been only moments ago. Outside, traffic rushed past on the street below.
Her eyes drifted toward the table.
The ticket was still there.
The faucet had long since gone silent. The last of the dishes sat drying beside the sink, the kitchen already cleaned and put back together as though no one had been there at all.
MC grabbed a dish towel and dried her hands.
Her fingers brushed the ticket a second later.
Red.
Pierrot's smile immediately came to mind.
"You're overthinking it."
The words sounded far less convincing out loud.
Still, she shoved the ticket back into her pocket and reached for her phone.
He barely made it three steps from the building before a gust of wind swept down the street and slipped straight through the open front of his leather jacket. His shoulders lifted on instinct, chin tucking slightly as the cold found every place the jacket refused to cover.
Immediately, he regretted choosing style over practicality.
The zipper had broken months ago. Fixing it required effort. Replacing the jacket required money.
He had committed to doing neither.
The building door clicked shut behind him, leaving him alone beneath the weak yellow glow of the entrance light. Across the street, a loose circus flyer slapped against a telephone pole, the paper fluttering wildly before settling again.
OC glanced at it.
A painted smile stared back.
He looked away first.
His phone buzzed in his hand.
Driver arriving now.
A blue Subaru rolled up to the curb a moment later, tires hissing softly over the damp pavement. The glowing green Uber sign in the front window cut through the dark.
The passenger window lowered.
"OC?"
An older man leaned over from the driver's seat, one hand still on the wheel, his grin easy and practiced.
OC nodded.
The doors unlocked with a click.
OC adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder, pulled the backseat door open, and slid inside before another gust could remind him how stupid his jacket was.
The door shut behind him with a solid thump.
Almost immediately, the warmth inside the car chased away the worst of the cold.
OC set his bag on the seat beside him and pulled the seatbelt across his chest until it clicked. OC rattled off the address softly.
The driver eased away from the curb.
For a few moments, neither spoke.
The radio played quietly somewhere near the front of the car. Some late-night host talking about traffic conditions and weekend events.
A red light stopped them at the next intersection.
The driver drummed his fingers against the steering wheel.
"Working late?"
OC watched a pair of teenagers hurry across the crosswalk before the light changed.
"Something like that."
The older man nodded as if that answered everything.
"Night shift?"
"Kind of."
The car rolled forward again.
Storefronts drifted by outside the window. Most were dark by now, metal shutters pulled down for the night. A few restaurants still glowed, their windows crowded with the last customers of the evening.
"You work security?"
"No."
The driver drummed his fingers against the steering wheel while they cruised on the near-barren road.
"Bartender?"
That finally earned him a glance from OC through the rearview mirror.
"No."
The older man sighed dramatically.
"You're terrible at conversation."
A quiet laugh escaped OC before he could stop it.
They turned left, the driving chuckling as he steered.
"Then what do you do?"
OC tipped his head back against the seat.
"I sing."
The older man gave a low hum.
OC's phone buzzed before he could elaborate.
A text from MC lighting up his cracked phone screen.
'Locking your door now.'
A second appeared almost immediately after.
'Eat more meat.'
The corner of OC's mouth twitched.
Then a third.
'I'm serious.'
That earned a quiet laugh before he tucked the phone away.
The driver caught it in the mirror before returning his attention to the road.
"So, a singer?"
OC slipped his phone back into his pocket.
"Where at?" His driver asked a follow-up question
"Stigma."
For the first time since picking him up, the older man looked genuinely surprised, bushy eyebrows up near his hairline. "No kidding?"
"You've heard of it?"
"Heard of it?" The older man laughed, shaking his head. "My daughter talks about that place all the time."
The older man let out a low whistle.
"Well, would you look at that."
He tapped the steering wheel twice, to the rhythm of the radio.
"Got a celebrity in my backseat."
OC huffed, looking back toward the window as another intersection rolled past. Neon signs flashed across the glass before disappearing into the dark.
The driver laughed at his reaction.
"My daughter keeps trying to drag me there." He says, still laughing under his breath.
"You should go." OC runs his ring-clad fingers through his blonde locks. "It's a nice place."
His Uber driver shook his head, "Absolutely not."
"Why not?"
The older man shot him a look through the rearview mirror.
"Because I'm old."
A smile twitched at OC's lips, "That's not how that works."
"It is if I say it is."
That earned another small laugh from OC.
The driver looked entirely too pleased with himself.
"Stillβ¦"
His smile faded slightly as he turned onto a quieter street.
"Be careful getting home."
There it was.
OC already knew where the conversation was heading.
"I'm careful."
The older man hummed.
"Yeah, but the whole town's getting weird lately."
