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signed-yours-truly-the-whale · 1 year

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A Ballerina and a Clown

“When’s the last time you celebrated Valentine’s Day?”

The words ELECTRIC BILL flitted through Arthur’s harried mind as he folded the paper down, holding his half-smoked cigarette in two fingers. Beneath her pink baseball cap shrouding her eyes, Rose was giving him a half-smirk at the other end of the couch. Her drying toes rested on his thigh. The sharp scent of polish was faint. She had come over for dinner and ended up raiding the old makeup bags tucked away in the bathroom.

“What?”

“And I don’t mean throwin’ some candy hearts and suckers in a pink shoebox for yer daughter to take to school. When’s the last time you really celebrated Valentine’s Day?”

“I celebrate it just fine with my daughter; I take her out for ice cream or … the zoo or something,” he said, wiping the smattering of cigarette ash from his trousers. It landscaped across his knee like a stroke of grey charcoal.

“But I’m divorced, so …” The bill waved in his right hand, overriding the warbled static of Gotham’s evening news. “… five years?”

“That’s upsetting.”

He hummed. The Valentine’s Day of five years ago with sex that wasn’t exactly love making and small talk with the woman whom he supposed was his wife over a deli table … was still better than the Valentine’s Day he spent in a padded room in the hospital in ’73.

Rose didn’t need to know about either of those days. Memories of the hospital stayed strictly between him and the sicker version of him, gangly and drenched head to toe in cold sweats and pock marks on his arms from sedatives.

She folded the daily tribune down, threw her feet off of him, and pressed her heels to the floor. In a swift motion, she was arm-to-arm against him. On the paper she splayed wide in his view, the point of her interest was hard to miss.

A Day for Love: Ten Valentine’s Day Specials in Gotham City

“The Royal Hotel’s havin’ a fifty-percent off special. We could get a deluxe room for a hundred ‘n fifty.”

“Still a little pricey,” he muttered, a billow of smoke pouring from his chapped lips.

“Isn’t the point of Valentine’s Day to go all-out and splurge a little?”

Not when there was a $99 electric bill to be paid.

“Can’t we have fun here?” he suggested. “Or the park or something? Hotels probably have bugs.”

Tilting her head allowed him the sight of her widening, incredulous eyes. Her mouth gaped open, the tips of pearly teeth bared. His lips pursed to suppress a grin, alight by her eyes.

“How can you complain to me about bugs when I saw cockroaches in the basement when I needed to use the washer here?”

“Rose …”

“Arthur …” she teased.

The way her pink lips curled, the dimpled crease in her cheek, made his throat dry. He couldn’t tell her what he wanted to tell her when she was this earnestly excited – that he didn’t want to celebrate holidays if he didn’t have to. He could only drum up so much enthusiasm as an adult for festivities he was deprived of as a child. Valentine’s Day always terrified him when Joss insisted on going out and doing something fun that they could barely afford at the detriment of a bill sitting on the table. Having his own way would have limited celebrations to putting their baby in a pink onesie, buying roses and cooking a real dinner (no microwaved meals), and calling it a night.

But his baby was a little more grown, and out of his care this Valentine’s Day weekend. And Rose was tired of roses.

“Can you just look at this with me?” she asked. “Please? It’s in two days; I wanna do something.”

And so he did, rigid with infatuation brushing heat on his cheeks. When she slumped her shoulders so sadly, she knew he couldn’t say no to her.

“Wine and chocolate sampling!” she suggested, a glossy finger tapping with fervor on the page.

“I don’t like either wine or chocolate.”

“You don’t like chocolate? What are you, ninety years old?” she balked, a disgust bunching the space between her narrowed brown eyes. He laughed.

“What did you drink at your wedding?” she asked. “When I get married, I’m havin’ a full fucking bar and getting’ blitzed.”

“I had a flute of champagne that I did not like, because I was not the one who wanted to buy it,” he said matter-of-factly, veering his head to gaze at her. His mouth twisted into a smile as the tip of his nose brushed hers.

“You’re as picky as yer daughter. I’m sure they have alcohol-free wines and dark chocolates,” she stated, turning her attention to the paper once more. Her cheeks plumped with amusement.

“And I’m sure I won’t like them either,” he countered. “But I’ll go if it’ll make you happy.”

“Oh god, Arthur, Valentine’s Day is supposed to be about us enjoying the day together.”

He winced inside, not happy to have caused her exasperation. He knew when she pursed her heart-shaped lips in such a way, she was truly getting cross with him.

Snuffing out the rest of his cigarette in the ashtray, “I’m just not big on going outside or spending money.”

“Well, I don’t like being holed up at home, so we’ll have to compromise, won’t we?” she asked, her bare shoulder hiking up as she shot him a sweet glance. “We can do something we both want during the day, then I’ll pick something, then we can come back here and be together.”

He sighed and rested the bill on the table. “Let’s look.”

A scavenger hunt in Central Park was out (Be real, Rose. Are we really that smart?).

As was a date in the library (You might dress like an old college professor, mister, but I don’t).

Neither of them even bothered to entertain the thought of ice skating as they glossed over #6 on the list.

“What about a movie?” Rose asked, her bottom lip jutting out in a contemplative pout.

“Maybe.”

She flipped a page. Next to the pennysaver ads for pet adoptions and almost-new dishware, splashed across page 8 was a full-body ad for the Monarch Theater.

“Ooh, I do love Jack Nicholson; we could see The Border,” she considered. “Or Time Bandits should be leavin’ soon, shouldn’t it? Maybe we could—”

“Oh, my god, Limelight.”

“What?”

As the air rushed from his lungs, his finger traced the black ink. Limelight – 30th Anniversary.

“I saw this movie when I was a kid,” he said, feeling heady. “I was seven years old and my mom took me to see it on Christmas Eve … this one and Singing in the Rain are the first movies I ever saw in a theater.”

He swiped his hand over his mouth, the smile tingling in his stretched lips.

“I’ve always loved Charlie Chaplin.” A dreamer’s sigh, delirious with adoring. “He made me wanna be an entertainer.”

“You really wanna go to the movies?”

The gleam of satisfaction spread the grin across Rose’s face, showing him her big, beautiful teeth. He made a noise of consideration. The last film he’d seen in a theater was one of those Star Wars movies that Carrie begged him to go see. The eager kicks of her legs in the seat next to his lulled him to sleep for an hour.

“We can go to the four o’clock show and then … maybe go to that record shop that you know I like the next block over?”

“And come back here so you could stay the night?”

To make love to the sound of their vinyl records was a captivating idea. Her music was livelier, more energetic. It put her in a good mood. It brought him just a hair’s width closer to picking apart her funny brain. To have asked him of all people to be her boyfriend, she must be a little mad herself.

She inched closer to him. The small berth of couch cushion between them dipped where she dug her palm in.

“I think we could work somethin’ out.”

They kissed each other with tight, closed lips, a downright tease.

- - - -

As agreed upon, at 3:15 PM, Rose’s yellow car was sat in front of the imperious arches of Anderson Avenue. Late winter snow mushed into the crevices of Arthur’s old shoes, begrudging him with a mess in his socks. He sucked in a chilly breath and buried his hands in his pockets.