Outside the window, a missing person's flyer flashed past on a telephone pole, gone before OC could properly read it.
"My wife won't even let our daughter out after dark anymore."
OC caught the man's eyes in the rearview mirror again.
"Yeah?"
"Because people are disappearing." The man's tone sounds weary.
"Two people." He stresses the words as if that'll land harder.
The driver's hands tightened slightly on the wheel.
"Two people too many."
The rest of the drive passed beneath the low murmur of the radio.
Orange neon spilled across the brick exterior, red hues flickering beneath the sign and bleeding onto the wet pavement below.
Even on a weeknight, the line outside stretched halfway down the block.
OC reached for the door handle.
"Kid."
He paused.
The driver nodded toward him through the mirror.
"Be careful."
There was no humor in it this time.
OC sighed.
"Got it."
He opened the car door and stepped out into the night.
With a final nod to the driver, he shut the door behind him and watched the Subaru pull back into traffic.
Then a chill rushed down his spine.
A flash of white.
Red.
Movement.
Just at the edge of his vision.
Odd enough that he turns.
But there's nothing but the chatter of customers and the lights of the bar.
Just a group of women giggling as they cross the street to join the line.
OC sighed, adjusted the strap of his bag, and headed for the entrance where two brurly bouncers stood IDing people.
"Glad you got here safe."
OC glanced up at the gruff voice, pale eyes meeting the darker ones of Oscar, one of the bouncers.
Oscar held the door open.
"You're starting too?" OC sounds exasperated when he asks this.
Oscar gives him a scolding look.
"Seen the news?"
OC doesn't argue.
"Unfortunately."
The door shut behind him.
Immediately, the sounds of Stigma flooded his ears.
Music thumped through the floorboards. Glasses clinked against glasses. Somewhere near the bar, a burst of laughter rose above the crowd before disappearing back into the noise.
OC barely slowed as he worked his way through the room. Dodging in and out of bodies, conversing and dancing.
A familiar face waved from behind the bar.
Angie.
She was already pouring another drink before he could return the gesture.
Further down, Susie nearly collided with him, carrying a tray overloaded with cocktails.
"There you are!"
OC sidestepped at the last second, narrowly saving both her and several expensive drinks.
"Good evening to you, too."
"You're on in five."
"What?" OC's brow furrowed in confusion, but all Susie did was point vaguely toward the stage where a growing crowd was becoming rowdy, before disappearing back into the chaos, immediately intercepted by someone trying to order another round.
OC's furrowed brows loosened, and he sighed instead as he turned to continue towards the back.
The employee hallway was quieter.
He approached a door that said employees only and nudged it open with his shoulder, the door handle missing entirely, and made his way to where his name was stickered on a locker.
Opened it.
Bag down.
Jacket off.
Phone away.
Locker shut.
By the time he stepped back into the main room, the lights around the stage had already begun to dim.
More people shifted toward the front.
A few whistles cut through the noise.
The microphone settled into his hand, warm and familiar.
He took a breath.
Then another.
The crowd blurred into shapes and shadows beyond the stage lights.
And just like that, everything else disappeared.
The music started.
And OC opened his mouth on a slow exhale.
"You taste like cigarettes."
A cheer went up somewhere near the front.
A few whistles followed.
"I hit it every chance I get."
More laughter.
The music carried him forward.
Faces melted together beneath the lights.
Regulars occupied their usual spots near the bar. Couples leaned close enough to hear each other over the music. Servers slipped between tables carrying drinks balanced on trays.
The room smelled like spilled alcohol.
Perfume.
Smoke brought in from outside.
"Your body feels like disrespect..."
Someone shouted his name.
He couldn't tell who.
The crowd shifted.
A blur of movement.
A flash of white near the back.
Gone before he could focus on it.
"...let you play me like an instrument, yeah, yeah."
The lights were warm against his skin.
He knew by the end of his third song, there'd be sweat lining against his temple.
"I got a problem, think I'm into it..."
More drinks.
More faces.
Someone nearly fell off a barstool.
Angie looked ready to kill them.
Susie laughed.
The crowd laughed with her.
"My dirty secret that keeps me awake..."
Time slipped by.
Songs blended together.
Conversations rose and fell beneath the music.
Tips collected in jars.
Orders shouted across the bar.
"...don't stop now, you got me ready toβ"
Another glimpse.
White.
A smear of red.
And for a split secondβ
Gold.
Watching.
The note nearly caught in his throat.
Then it was gone.
"Blacked out from the night before..."
The crowd sang the next line back at him.
Louder than the speakers.
"...how'd we let it get this far?"
And then the night kept moving.
One song became another.