“You ever notice your jacket’s the same color as my car?” Rose asked him as he hurried in. A burst of hot air from her overworked heating unit pricked a sweat beneath his brown scarf.

“Never really paid attention,” he huffed. It was a marvel how being so cold could knock the wind right out of him. Resting them between his knees, he rubbed his hands together. The snow crunched beneath the rolling tires.

“Did you get to call yer girl today?”

“Yeah, this morning before school,” he stated, removing his knitted beanie. His matted curls sprung to life. “Her class is having a party with cake, she said. I’m picking her up tomorrow once she gets out and I’ll have her ‘til Friday morning. I promised her I’d buy her chocolate.”

“Is it hard havin’ holidays without her?”

“She’s the only reason I have them,” he admitted sheepishly. “But she’s with her mother because her granddad’s birthday was yesterday and … my ex wants to take family photos with her and her little brother.”

A silence stirred at this statement. Arthur stared at his knees. In his periphery, Rose alternately looked between him and the road.

“Well now you’ve got me to celebrate with, right?”

He smiled faintly. Such victories were so rare, he would be a fool to shoo it off.

- - - -

“Pay up, Daddy.”

Arthur’s thumb- and forefinger stilled in his wallet, honed in on the crispness of a $5 bill. He looked at the hefty assortment of Rose’s desired concession finds, then to Rose’s clacking nails on the glass display, then to Rose herself.

“C’mon,” he said, his shoulders slumping.

“What?”

“I’ll pay for the stuff we’re sharing,” he wagered, sliding the boxes of chocolate raisins and M&M’s her way. “You can pay for your own candy.”

“This is for your daughter, from me,” she countered, shoving the chocolate raisins toward him again. “You promised you’d buy her chocolate.”

His lips pinched. He stared into her shining brown eyes as he handed the bill to the young, gum-smacking worker twirling her finger through her hair.

“The only person who gets away with saying that is Carrie herself,” he grumbled, ignoring the part of him that was charmed by her toothy grin and quasi-generosity.

He grabbed their drinks as she grabbed their popcorn and candy. They treaded the black and orange carpet, wading through a light sea headed for any theater besides their own, easing his nerves. He loved having a theater almost to himself.

“And you know I don’t like you calling me daddy,” he grumbled.

“And you know I have to tease you every once in a while,” she joked. “Keeps you humble. Like it keeps me humble when you smack my ass in bed.”

This earned her a snort. And all this time he believed she asked him to do it because she liked it.

“You are the least humble person I’ve ever met,” he stated.

“Suppose you need to humble me when we get home then,” she grinned with a tilted head, stopping just short of the theater door.

“We could arrange that.”

Pushing up on the worn-out toes of her sneakers, Rose planted a kiss on his lips. Then another. He could grow used to the taste of tacky, fruity lip-smacker if it was hers and hers alone.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetie,” she beamed.

- - - -

“So, what did you think of the movie?”

“Well, from what I saw of it … it was kinda boring.”

Arthur chuckled to himself. Rose had fallen asleep two-thirds of the way through -- not even the entrancement of the orchestra or the ballet were enough to rouse her drooping eyelids. Now she was paying the price with heavy yawns that stretched her dry lips as they perused Retro Valley Records.

“I’m sorry,” he said bashfully. “I grew up watching Charlie Chaplin, so it’s different, I guess. My mom said once that she attended one of his movie premieres, but … I don’t know, I think she was a little lost by the end.”

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, breathing deeply the overwhelming scent of plastic, surrounded by sleeves of records. Of that chapter in history, Rose must never find out.

“You didn’t let me finish,” she stated, a gleam in her eye. “… The ballet parts were nice. I’ve always loved ballet. Did I ever tell ya my grandma was in the Bolshoi Russian Ballet?”

“Once or twice.”

Several times. At least twice she told him that the posing ballerina on her left thigh was a commemorative piece, as was the name on the back of her knee. He would never tire of hearing her talk about it, and smiled as though it was his first time hearing it again. Very few subjects could spark such a light in her voice.

Rose’s fingers danced over the collection of classical orchestral arrangements. In his own hold, Arthur clutched one of his favorite Sinatra records: a replacement for the one that had fallen victim to a certain tyrant’s teething phase seven years ago.

“When my grandma gained custody of me and moved us out to Gotham was when I first started having real memories. She loved music and dance.”

A pink blush bloomed across her sweet apple dimples. She picked up an album with an arrangement of young women in identical white leotards, their tutus almost forming a cloud.

“There were a few Chanukahs where she took me to the Gotham Symphony Orchestra to see Swan Lake up in the balcony seats. Every first of the month she would make pirozhki for dinner and play her operas while I did my homework at the kitchen table.”

Her shoulders shook in laughter.

“She used to get so pissed at me for playin’ rock music and wearing lipstick once I hit high school, she’d come into my room and say, ‘Chert poberi, Rose Quinnlann, you’re making the neighbors deaf!’ And we’d drown out each other’s music from our rooms.”

The tighter her smile grew, the warmer her face glowed in the amber lights hanging above them. Arthur stood awkwardly, hobbling from one slushy shoe to the next, staining the maroon carpet.

“Are you okay?” he asked, meekly glancing at his feet.

“Yeah.” Her trembling breath didn’t indicate as such. “Every holiday just takes some gettin’ used to now, is all. I didn’t wanna spend today by myself.”

She laughed. In the quick glance he spared to her, there was mist in her eye.

“It’s the first Valentine’s Day I’ve spent with someone since she died. Usually I take a sabbatical, but now I got you. Like how ya got me since yer little girl is with her ma.”

“Yeah.”

Like a bullet, she took quick strides to get away from the classical section, leaving him several paces behind as she planted herself at the rhythm and blues section. She scoured the sleeves, not looking quite as invigorated as a few moments before.

“The …” He cleared his throat. “The orchestra is just a block away, isn’t it? Would you wanna go?”

Her shoulders dropped with a sigh.

“No, I’d like to just go home with you. Let’s play Scrabble, fuck like rabbits, and listen to our records.”

The casual use of profanity in such a setting made Arthur’s heart skip a beat. He took a venturesome step forward, pressing his lips to her temple as he saw a smile reappearing in her full lips.

“It’s Valentine’s Day, we’ll make love,” he murmured against her hair. Dropping his voice a notch as he carefully eyed the other occupied aisles, he whispered with a kiss to her cheek, “Save the fucking for midnight.”

She giggled. “You’re silly. Let’s go pay for our stuff.”

So, they did. His clearance shelf finds weren’t the worst records he’d ever gotten. He was quite pleased with himself as they left the shop with their heavy plastic bags. Carrie had complained recently that the music they danced to was “so boring, Daddy.”

“What the hell are they payin’ him to play in this weather?”

Arthur’s left shoulder knocked into Rose’s right. When the crinkle of bags and crunch of thick snow died down, Arthur followed her gaze across the street. Beneath an awning for Novelli’s – an Italian restaurant Arthur and Joss had many a times tried and failed to book for their own Valentine’s Day – a man in a heavy black coat swayed to the rhythm of his lone violin. A man and woman in more refined satin threw a few quarters into his upended top hat as they walked into the shop.