Then another.
And another.
Until eventually, the last song ended.
The applause lingered longer than the final note.
OC offered the crowd a lazy salute before handing the microphone off to the stage help and hopped off the side of the stage.
The second he was out of the spotlight, the feeling of being singular broke.
The music was still loud.
The bar was still packed.
The material of his shirt stuck slightly to the back of his neck, his jewelry starting to irritate his skin.
By the time he reached the bar, Susie was already waiting.
Laughing.
His tip jar dangled from one hand.
"You've got fans." She wiggled her brows.
OC rolled his eyes as he reached for it. "I always have fans."
"Not like this." Susie teased.
Susie danced the jar out of reach, grin widening as his tips rattled inside, and Susie's eyes crinkled with mirth.
"I swear the circus brought out every night owl in town."
She nodded her head toward the crowd behind him, blonde baby hairs slipping out from her headband.
"We haven't been this busy on a weekday in-"
"It's because nobody is actually at the circus."
Ricky appeared seemingly out of nowhere like he had been summoned, a dish towel thrown over one shoulder.
Susie barked out a laugh.
Ricky pointed accusingly toward the front entrance.
"I've kicked out twenty underaged idiots tonight."
"Twenty?"
"Twenty."
"You're exaggerating."
"I'm not."
Ricky looked deeply offended.
"They keep sneaking in."
Before Susie could respond, Angie reached across the counter before Susie could pull away.
"Speaking of the circus."
Angie plucked it right from her hands.
Turned it once.
Then she held it upside down.
Something pink slid against the glass.
OC stared.
Unamused because there was a crumpled ticket wedged between a handful of dollar bills.
Angie grinned, fangs on display.
"Looks like somebody bought you a free ride in."
OC pinched the bridge of his nose, reaching for the jar with his other hand.
"Try not to spend it all in one place," Angie teased.
He stared at her.
Then at the crumpled ticket buried amongst the bills.
Then back at her.
Angie immediately started laughing.
Susie wasn't far behind.
Ricky looked deeply offended on his behalf.
"I'm serious," Angie managed between laughs.
A napkin bounced harmlessly off OC's shoulder.
"Lighten up, killa."
If anything, the look he gave her only seemed more tired.
Taking the jar with him, OC retreated toward the employee hallway.
The noise of the bar faded with every step.
He made a quick stop at his locker, pulling it open before grabbing the lunch he'd packed earlier. Walking backward until the backs of his legs bumped the bench, he sat down with the tip jar still in one hand.
The jar landed beside his lunch container with a soft clink.
Staff drifted in and out of the room around him as he dug through the tips, sipping from the Gatorade he'd packed with the other hand.
Coins rattled softly against the glass.
A handful of bills.
More loose change.
Then finally, the crumpled pink ticket.
The entire night felt strangely foreboding.
Setting the ticket aside, he cracked open the container. A few bites of rice. A few bites of meat. Enough to keep the inevitable lecture from MC off his conscience.
Once the Gatorade was gone, he decided that counted as lunch for the time being.
He needed a smoke.
After shoving the bills and loose change back into the jar, he cleaned up the small mess he'd made and tucked everything into the locker. Lunch. Tip jar. Ticket.
Then he grabbed his jacket and the pack of cigarettes tucked against the back of the shelf.
He tucked the ticket into his jacket pocket before heading for the back door.
One of the bouncers glanced up as he approached.
"Smoke break?"
OC held up the pack of cigarettes.
The bouncer nodded and pushed the door open.
Cold air rushed in immediately, cutting through the lingering heat left behind by the stage lights.
OC stepped outside and let the door swing shut behind him.
Silence.
Well.
Relative silence.
The muffled bass from inside Stigma still vibrated faintly through the brick walls.
His shoulders loosened.
Just a little.
The cool night air felt good against his overheated skin. For a moment, he considered taking off his jacket entirely.
Then a stronger gust swept through the alley.
OC thought better of it.
He didn't need MC finding out he'd gotten himself sick because he was too stubborn to dress appropriately.
The cigarette found its way between his lips without much thought.
A lighter clicked.
The burn didn't help the rawness of his throat, but it settled like an afterthought.
With his free hand, he pulled the crumpled ticket back out of his jacket pocket, pinched between his fingers as he turned it over.
"Who tips somebody with a circus ticket?" He grumbled, smoke billowing past reddened lips.
The answer came in the form of a crash.
A metal trash can toppled somewhere deeper in the alley.
OC nearly launched the cigarette into orbit.
"What theβ"
A hiss split the darkness, and a cat shot out from behind the overturned bin, darting between his legs and vanishing into the night.
OC nearly jumped out of his skin.
After a moment, he pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Fantastic."
The cigarette made it to his lips.
He inhaled.
Slowly.
Exhaled.
"Everybody's got me on edge tonight."
The words disappeared into the cold air.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
A sudden feeling that he wasn't alone.
OC turned.
Immediately regretted taking another drag as smoke went down the wrong pipe, and he doubled over coughing.
Clouds of smoke escaped through both his nose and mouth as he struggled to breathe.
Because someone was standing there.
Tall.
Motionless.
Half-hidden in the shadows at the far end of the alley.
"Jesus Christβ"
Another cough.
"What the hell are you doing?"
The figure didn't move.
Which somehow made it worse.
Light spilled from the back entrance, catching flashes of black fabric and red accents. The brightness sat directly behind him, making it difficult to see the figure fully, but then, through a squint, he noticed something obnoxiously bright against the darkened shadow.
Pink.
Crossing over part of hisβ¦cheek?
Realization hit a second later.
"Huh..."
He straightened, still coughing into his fist, still squinting.
"Are you⦠Pierrot?"
The figure tilted his head, the sound of a bell shifting.
OC awkwardly lifted his cigarette.
Then, he immediately wished he hadn't because now he looked like he was pointing at him.
"MC told me about you."
He gestured vaguely instead.
"The bandage."
His cigarette continued to burn between his fingers while the crumpled ticket remained trapped in the same hand.
The whole situation suddenly felt a lot stranger.
"Sorry about the assholes in town."
That got a reaction.
Small.
Subtle.
But there.
The feeling of dread eased almost immediately.
Not completely.
Just enough.
Pierrot's posture loosened slightly.
"People are not often kind to those they believe don't... belong."
The cigarette finally made it to his lips.
He inhaled.
Exhaled.
When the smoke cleared, Pierrot was closer.
Much closer.
Hunched over to meet him at eye level.
Close enough that OC nearly choked a second time.
The painted mask stared back at him, gold irises suspended in a sea of black.
OC's heart thudded hard against his ribs.
Instinctively, he leaned back.
A voice filtered through the mask, low and nearly a whisper, laced with an edge OC couldn't place but knew immediately set off alarm bells.
"How do you know MC?"
The question caught him off guard.
He blinked.
A faint itch tugged at the corner of one eye.
Half his makeup was probably hanging on for dear life already, but suddenly rubbing at it felt like a terrible idea.
Pierrot hadn't moved.
One of the bells on his costume chimed softly as he shifted his weight.
Waiting.
For an answer.
"She's..." OC scratched at his jaw. "A friend of mine."
His answer seemed to satisfy something.
Or maybe not.
Honestly, it was impossible to tell.
The silence stretched between them. Somewhere beyond the brick walls, music thumped faintly from inside Stigma.
OC shifted his weight, cigarette burning slowly between his fingers as he searched for something else to say.
"Say, shouldn't you be, like, at the circus right now?"
Pierrot stepped back.
Just enough to give him room to breathe.
Then he straightened.
And kept going.
OC's eyes followed the movement.
Up.
And up.
And up.
"...Jesus."
The man was tall.
The shadows swallowing part of him only made him look more ominous.
Pierrot tilted his head, the bell on his hat giving a soft jingle.
"I had time to tour the area."
The excuse came in a low rumble.
OC waited for him to continue.
He didn't.
The alley settled back into silence.
A moth continued battering itself against the security light overhead.
Pierrot simply watched him, gold glaring into pale green.
"Sure."
OC didn't believe a word of it.
His attention dropped when Pierrot's gaze settled on the crumpled ticket still trapped between his fingers.
For the first time, Pierrot spoke before he could.
"The ticket."
OC gripped said ticket.
Then, before he could stop himself, let out a short snort.
"Yeah. Somebody tipped me with it."
His eyes lifted again.
"MC told me already, though."
A pause.
"That you said these things were fake."
OC noticed Pierrot's composure seemed to slip. He looked caught off guard for a split second, his head tilting, the bell jingling softly with the motion.
Pierrot didn't seem as tense anymore.
Though it was hard to tell.
OC knew he was tense.
"Kinda stingy though," OC said next, rolling the ticket between his fingers. "Singing for hours, expecting some gratitude for providing entertainment, and I get a ticket I can't even use."
He huffed.
"At least tip me with cash."
The paper crinkled softly as he creased it, his brows furrowing in mild irritation.
"I'll probably toss it later."
He flicked the burnt-out cigarette away before grinding it beneath his shoe.
OC's gaze drifted toward the overturned trashcan.
Pierrot said nothing.