A phantom vision passed by Arthur’s eyes. His arms felt heavier with the weight of a wooden sign, his shoulders aching from dance. Sweat caked on his forehead instead of snow, which stuck to his and Rose’s lashes.

“C’mon,” she murmured, grasping his hand. “Let’s get back to the car.”

“Wait.”

She looked at him. At the soft upturn of his lips, at the gentle sway of his shoulders.

Could he help the way he moved when snow and lamplight made her look so criminally spiritual?

“You’re such an old romantic, Mr. Fleck,” she laughed. He slipped his other hand into her occupied one.

“Just listen to it.”

The freezing tip of his nose brushed a curl on her forehead as he rocked them slowly around. The chill of snow that bled through his jacket was scarcely a concern as the heat of her lithe body pressed to his chest. Her free hand found a home on his shoulder as he cupped her waist.

“It’s been a long time since you had a real dance partner, hasn’t it?” she asked.

“Maybe a bit.”

It probably looked foolish, their dancing in this weather. A few passersby certainly weren’t amused, giving them a side-eye as they careened around the pair. Arthur danced with her until he felt the love contained inside of him giving way to a tear. Then, with a squeeze of her hand, he let her lead them back to the car.

- - - -

Winter wind pricked at the nerves of Arthur’s bare skin like a million threading needles. The cigarette perched in his mouth stuck to his bottom lip as he puffed it away, the tan end dyed with Rose’s lip gloss.

She clutched him gently, a joyful peck tucked into the crook of his neck. Four fine pink lines danced across his body, where her long nails petted him from his chest to his thicket of dewy pubic hair.

After a heated game of Scrabble that left him in bashful red giggles (“I don’t give a fuck if ‘muzjiks’ is a real word, Arthur; get it off the board now!”), they had made love to Rose’s beloved rhythm and blues records for well over an hour. He let her do most of the work leading up to cool down, dancing for him and savoring the taste of each other’s chapped lips. He was only able to tease her for so long before he lost patience and sheathed himself inside her, shuddering in contentment. The intoxicating sight of her face as he hoisted her leg over his shoulder – her brows knitted, mouth open and mewling in pleasure – deprived him of all sense of rhythm and refinement. He learned some colorful Russian vocabulary as she clawed at his back.

She walked to the bathroom naked to clean up after their breathing returned to normal. He moved only to get a cigarette, stretching his arms like a tired tomcat, and to pat the sweat from his shoulders with a discarded shirt on the ground. Their clammy limbs intertwined as they retreated back to the bed, her ankle locking with his calf. His left hand relaxed behind his damp head.

He wasn’t sure how long they’d been laying together. The record had long since died off. A sired wailed in the far distance. Arthur scarcely heard it. His heartbeat ran in tandem with Rose’s melodious breaths.

“Are you glad we went out today?” she asked, digging her pointed chin into the meat of his good shoulder.

Billowing smoke like a dragon, “Have I ever told you that you’re bendy like a ballerina?”

She kissed his neck. His brow quirked, pleased that she was receptive to the compliment. Not everyone was receptive to his words like she was.

“Imagine spending every day like this.”

“Did that on my honeymoon.” An orange ember sizzled. He blew out another ashy breath, then passed it to her. “We got sore after a while and had to stop for a week.”

“Well, not every day,” she ribbed. Perching herself on her elbow, she huffed on the stick. It tickled Arthur’s nostrils as she playfully blew the cloud at him. “But every other day?”

He bit his lip, laughing. Maybe. Pulling her down, he kissed her. Mouthwash and toothpaste budded on her tongue. No more of his salt and musk after she’d greedily sucked him off.

“What if I thought of moving in here?” Rose crooned, falling back next to him. He hissed through his teeth, having enjoyed the squish of her breasts against him, her weight and body heat a perfect shield to the blade of winter air. “Just the three of us.”

The tip of her nose rode against his own as his dimples scaled into a smile. Tentative, he pushed the bushel of red curls off of her shoulder, advancing upward to cup her marble-smooth jaw. Turning on his right side, he hummed into her mouth.

“Suppose I should get you two acquainted,” he considered, warmed by her soft breathing. “I gotta get her seal of approval first.”

Arthur touched the silver bead on her lip. Her mouth stretched and her eyes teemed with anticipation.

“I’d like that very much.”

“Between you and me, I think she might adore you.”

He hoped so, for Rose’s sake. There was no feeling quite like it.

Rose staring at him like she was, though, vulnerable to his soft touches and delighted by them, was pretty satisfying as well.

She laughed. A one-syllable hitched giggle. Her nose crinkled.

“I love you, Arthur.”

He breathed deep, trying to resist the tightening piano string winding up in his chest. If he started crying it would snap. He smiled to mask it.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, kitten.”

#arthur fleck #joker 2019 #arthur fleck one shots #arthur fleck imagine #valentine's day

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gremlins-hotel · 5 months

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Post headcanons abt Arthur and his first baby you coward, you fool. The audience arrived, we are here, yet you stay silent upon the stage.

(Just joking ofc, tho id give you a kidney if you gave us some hcs abt their early days <3)

I know it's not a headcanon, but I hope this will still be satisfactory. A moment between a new father and his first son, to whom Arthur wishes the world.

“You coddle him,” came Rhys’ voice, blunt and teasing.

Arthur waved his brother’s words away. They were meaningless like wayward flecks of spume against the broad side of a ship in the face of the treasure held tight to his chest. Sleepless nights, tears, and the terror of the unknowing life. He had watched his son like a hawk for years, and the boy now grew blessedly stronger. Each time little Alfred grabbed his finger, the babe’s grip was vicelike, and Arthur knew the little chubby squish of pain was worth all his toils.

Alfred burbled up at Arthur, seeing his father’s watchful eyes glimmer, a mostly toothless smile scrunching his small face with joy.

Heart squeezing and eyes wide, Arthur knew he would endure it all again as long as that babe was laughing. Hugging the heavy bundle tighter to his chest, Arthur bounced the boy gently as he fiddled with a pocket of his coat. Life was difficult when one-handed, but he hated putting Alfred down. The troubles a baby could get into with any degree of autonomy he did not wish to imagine, not after famine and disease and blood. Alfred seemed determined to bind the world with his gums if his father allowed him, in any case, and to grab it without hesitation. There were dangers on the floor that the boy approached fearlessly. That determination. It was a good thing to have, Arthur knew, but woeful for life still so seemingly fragile.

A faint jingle answering his seeking fingers told the man he’d found his quarry. Arthur whisked the trinket from his pocket in a closed fist, the toy’s chain hanging from between two fingers. The near-sterling silver rings tinkled prettily against one another as he shook his fist above Alfred’s head. Curiosity lit the deep skies held in his son’s face like stars and Arthur couldn’t keep the soft smile from turning the corners of his mouth, shaking the chain again. Skies and stars indeed, for he had never observed someone to watch the heavens so closely at such a young age. Silently he praised the boy’s curiosity; one day it might have its questions answered if Arthur had anything to say about it. He would give that lad the sky and the seas.