The only sound from him came when a breeze stirred the bells attached to his costume.
OC shifted.
"...You're kinda creepy when you do that."
A soft sound left Pierrot.
"Could you come a little more into the light?"
A pause.
Then Pierrot stepped forward.
The yellow glow from the security light caught him properly for the first time.
"Oh."
The word slipped out before OC could stop it.
There was a lot more color than he'd expected.
Gold cords crisscrossed dark fabric. Red ribbons hung from his sleeves and waist. Tiny bells caught the light whenever he moved.
No wonder people stared.
Pierrot tilted his head, a bell chiming softly.
For the first time all evening, OC understood why MC had spent time speaking with him.
"MC said you were a mime."
'A cute, slightly terrifying mime.'
Pierrot nodded.
"And that you weren't supposed to talk," OC continued.
"It ruins the illusion."
The answer came so matter-of-factly, despite how quiet it was, that OC almost laughed.
At least the edge seemed to have eased.
Backing up a step, his foot landed on a discarded wrapper.
He glanced down and sighed before crouching beside the overturned trash can, gathering the scattered garbage.
"Seems kinda inconvenient," he said, resuming the conversation.
A shadow fell beside him.
OC glanced up through the few strands of blonde hair stuck to his forehead, dried sweat making them cling to his skin.
Pierrot had crouched down too, which was honestly a little ridiculous given how tall he was.
Without a word, he gathered a handful of the scattered trash.
For a moment, they worked in silence.
The whole thing felt bizarre.
A singer and a mime cleaning up an alley at midnight.
A faint jingle sounded as Pierrot reached for another crushed can.
OC glanced over.
Up close, the details were easier to notice.
The gold cords.
The tiny bells.
The ribbons woven through the costume.
They shifted with every movement.
"You got some pretty colors for a costume."
Silence.
Pierrot froze.
Completely.
The crushed can remained suspended halfway between the ground and the trash bag.
"β¦Pardon?"
OC blinked, tilting his head.
"Your costume."
He pointed out.
"The colors are nice."
For a moment Pierrot looked as though he'd forgotten how conversations worked.
Then, very slowly, he looked away.
The cheeks of his mask had gone pink.
Huh.
That was⦠unique.
Together they finished collecting the rest of the scattered trash.
OC tied off the bag and tossed it back into the bin.
His attention drifted back to the ticket still trapped between his fingers.
Right.
He'd almost forgotten about it.
The paper crinkled softly as he unfolded it.
For a moment, he debated shoving it back into his pocket.
Or finally throwing it away like he'd been threatening to.
Before he could decide, Pierrot's quiet voice broke the silence.
"May I see it?"
OC blinked.
Then held the ticket out.
"Uh... sure."
Pierrot accepted it carefully, and OC found himself noticing the gloves. The black fabric looked unusually sharp at the fingertips.
A faint frown tugged at OC's brow as he watched.
For a moment, he thought Pierrot was simply inspecting it.
Then one gloved hand covered the ticket.
The other lifted.
Palm upright.
A familiar gesture.
The same one MC had described.
Pink bled across the paper.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Until it wasn't pink anymore.
Red.
The color settled.
Pierrot lowered his hands.
"Now it is not a fake ticket."
For the first time all evening, he smiled.
The mask shifting to match the expression.
OC stared at the ticket.
Then at Pierrot.
Then back at the ticket.
"...Okay."
He pointed at it.
"MC was right."
A beat.
"That was kinda cool."
The reaction was immediate.
The smile vanished.
Not because Pierrot was upset.
Quite the opposite.
The pink on his mask deepened.
As if the compliment had caught him off guard all over again.
Huh.
That seemed to happen a lot around him.
OC still didn't get how the mask worked.
Pierrot carefully placed the ticket back into OC's hand.
The paper felt warm.
Or maybe that was just his imagination.
The pink lingering on Pierrot's mask hadn't fully faded.
"If you attend," Pierrot said quietly, "I hope you enjoy tomorrow's performance."
OC looked down at the ticket.
Then back at him.
For some reason, saying no felt significantly harder than it had a few minutes ago.
Maybe MC had been onto something.
The guy was terrifying.
But now that he wasn't staring at him like he was deciding whether or not to bury a body, he was also...
Cute.
Which felt like a dangerous realization to make twice in one sitting.
A grin tugged at the corner of OC's mouth.
"Yeah, wellβ"
The back door slammed open.
"Yo, you good?"
OC nearly jumped out of his skin.
"Jesus fuckingβ"
His hand flew to his chest as he whipped around.
Ricky stood in the doorway, staring at him.
"What?"
OC turned back.
The alley was empty.
The words died in his throat.
No bells.
No ribbons.
No towering mime.
Nothing.
His mouth suddenly felt dry.
Slowly, he turned in a full circle.
Ricky stepped fully into the alley.
"Man, you okay?"
OC looked down at the ticket still resting in his hand.
Then shoved it into his pocket.
"Yeah. Sorry, I just..."
He trailed off.
What was he supposed to say?
I was talking to a mime who may or may not have magical tickets?
"...Got lost in thought."
Ricky snorted.
"Maybe the night's finally catching up to you."
He slung an arm around OC's shoulders and steered him back toward the door.
"C'mon. Eat something and get back out there."
OC let himself be herded inside.
But just before the door shut behind him, his hand drifted to the ticket in his pocket.
Tomorrow.
By the time Ricky finally released him, the noise of Stigma had swallowed the alley whole.
The employee hallway felt almost painfully bright after everything that had just happened.
OC barely registered it.
His thoughts were still somewhere between a disappearing mime and a ticket that had changed color in his hands.
The second he reached his locker, he yanked it open.
Shrugged off his jacket.
Then zeroed in on his phone, tucked beneath his bag.
His fingers closed around it immediately.
The screen lit up.
Without thinking, he opened his messages and found MC's contact.
For a moment, his thumb hovered over the keyboard.
Then he started typing.
so does your clown make it a habit to scare the shit out of people???
A beat.
He pulled the ticket from his pocket and snapped a picture.
The bright red paper practically glowed against the dull metal of the locker.
Attached.
Sent.
The message whooshed away.
OC stared at the cracked screen, then tossed it back in his locker.
He glanced down at the ticket still resting in his hand.
pls don't mind typos or odd words here and there, I'm sure I missed a couple while editing and words started to blur after staring at a screen for 12 hours (,,Β¬οΉΒ¬,,)
Please note that I have not named either MC (to allow readers to insert their own name) or my OC, because I genuinely cannot decide on one. π
I also won't be giving MC any descriptive features for that reason. Although MC is mentioned as female because I have a harder time writing in a they/them format.
I went through this chapter several different times because of how I write. I usually build the skeleton first (mostly dialogue), then go back through and add details, actions, descriptions, and whatever else feels necessary. Which, unfortunately, means I'm constantly changing things as I go because something suddenly doesn't flow anymore.
If you notice any inconsistencies, please let me know! It's been a while since I've written anything, and you would not believe how many times I went back and forth between a spoon and a knife while editing this chapter. π
I also want to mention that this story may end up following OC a little more than MC at times. This project is admittedly pretty self-indulgent, and I have become very attached to him.
That said, I hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless. β€οΈ
MC let herself into her apartment and immediately dropped her bag beside the small table near the door. Her eyes swept over the familiar clutter of her living room before landing on the digital clock.
8:43 PM.
Later than she'd thought.
With a sigh, she shoved her hands into her jeans pockets. Her fingers brushed against paper.
The ticket.
She pulled it free and stared down at it.
Pink.
Well....
Not pink anymore.
The smooth parchment shifted between her fingers as the memory replayed itself.
"This is the ticket you need."
The whole thing was weird.
Very weird.
She dropped onto the couch, ticket still in hand, and stared at it for another moment before glancing back toward the clock.
8:47 PM.
Four minutes.
Four whole minutes she'd spent staring at a piece of paper.
Her gaze drifted toward the wall separating her apartment from the one next door.
A grin immediately spread across her face.
She was sure he hadn't left yet.
Perfect.
MC shoved the ticket back into her pocket, pushed herself off the couch, and headed right back out the door.
A few seconds later she was standing outside his apartment.
Knock. Knock.
She was opening the door before she could think of knocking a third time.
"You left your door unlocked again."
MC nudged off one flat in the doorway. The second followed a moment later, kicked carelessly beside the first as she wandered further inside.
"I was expecting you."
The response drifted from the kitchen, accompanied by the sound of a cabinet door shutting.
She rounded the corner just enough to see his back.
"That's creepy."
From the kitchen, OC still hadn't bothered to turn around. He pointed the wooden spoon over his shoulder in her direction.
"We've known each other for years."
"Two, actually."
"Yeah." He lowered the spoon and turned back to the stove. "Years."
MC snorted.
By the time she rounded the corner, OC was already back to whatever he was doing, moving between the stove and counter with practiced ease.
The familiar smell of food filled the apartment. Something with garlic, probably. She didn't bother asking.
Instead, she wandered straight past the kitchen and threw herself onto his couch with all the grace of a falling brick.
The cushions groaned beneath her.
For a moment she simply watched him move around the kitchen.