Short, squishy fingers reached up for the chain, seeking the noisemaker with excitement. Arthur raised it away from his baby’s reach and took delight in seeing him try again. So he played the cat-and-mouse, jerking the prize just inches from Alfred’s grasp when he waved his hands skyward. Alfred laughed uproariously each time the toy made its metallic clinking and at seeing the smile on his father’s face. Arthur opened his fingers to reveal the rest of the shining silver toy and raised it to his mouth. One end was a sweet little whistle, which he blew quietly in the face of the babe. A high, windy note spiraled out into the air between them and Alfred laughed again, his entire face bright and bold. It made the boy redouble his efforts.

Arthur finally acquiesced, lowering his hand enough for those ferocious fingers to grip the tiny silver rings and tug. Once more Alfred’s burgeoning strength shot a bolt of pride through the man’s chest. With reluctant fingers he allowed the toy to drop into his son’s happy hands. Little curved talons, blunt by youth, curled around the moon-bright metal like a hunting bird content with its catch. The babe brought the whistle end to his soft mouth and immediately made to teethe on the silver. Tiny puffs of breath made the whistle sing and stutter, and Alfred’s eye glimmered happily, gazing up at Arthur as though he’d hung the heavens. Quickly he slobbered on the toy, but Arthur couldn’t help but feel enraptured by his son, drool or not.

Having forgotten the watching eyes beside him, it was Rhys’ voice that broke his reverie. “You ordered the coral, after all? No measure too small.”

Arthur blinked, looking up and away, then back to the toy in his son’s burbling mouth. The opposite end of the whistle had a stub of red, red coral from lands far away, polished to a beautiful shine. It was worth it to him. Anything to keep winding spirits and the fey away from his boy who had already suffered enough. No measure too small.

“Someday he will not need it, I hope.”

#callsign gremlin checking in #papa echo november #arthur kirkland // salt wind and green garden #alfred f. jones // daring to fly #arthur & alfred // a king and his crown #hetalia #aph america #aph england #hws america #hws england #alfred f jones #arthur kirkland

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five-miles-over · 2 years

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Yandere!Arthur Fleck Headcanons

TW: Stalking, intrusion/breaking in, obsessive/controlling behavior, possible violence

A/N: Thank you to the anon who requested this. I hope you like it!

Arthur Fleck is definitely a jealous, obsessive type of yandere.

Due to his job(s), Arthur wouldn't be able to keep a constant eye on each and every move of yours.

Still he would find a way to let you know that he was always watching you.

After following you to your workplace/school once, he would make a habit of leaving you small notes there. The notes would be things such as "I'm watching you <3" or "You our so pretty" or "Can't wate to marry you :) "

How did it all begin, you ask? Well, it all started when you showed up at his doorstep on a plain Thursday night. An envelope - perhaps a bill - addressed to one "Arthur Fleck" was delivered to you by accident. So, you took it to the address listed on the bill, and found yourself face-to-face with the tall, green-eyed, thin man.

You gently told him what had happened, handed him the bill, and politely bid him goodnight.

Taken aback by your willingness to do the right thing, Arthur became intrigued with you. After you left, he wanted nothing more than to see you again.

The next day, you met Arthur by accident at Pogo's, a comedy club within Gotham. Drinking a bottle of inexpensive liquor or beer, you sat at a table alone...when all of a sudden, you saw Arthur take the stage.

His jokes were...fair. You liked some of the things he said about his schooling. So out of support, you laughed along with him with the best grin that you could muster.

You thought it was just harmless encouragement. But to Arthur, that was the confirmation to solidify what he already believed: you were made for him, that you were an angel sent from heaven to bring him joy in this dreary life of his. And that he could never let you be hurt by anyone, including himself.

Much of what Arthur did was...rather tame. In addition to leaving you notes, he would surprise you while you were on the way back from work/school. He'd give you a spontaneous song-and-dance routine, something inspired from an old film or one of his jobs as Carnival.

When he had a little extra money, he would leave a cheap, small box of chocolates or candies at your workplace. Along with a crude drawing of you and him as stick figures, holding hands surrounded by hearts.

It was easier not to take it personally, even though something in your gut felt very, very wrong about Arthur. He needed help, he needed a professional intervention from a therapist far better than the shoddy ones in the city. Still, a part of you thought that maybe he was just having a little crush, and that it would pass.

But everything changed one Saturday night. It was after the famous talk show host Murray Franklin was assassinated on live television by a comedian known as the "Joker" wearing a colorful costume and clown makeup.

Coincidentally, Arthur was mysteriously gone from you life. He was nowhere near you, much to your surprise. Relieved a little, you relaxed in your apartment with your favorite comfort food and a feel-good television show.

Just then, there was a knock. A familiar voice, calling your name.

Annoyed, you opened the door with a huff. "Arthur, how the hell did you- " At your door stood the same man who killed Murray Franklin, clown makeup dripping in all of its maniacal glory.

"There's no one to stop me now, doll," the Joker sweetly spoke, entering your apartment with a confident stride. "We can finally be together."

You trembled, trying to think of an escape route, any way to get out of this situation. "Arthur, please..."

The Joker slammed your door shut, and turned the lock. "I'm not him anymore, doll. I'm your world now. And don't even bother calling the police..." He pulled out a gun from his pocket and fired two shots at the door, causing you to scream.

"Now, now..." the Joker knelt, stroking your cheek with his thumb. "I'm not going to hurt you. You're mine, remember?"

#arthur fleck headcanons #joaquin phoenix #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck #arthur x reader #yandere male #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #joker arthur fleck #joker 2019 #yandere arthur fleck #yandere joker

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into-crazy · 1 year

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destiny’s masterlist♡

• ° ❁ • ° ❁ ° • ❁ ° • ❁

Hello there~ Here, you can find all of my published works wrapped into one list!! I'll be sure to keep it updated as I go along. Thank you for reading!! Enjoy~

I currently have works for the following characters: TDK Joker, Arthur Fleck/Joker, Pennywise(2017), Johnny Abbot, and Negan Smith.

Works containing NSFW/SMUT material are marked with **

Joker - The Dark Knight

More to the Madness - Joker x Female Reader series // details within**

horror and chill - one shot // You and J watch a scary movie.. you don't finish it**

tender - drabble // You're self-conscious about the small size of your breasts, J assures and comforts you in his own way.

pussy is mine - one shot // The Joker is feeling extra possessive and gets you off in front of his henchmen**

juicy - drabble // You share a mango cup with J.

dance for you - one shot // You sing and dance to dirty songs. J catches you, then you dance for him.

nights like this - drabble // You snuggle with J.

Headcanons

J and a female s/o with long hair**

J and a s/o that plays video games

little something - J gifts you stilettos

short girl problems - J and a short s/o

Being intimate with J on your period**

spending your birthday with J

❧

Arthur Fleck/Joker - Joker

Man Under the Makeup - AF/Joker x Female Reader series // details within**

comforting touches - drabble // Joker is there to help relieve your pms pains.

soft soothing love - drabble // You rub some lotion on Arthur's hands.

no better love - one shot // You start to question if you're good enough for Joker, to which he reminds you that you are**

lace and cigarettes - drabble // Joker watches you dance, which leads to something steamy**

be my valentine - drabble // Valentine’s day with Arthur.