Bracelets clinked together every time he reached for something. Silver rings flashed beneath the warm kitchen light. The sleeves of his button-up were rolled to his elbows, several buttons left undone to reveal the layered necklaces resting against pale skin.
His eyeliner was sharp.
His hair was a mess.
His jeans were criminal.
MC narrowed her eyes.
"You look like you're going on a date."
"I'm literally not."
"Those are date jeans."
"These are my work jeans."
MC pointed accusingly from her spot on the couch.
"That's worse."
"What does that even mean?"
"It means if those are your work jeans, I don't want to know what your date jeans look like."
OC looked genuinely offended.
"They're just jeans."
"They frame your ass."
The wooden spoon slipped from his hand and clattered against the stovetop.
Silence.
MC covered her mouth.
Thenβ
"Oh my God."
She immediately burst out laughing.
"You walked right into that one."
"I hate you."
"No you don't."
OC made a noise that sounded suspiciously like suffering.
The sound only encouraged her.
"So."
MC sat up straighter, tucking one leg beneath herself.
"I had a weird day."
OC spared her a glance as he turned the stovetop down to a low simmer, picking up the spoon he'd dropped, and setting beside the sink. Reaching for the cutting board beside him, he set it down with a soft thud.
He hummed.
"Go on."
"Okay, so you heard that apparently people have been disappearing lately."
MC spoke with her hands, nearly smacking herself in the face with one of her own exaggerated gestures.
"This is not a happy start to the story," OC informed her dryly. "But yes, I'm aware."
MC ignored him.
Naturally.
She slumped sideways across the couch instead, one leg dangling over the armrest.
"Well I was on my way to work."
The rhythmic sound of a knife against a cutting board filled the apartment.
"And?"
"And there was this guy getting bullied outside."
"A customer?"
"A clown."
The knife stopped.
Not slowed.
Stopped.
Slowly, OC looked up from the cutting board.
"A clown."
His tone suggested she still had time to correct herself.
"A clown," MC confirmed.
"You opened this story with disappearances."
"I know."
"And followed it with clown."
"I know."
The chopping resumed.
Slow.
Suspicious.
"Continue."
MC grinned.
"He worked for the circus."
"The circus connected to the disappearances?"
The knife scraped against the board as he gathered the vegetables into a neat pile.
"I don't know."
"That's a yes."
"It's not a yes."
"It sounds like a yes."
MC rolled off the couch entirely.
She landed on her feet, wandered toward the kitchen, and immediately stole a piece of chopped vegetable from the edge of the cutting board.
OC smacked her hand away without looking.
She stole it anyway.
"Anyway, he was hurt."
"The clown?"
"The clown."
OC finally turned to stare at her.
A long.
Suffering.
Stare.
MC continued as though she hadn't noticed.
She absolutely had.
"So I gave him a bandage."
OC paused, one hand still resting on the knife.
"You what?"
"He was bleeding."
MC reached for another vegetable.
OC moved the cutting board.
She missed.
The betrayal was immediate.
"You just carry bandages?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
MC looked at him as though the answer should've been obvious.
OC looked right back.
The silence stretched.
Thenβ
Slow acceptance crossed his features and he nodded to the silence.Β
"You walked into a stop sign last month."
"That happened once."
"You fell down the apartment stairs."
"It was raining."
"You cut yourself opening a cereal box."
MC pointed at him.
"The box was fighting back."
OC stared.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then he turned back to the cutting board with the exhausted air of a man who had accepted his fate years ago.
"Right."
Unfortunately, he did know.
The bandages weren't for strangers.
They were for MC.
Who somehow managed to injure herself doing things that most people survived daily.
"Continue."
"He was really nice."
"That's a dangerous sentence."
MC rolled her eyes and reached for another piece of vegetable. This time OC caught her wrist before she could steal it.
"He was a mime."
That finally made him pause. His grip loosened slightly as he looked up from what he was doing.
"The clown was a mime?"
"Yes."
"The injured clown."
MC tried to pull her hand free.
"You're doing that on purpose."
"I need clarification."
"You don't."
"I do."
With a dramatic sigh, she finally yanked her hand away and immediately stole the vegetable anyway. OC let out a sign of exasperation, scooting the board away from her.
"The mime and the clown are the same person."
"Thank you." OC huffed.
OC nodded once, as though she'd finally answered an important question.
"He sounds suspicious."
MC grabbed the dish towel hanging from the oven handle and smacked him with it. The towel barely brushed his arm.
OC looked down at it.
Then back at her.
Slowly.
"You done?"
"No."
"Okay."
He turned back to the stove, stirring whatever was simmering inside with the same level of concern one might give a mild inconvenience.