Headcanons

dress stays on - You wear a pretty dress**

AF/Joker and female s/o with long hair**

❧

Pennywise - IT (2017)

Derry's Secret - Pennywise x Female Reader series // details within**

Bob Gray nsfw thoughts - drabble**

Headcanons

celebrating your birthday with Pennywise

Pennywise and a reader that owns a cat

❧

Johnny Abbot - Sweet Tooth

Headcanons

dating Johnny Abbot would include

❧

Negan Smith - The Walking Dead

don't wanna miss a thing - AU!Negan Smith x Female Reader series // details within

❧

I do not own the photos attached here and in each piece but they have been edited by me unless stated otherwise

#into-crazy #heath ledger joker #ledger!joker #ledger joker #ledger joker x reader #the dark night #arthur fleck #arthur x reader #joker x reader #joker 2019 #pennywise #pennywise x reader #it 2017 #johnny abbot #sweet tooth netflix #negan smith #negan x reader #the walking dead #fanfic

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jokeringcutio · 8 months

Note

Arthur saving reader with the building exploding headcanon but as a drabble please?

Finally got around to it. Hope you enjoy :) ♥ READER BEING RESCUED BY JOKERRRRR ♥ The Rescue – Reader x Arthur Fleck/Joker Short Ficlet: Fandom: Joker 2019 Predominately. Rating: Mature (Mention of smut&Themes) Warnings: Dark themes, mention of violence, Reader is kidnapped, Reader is bait, established Reader x Joker relationship, threats of violence and non-con (not actually taking place), threats of mutilation, guns, knives, blood, not beta-read. Summary: The Reader is held as bait in an abandoned warehouse. Joker comes to her rescue.

The Rescue:

“Not gonna smile for me, honey?” The man’s lecherous smirk was more than enough to make your stomach twist. If your hands hadn’t been tied, you would have smacked him across the cheek, just to slap that awful grin off his face.

The tall and broadly built stranger sat opposite of you on an empty crate. Wherever he got it from, you could only hazard a guess. It was the only item in this damp hall. An empty, abandoned warehouse covered in dust and grime. You hoped there was no asbestos in the dirt. The ceiling boards were hanging, holes pierced the roofs, and walls were crumbling. And there you were, seated on your knees in a wet puddle of leaked-in rain, hands tied behind your back.

Sneering at the man in front of you.

The big one seemed to be the leader as he did most of the talking. He was smirking down at you in a way that sent shivers of fright down your spine. His gaze promised nothing good. Just lecherous intent that you wish you would not be able to read so openly on his face. Would he do it? Would he actually touch you like that if the others wouldn’t be here?

“You’re disgusting,” you said, voice more like a snarl. The man merely laughed as if your insult meant nothing to him.

“Funny. No humor in this girl at all,” your kidnapper said with a bitter chuckle. “Not what I expected from the famous Joker’s girlfriend.” He clicked his tongue and gave you a sidelong glance, as if he were studying you. His gaze made you feel icky, dirty, and you pressed your lips into a defiant thin line while you glared at him. If only looks could kill.

Behind you, his henchmen were laughing. Another dent to your ego. But what did they know? If they had any brains at all then they would have known the trouble they had gotten themselves into. Apparently, they were all nitwitted, dumb criminals.

“To think he didn’t carve her up,” a woman’s voice sounded. She was standing behind the man in front of you, huddled in the meager shadows of the empty hall. There was a small smile on her lips, but it wasn’t one of joy. It was bitter, filled with disdain. Her eyes glinted dangerously when she raised her head to look straight at you, eyes locking.

“Heh,” she chuckled, though it sounded forced and not like she was enjoying the joke at all. “Missed opportunity if you ask me.”

You studied her in silence and wondered who she was to sound so embittered. One of Joker’s many enemies, you thought. He had so many, you didn’t know who they all were. He was Gotham’s number-one villain, after all. The man in the headlines, always getting away with every vile deed he did.

“I take it you are not a fan…” you sneered at her, not able to hide the acid in your voice.

Her lips curled but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. She slowly made her way toward you, step for carefully measured step.

“Admirer more like,” she corrected you. “I think his work is very inspiring. Especially after having seen it up close.”

She came to a halt in front of you, even surpassing her leader, and then bent down to meet you at eye level. Her hand shot up, surprising you as she grabbed your chin, her nails digging into your skin.

“Look at you,” she murmured, nearly lovingly. “Think he’ll be sad to see his favorite toy all torn up?”

With as much force as you could gather you jerked your head out of her grip and growled, teeth showing like a wild animal trapped in a cage. “I’m not his toy.”

“No,” she nearly instantly confirmed, catching you off guard. Then she leaned backward and rose to her feet again. You watched her in silence, dumbfounded by the sudden shift in her behavior. Was she going to leave you alone?

“No,” she said again. “I am sure you mean much more to him than that.” She took silent steps away until she returned to her previous spot, lurking in the shadows of the hall.

Now the villain in front of you rose from the empty crate and stepped closer to you. His thumb stroked past your cheek, making you flinch while you tried to pull your head away. It was of no use though. His dirty thumb stuck between the corner of your lips, making you taste the dirt and grime and the salt of his unwashed skin.

“I would have expected you to smile for me, sweetheart,” he cooed, deliberately trying to draw your ire. “Isn’t that what your boyfriend is famous for?” The way he stretched that word, ‘boyfriend’, it made your heart fill with rage. So patronizing, so demeaning. As if Arthur wasn’t worthy of carrying that title.

The thumb left the corner of your lips and you spat at the ground. A thick glob of saliva, but at least the sickening taste of him was gone.

“You keep your hands away from me,” you snarled, the sound of your own voice like that of a stranger’s. You’d never heard yourself this angry and this desperate before. So full of rage. “He’ll come for me.”

“Oh,” the big man crooned, happily even. “I am hoping for it. After all, the only reason you are still alive is because we need you as our bait.”

And then he leaned over you, enveloping you in his shadow and the stench of his breath and sweat. “But we could always have a little fun before your boyfriend gets here,” his voice dropped even lower while you tried to control your own breathing. Not too fast, not too deep. Don’t show him your fear.

“I could just fuck you here and now. Don’t care if the boys are watching. Let me stretch you real good and then carve a fucking nice smile on those lovely cheeks of yours.”

The cold steel of a knife against your cheek caught you by surprise, and for a short moment, you found yourself unable to breathe. Where had he got that from? You had not seen him reach for it. The tip of the blade pressed against the corner of your lips, where earlier his thumb had been. Then it traced lightly past your lips to the other side.

“Don’t think I’ll keep it to just your pretty face. Once I’m done with you I’ll carve you up nice and pretty for the Joker to find. Give him a bit of a show. What do you say, eh, love?”

“Do it,” the woman behind him sneered. “Rip her open. See how he’ll act when he finds her carved up like that. Like he did to my sister.”

Sister, you thought alerted. So this was revenge, you realized. Revenge because Arthur had hurt someone. And now her family had come to return the favor.

“She’s just bait,” the woman added. “Never said she had to be in mint condition upon being returned.”

You glowered at her, wishing she would take a step out of the shadows so you could see her face and quite possibly wipe the smirk off of it. The smirk that you imagined to be there. She sounded way too smug.

Instead, the big man caught your attention again.

“Carve a nice smile onto that pretty face of yours. How do you think he would feel about that? His work being imitated. A copycat.”

Your eyes lit up in anger. “So that is it. Pathetic,” the snort that escaped you was anything but gallant. But at least your reply had the big man take a step back. The knife now hung loosely against your skin, not pressing into it any longer, while he looked at you expectingly.

“You’re just jealous,” you concluded, seeing how the man’s eyes darkened with rage. But you had hit a spot there, you were certain of it. “You’re jealous because Joker gets all the attention nowadays.”

And that must be it, you thought with a shock. The woman had personal revenge as a motive, but you had a sneaky suspicion that she wasn’t part of the male gang. That somehow, they were in it for the money.

These minor criminals tried to get their hands on you to lure your lover in. But they would not get the outcome that they wanted. Joker was not someone to trifle with. And as a matter of fact, neither were you.

“How often do we read about minor criminals in the daily mail?” you said, not allowing the man in front of you to say something in his defense. “How often have you and your men been in the news recently? Judging by the fact I have no idea who you guys are I’ll hazard a guess and say: never.”

Oh, to feel the anger radiate from the men surrounding you, overpowering you. It felt delicious. You had them, you were riling them up.

“I bet it eats you to know that no matter how much effort you put into your crimes, you’ll never reach the front page. Because my boyfriend is on there, stealing the limelight when he robs another bank or outsmarts an entire police force.”

They had fallen silent. And good riddance, you thought, suddenly feeling mightier than you had before. You took the liberty to rise to your feet, the knife too loose to hurt you as you got up. You felt the dirt that clung to your knees, the wet dribble of the stale rain as it dripped down your shins. But you felt more glorious in this moment than you ever had. Strong and confident, you lifted your head until your eyes met those of your captor. A small smirk played on your lips, no doubt it was unlike the smile he had wanted to carve there.

“He is coming,” you sang-sung, all set on vexing your captor as much as you could. “He is coming and you aren’t going to like what he’ll do.”

The slap was hard, the sound echoed through the empty hall. You looked up at your captor with eyes wide, hardly believing that he had actually hit you. It took you a moment to realize that you were back on the floor, hands behind your back, knees hurting from the fall onto the broken concrete floor. You looked up at the man, dazed, and then suppressed a chuckle. Why were you being this silly? All you had to do was stay alive until Arthur would come and rescue you. Surely you could do that?

Why then taunt them until it drives them to violence? What good would that do you?

“Listen, you little bitch,” the big man in front of you groused. His hand formed a fist around your throat while he brought the knife back to your cheek. You struggled as he lifted you up, feet dangling just an inch above the floor, but it was enough. Even with your toes stretched, you couldn’t reach it. You were choking.

Desperate to find a way out of his hold, your eyes darted to your surroundings. There was the woman, smirking. “Fuck her till she bleeds,” the woman snarled, increasing the hate you felt for her tenfold. You heard the men behind you cheer. Obscene words filled the otherwise empty hallway, their echoes reminders in your ears of what they wanted to do to you, how they viewed you, what they thought.

You felt your mind growing dizzy while tears blurred your eyes. You were left gasping, your fingers twitching behind your back eager to try and pry his fingers apart so you could breathe again. But your hands were still tied, you could not reach for him.

His grip was relentless and unyielding.

Slowly, the last of your oxygen was leaving you and your vision started to sway.

Too much, it was too much. You felt the big man press his body against yours, his hot shaft poked through his pants and into your thigh. “I’ll ride you like a ferry wheel ride,” the man groused in your ear. “Take you for a round or two then hand you down to my friends till they get tired of the sloppy ride.” And then, when all hope was leaving your body, you saw the bright light behind him.

The woman spun around in shock, no longer embraced by the darkness.

He’s here.

You instantly knew it was him, before even seeing him. The small smile that curled your lips came, involuntarily, all on its own accord. The hand that had held you released you and you dropped to the hard concrete floor for a second time that day.

He was the first one you saw entering the room to rescue you. His red suit a bright dot against the white light from outside and the bleak greyness of the walls. The dirt crunched underneath his feet, his cigarette in hand while his green eyes sought out the display in front of him.

“Well,” the words came out croaked, as if Arthur hadn’t had any water to drink in a long while. Lips parched, make-up on it cracked, you watched with fascination as he spoke. “Seems you’ve got something of mine.”

His eyes were heavy and full of emotions that could barely be contained. You could see by the way he clenched his jaw that he was trying to keep his composure, cheeks hollow as he observed the men and the woman in front of him. But he kept his calm, standing there without twitching, voice unquavering and audible for all to hear.

“I should like it back.”

“It,” you heard the woman hiss under her breath. “Told you she was merely a toy.”

Joker’s eyes flashed to her side dangerously. If he had been in a forgiving mood, which you heavily doubted, she had now ruined any chances of survival completely.

At least the big man had let go of you and took a step away, stepping in front of you as if to shield you from Joker’s eyes. He spread his arms, obscuring you from your boyfriend’s sight even more. He shouldn’t have come a second later.

“You want your girl back,” the big man began, “you’re going to have to make a deal with us.”

Behind you, you heard some of the men suck in their breaths. And quite right so, you thought. Looking past the big man’s legs, you saw Arthur standing in the bright light that came from outside. Unmoving, like a statue. It was hard to read his expression. Not because he lacked emotion, but because he was so full of it. His left hand rested in his pocket, his right held the cigarette. Smoke curled up from the tip, adding only to the ethereal visage he had become while standing so quietly in the light.

After a silence that seemed to stretch on for too long, the big man finally took another step forward, eager to say something else, when Arthur finally turned his head to him.

“Is that so?” was all he asked. The implication was clear. He wasn’t keen to do business with the criminals that were now slowly starting to circle him. He wasn’t threatened by the amount of guns that were pointed at him, ever so slowly, or the amount of knives that were revealed in the henchmen’s hands.

He was swifter than any of them had suspected, and before you could blink, the sound of gunshots echoed through the hall. A few walls crumbled and now held fresh holes in them. But Arthur was fast.

He nimbly avoided the shots, only had to step aside really, and with such a graceful movement it seemed like a dance. Behind him, his own henchmen emerged, armed to the teeth. They did not hesitate and started to fire. You instantly dropped to the floor and squeezed your eyes shut. But it seemed like no bullets came raking past you. Almost as if everyone knew not to aim at you.

The big man fell down to his knees, wounded by a bullet to his side. His hands reached for the wound. The blood came seeping through his fingers while he looked at his fingers with eyes wide. You watched how Joker came to stand behind him. Calm and collected. The big man’s henchmen were too busy fighting for their lives, they could not be bothered rescuing their leader.

Joker’s legs spread as he stabilized himself behind his victim. You would have thought he’d gone for the gun, but he reached for the big man’s knife instead.

So he wanted to make him suffer, you thought? And a cruel smile spread on your lips once more.