MC still hovered near the counter, fingers drumming against the surface as she tried to think back.
"I think?"
"You think."
"I don't know! But he had a ticket."
A dramatic sigh escaped OC as he rolled his shoulders. Leaving the pot to simmer, he crossed to one of the cabinets and pulled down two plates.
That earned him a look.
"What?"
"You always do that." MC accused.
"Do what?"
"That thing where you judge me before I finish the story."
"I'm judging the story."
"You're judging me."
"The story came from you."
MC pointed at him.
He pointed back with one of the plates.
The nerve.
"He looked normal."
"Mm."
"Mostly normal."
"There it is."
MC snatched the stack of plates from his hands before he could put them down himself.
"See? Judging."
"I haven't even started."
"You literally sighed."
"You said a strange man approached you and offered circus tickets."
He reached past her to grab utensils from a drawer.
"That isn't a normal sentence."
MC hated that he had a point.
Just a little.
"He asked about the circus., if I liked it. Or if I had gone."
OC set the forks onto one plate, then the other.
"And then he gave me his ticket."
One brow lifted.
"Why?"
"He said he wasn't going to use it."
"Convenient."
MC narrowed her eyes.
"It was."
"Suspiciously convenient."
"That's not the same thing."
"It is to me."
"You're impossible."
MC rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder she didn't strain something.
Taking advantage of his distraction, she stole another piece of vegetable from the cutting board.
The victory lasted approximately three seconds.
OC smacked her wrist without looking.
Again.
"Stop eating dinner before dinner."
"Make me."
OC gave her a look.
"You're a menace."
MC popped the stolen vegetable into her mouth before he could stop her.
"Then when I was closing..."
MC abandoned her spot beside the counter and carried the plates toward the small table. She paused halfway there, the memory still feeling strange even now.
"The lights went out."
Behind her, OC lifted the lid from the pot, a cloud of steam immediately filling the kitchen.
"And?"
"I had to turn them back on using the breakers."
"Then...?"
"The mime came back."
The lid hovered in midair as OC glanced over his shoulder.
"The mime?"
MC set the plates down a little harder than necessary.
"The clown, yes."
"Ah. The injured mime clown."
She immediately narrowed her eyes.
"Can you stop calling him that?"
"No."
OC turned back to the stove while MC folded her arms across her chest.
"His name is Pierrot."
"His name can be Pierrot, and he can still be an injured mime clown."
MC huffed, though she was smiling, and set the plates down with a soft clink.
"He explained that he could talk when nobody else was around."
"Sure."
The lid settled back onto the pot as OC gave whatever was cooking a final stir.
"And then he tried to give me a ticket."
"But you already had a ticket."
MC wandered back toward the kitchen, stealing a glance beneath the lid before OC nudged her away with his elbow.
"He said it wasn't the right one."
That got a reaction.
Not a big one, but enough.
OC finally stopped what he was doing and turned toward her completely.
"The ticket was wrong?"
"According to him."
MC reached into her pocket and pulled out the red ticket, turning it between her fingers before holding it up for him to see.
"He wanted to see it. Then he did some weird magician thing, and suddenly it wasn't pink anymore."
The red parchment caught the kitchen light.
For once, OC didn't immediately make a joke.
Slowly, he reached for the ticket.
MC watched him turn it over once.
Then again.
His thumb brushed over the paper's surface as if he expected to find hidden ink or some kind of trick mechanism tucked inside.
"Magic?."
The skepticism came after a long moment.
MC shrugged helplessly.
"Maybe."
A beat.
"It was kinda cool."
OC looked up.
MC immediately pointed at him.
"Don't."
"I'm not saying anything."
"You were about to."
"I wasn't."
"You absolutely were."
The corner of his mouth twitched.
Just barely.
Then his gaze dropped back to the ticket.
The teasing faded as quickly as it had appeared.
He turned the parchment over one last time before setting it carefully on the table between them.
His expression had changed. Not fear or panicβjust thoughtfulness. Uncertainty.
"You sure you want to go?"
The question caught her off guard.
"It's just a circus."
The answer came automatically.
OC leaned back in his chair, eyes lingering on the red ticket.
For the first time all evening, he didn't look convinced.
Neither did the ticket sitting between them.
Outside, unnoticed by either of them, someone stood perfectly still beneath a streetlamp.
Please note that I have not yet named ether MC (this is due to allowing readers to insert their own name) and my character OC because I cannot decide on one.
Memes for specific scenes I enjoyed writing because of the humor potential.
Please note that I have not yet named ether MC (this is due to allowing readers to insert their own name) and my character OC because I cannot decide on one.