Your face was roughly pushed down against the floor before you could enjoy the moment any longer. One of the big man’s henchmen had the nerve to have come up behind you, a gun to your head. You felt the nuzzle press against your hair while you sputtered to breathe.

“It’s over, Joker,” the man behind you groused. “Lower the knife or I swear to God, I’ll blow her brains out.”

All you remember is that you tried to peek, that you tried to raise your head from the floor just to catch a glimpse of how Arthur was responding to the threat. You could see him. Calm and collected, slowly turning away from the big man who was gurgling at this point though you did not know if it was because of the bullet or if Arthur had gotten to him with the knife.

And then, a bright light.

You could breathe again. The heavy weight pressing upon you was lifted. The sound of a fist connecting with skin, of bones snapping, of the man who had tried to threaten you crying out before he was forever silenced. A sharp loud cry of the woman as she begged not to suffer the same fate as her sister. Joker must have gotten to her then, you realized. And he was taking his revenge.

A beat of silence.

And then the feeling of warm arms embracing you. Familiar. Kind. Safe.

His face came into your vision. The colorful lines curved upward into a genuine smile of relief and love.

You grasped Joker’s jacket, resting your cheek against his chest while you nuzzled your nose against the fabric to take in his scent. It brought comfort to you. You’d never felt safer than here in his embrace.

He carried you, bridal style, for everyone to see, away from this horrific nightmare. A clear signal was given that day that no one should touch Joker’s girl. Journalists outside captured the scene as Joker walked away, calmly, committed, with you resting in his arms. With him looking down at you, a warm smile curling his lips.

It felt surreal, but at the same time, you knew this was truly happening. While gunshots surrounded you and screams continued, Arthur carried you out of the wrecked building.

Behind you, the gunshots quieted down. You heard footsteps and saw how Arthur’s men rushed out of the building. They knew that if they were too slow, Joker wouldn’t wait for them.

And they were right.

Behind you, the abandoned warehouse exploded in a light show of fireworks.

Joker made the front page again. This time with you in his arms.

-- AN: Might write a different fill later on for the same prompt :) But at least it has me getting back on track. There are still some more prompts pending so expect more in the near future.

#arthur fleck x female reader #arthur fleck x you #joker x reader #joker x you #you x reader #reader insert #in love with a villain #reader being rescued #read the warnings

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these-written-reveries · 1 year

Text

Arthur Fleck/Phoenix!Joker Masterlist

Main Masterlist

• Unless specified, all writings are character x gn!reader (gender-neutral).

• NSFW/Smut writings will be tagged (18+). Minors, please DNI.

• Have an idea for a fic you’d like me to write? Send me a request here. But first, make sure to read my Request Info!

• If you’d like to join the tag list for Arthur Fleck/P!Joker, or be tagged in all of my future writings, let me know by sending me an ask/message!

*Masterlist Created: 4/9/23

*Last Updated: 4/9/23

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Arthur Fleck

F=fluff, A=angst, (18+)=smut/nsfw

One Shots:

These Foolish Things (F)

‣Summary: A peek into Y/N and Arthur’s day as they notice all the little things that remind them of each other…

By Your Side (F, A)

‣Summary: You forget to call Arthur to let him know you’ll be working late, which results in Arthur spiraling into a breakdown after convincing himself you left him.

Just You and Me (F, A)

‣Summary: You show up at Arthur’s door, struggling and in desperate need of him and his love. Don’t worry, Arthur will take good care of you.

The Spark (F)

‣Summary: After years of searching and failing to find ‘the spark’ that lovers always talked about, you began to think it wasn’t a real possibility for you. That was, until you stumbled into a man by the name of Arthur Fleck.

Series:

Prompts:

Headcanons:

Drabbles:

‣ Sharing Your Deepest/Darkest Thoughts w/Arthur

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Phoenix!Joker

F=fluff, A=angst, (18+)=smut/nsfw

One Shots:

Series:

Prompts:

Headcanons:

Drabbles:

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck masterlist #arthur fleck x reader #joker masterlist #joker x reader #phoenix!joker #p!joker #joker 2019 #arthur fleck x y/n #joker x y/n #arthur fleck fanfiction #joker fanfiction #arthur fleck imagine #joker imagine #arthur fleck fluff #arthur fleck angst #kalistawrites #k.masterlist

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bruniciobrunaldo · 10 days

Text

Hello, my name is Bruno, I'm 21 and I'm trying to get back on track with writing (also lost my old account) I'm thinking of using this account to express my love for all the fictional characters I love (not only Ash)

Either way, I write for different fandoms, being my thing writing for male readers and readers under the trans umbrella mostly

Who I write for

Slashers

Michael Myers (RZ's too)

Jason Vorhees

Freddy Krueger

Candyman

Leatherface (Bubba Sawyer)

Leatherface (Thomas Hewitt)

Chop Top Sawyer

Nubbins Sawyer

Pinhead

Billy Lenz

Ghostface (Billy Loomis, Stu Macher and Mickey Altieri)

Brahms Heelshire

Vincent Sinclair

Bo Sinclair

Lester Sinclair

Pennywise (1991 and 2017)

Leslie Vernon

Josef (Creep)

Kurt Kunkle

Norman Bates

Martin (1977)

The Creeper (Creepers Jeepers)

Albert Shaw/The Grabber

Marvel

Steve Rogers/Captain America

Bucky Barnes

Bruce Banner

Loki

Mantis

Nebula

Peter Quill/Starlord

Scott Lang/Ant-man

Deadpool

Quicksilver (any)

Jack Russell

Steven Grant

Arthur Harrow

Khonshu

Peter Parker (any)

Doc Ock (Olivia or Otto)

Hobie Brown

Gwen Stacy

George Stacy

Miles Morales

Pavitr Prabhakar

The Spot

(movie or series versions)

Bruce Wayne/Batman

Edward Nygma

Edward Nashton

Arthur Fleck

Joker (Ledger)

Oswald Cobblepot

Jonathan Crane

Abner Krill (Polka Dot-Man)

Harley Quinn

Barry Allen/Flash (movie only)

Ratcatcher 2

Rick Flag

Chris Smith/Peacemaker

Adrian Chase/Vigilante

Disney

Quasimodo

Judge Frollo

Dr. Facilier

Scar

Lottie LaBouf

Jim Hawkins

Madrigal family

Dead by Daylight

David King

Jeff Johanssen

Ace Visconti

Jane Romero

Kate Denson

Felix Richter

Mikaela Reid

Vittorio Toscano

The Trapper

The Nurse

The Doctor

The Huntress

The Legion

Oni

Trickster

Skull Merchant

Other characters

Ash Williams

Carrie White

Dewey Riley

Robert Van Helsing

Coach Boomer

Jareth The Goblin King

Willy Wonka (Chalamet's)

Renfield

Dracula

The Janitor (Willy's Wonderland)

Steve Harrington

Eddie Munson

Jonathan Byers

Dewey Finn

Beetlejuice (Keaton's)

Hellboy

Abe Sapiens

Prince Nuada

Mostly for nsfw purposes (mainly monsters)

Yes!

One-shots

Hcs

Drabbles

Nsfw

Freaky nsfw (the monsterfucker kind)

Gore

No!

Long fics

Omegaverse

Scat/Puke

#my writing #headcanon #slasher headcanons #ash williams #halloween #michael myers #jason voorhees #marvel #dcau #across the spiderverse #writing #steve harrington #eddie munson

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sanityshorror · 1 year

Note

May I have some Julius facts plz?

- 🧸

Of course, always 👀 I hope these interest you, feel free to ask for more information if you like >∆<

Julius Doherty (Julius the Dressmaker) facts:

In default, Julius speaks in a very formal, concise and authoritative manner, however, it's simultaneously incoherent and often leaves one with more questions than answers.

On the topic of giving answers, for those who haven't caught on with Julius's RP blog (@juliusthedressmaker), he will often be both very blatant with what he is telling you but in a manner where one must read between the lines a bit to understand his full intentions with his words. When it comes to Julius, what may be a very serious threat could be read as just a harmless statement at face value.

Julius also isn't prone to so much outright lie as he will simply dance around things, give vague or non-answers, flip the card on whom he's speaking with, or choose to sidetrack and distract.

However, he does absolutely lie. A lot. Nothing Julius tells you should be taken as a truth. It doesn't mean it's always a lie, and sometimes, Julius isn't even aware he's lying.

As for further interactions with Julius, he tends to be very polite but will add a very condescending, "you know?" to many of his statements, making others feel stupid and/or beneath him.

Julius is extremely erratic and unpredictable. What could be a calm situation one day might turn nuclear the next day, there's no rhyme or reason.

Well, the actual reason is Julius has bipolar-1 and suffers from chronic mania. The near-constant manic state plays a huge factor in his extreme detachment from and his utter lack of grip on reality.

Julius's pocket dimension of hell and the way it functions is actually a metaphor for addiction - this will be obvious in the near future (; keep your eyes peeled for TDMFH pt2

The metaphor is very fitting for Julius, who is in fact, canonically an alcoholic and drug addict. His drug of choice is cocaine. This fact explains many of his behaviors. (I've always been very open with the information but I'm unsure how many are actually aware of it.)

Some other random fun facts:

Julius loves guns, he's an excellent shot as well (what does one expect from a man who was born in 1874? He has the skill sets that a man from his time would have.)

His favorite bands are Hollywood Undead and Falling in Reverse.

He usually wears oversized tee shirts to lounge/relax in. You won't catch him in lazy clothes often, but when you do, it's nearly always an oversized tee shirt

Julius is not an idiot, he's actually very intelligent and capable…he just needs to want to learn/do something. If he is uninterested nor does it not serve him an overall gain (in contrast to time spent learning), he simply will choose not to learn. Yes, he does lack a lot of general common knowledge, but again, this is by his own choice.

Julius is just Joker if Joker was born in 1874 /j.

He does love the film Joker 2019, however. Julius relates to Arthur Fleck in a lot of ways, and he just can recognize a good movie when he sees one.

Yes, yes he does constantly quote and make reference to the movie and yes, it absolutely drives Killian to his wits end

"How bout another joke, kill-ehyyyy?"

#creepypasta #julius the dressmaker #🧸 anon

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lankylordoflevity · 1 year

Note

What kick-started your interest in Joker? Have you always been a fan, or did something particular happen to make you notice and/or identify with him for the first time?

Hi anon! Thank you for the question!

The first Batman media I ever consumed was actually Joker (2019). Before then, I always avoided media in the superhero genre because I’m not a big fan of movies/comics with overblown action and/or fantasy elements. But my partner convinced me to give Joker a shot because I am a huge fan of psychological horror and gritty realism. Lo and behold, I was absolutely blown away by the film! Even though I now strongly prefer other interpretations of the Joker’s character, Joker still holds a very special place in my heart for several personal reasons I will place under the cut, because I know not everyone signed up for personal blogging on their dash:

I have treatment-resistant mental health problems, and I identified a lot with Arthur Fleck’s character. I know what it feels like to bounce from medication to medication and see little to no effects. I also know what it feels like to spend hours in the offices of mental health professionals who don’t know how to help me, and what it’s like to feel abandoned by the healthcare system. Joker made me feel seen at a very desperate time in my life, and I immediately latched on to the film and the character.

As I started to branch out into other forms of Batman media like the comics (Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth was one of the first Batman comics that really stuck out to me), I started to identify with the Joker even more. Everything from his abstract, undefinable weirdness to his queer rage to his existential dread seemed to speak to me directly. I struggle to identify with other people because I have a hard time feeling at home in any particular boxes; even when I’m with other queer people, other neurodivergent people, etc., I have a hard time relating. So, seeing a character whose entire schtick is being undefinable and unrelatable felt relatable to me, especially in the realms of sexuality and gender. As I’ve already kind of touched upon, I also know what it’s like to feel like some weird kind of enigma to therapists and doctors.

His character also just happens to align with a lot of my interests. I’m studying psychology and philosophy in school (with plans to continue my studies down the delightful road of ~academia~), and he has deep ties to both fields. I love that there’s this debate with his character as to whether he is actually insane or some form of “super sane”, which makes you question what it means to be sane in the first place (I’d argue that he is both simultaneously - maybe I’ll write a meta about it some day). I also love that there’s this nature-nurture debate in the form of not knowing where he came from, what created the Joker as we know him today, and the question of whether it even matters in the first place. There’s so many other things about him that interest me, like his fourth wall breaking (awareness about the true - and fictional - nature of his existence?), shifty personal identity (is a consistent sense of self an illusion? is he understanding something we don’t by embracing a constant state of becoming?), etc., but I could literally go on for days. :)

I’m sorry if that was longer or more personal than you bargained for, anon! I really enjoy talking about why I identify with Joker so much/why he is so important/interesting to me in the first place. I don’t know if I would go as far as saying that he saved my life, but finally having something to turn to that made me feel seen - at a time when I was genuinely beginning to think that the world simply wasn’t made for people like me - pulled me out of a very dark place and helped me in ways that more traditional mental health treatments didn’t.

Anon, if you’re also a Joker enjoyer™, and you’d like to share what initially interested you in his character or made you identify with him, I would be very interested in hearing it! He’s a very special and deeply personal character to a lot of us; if he wasn’t, we wouldn’t be running entire blogs dedicated to him. That goes for anyone who has read this far into this post, too. Since there’s so much hate and stigma attached to his character, I think it’s important that some of us talk about why he is so important to us in the first place, even if it’s just because we find him interesting. Not everything is black and white - great things can come from the existence of horrible characters - and I think Tumblr has a hard time understanding that concept sometimes. :’)

#personal #my incoherent thoughts and ramblings #joker

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signed-yours-truly-the-whale · 1 year

Text

Cheek to Cheek

Thank you to @pumpkinpowder

And thank you to Todd for the inspiration to give Arthur a better memory of shaving

“Oh, for Christ’s – Joss?”

Arthur waited, padding his feet awkwardly from one tile to the next. A faint echo on the peachy shower wall threw his voice right back to him.

“Joss?” he called out again.

There was a soft grunt. Canned laughter from their living room television succeeded the thudding of her swollen feet on the floor. She appeared in the doorway of the bathroom, staring at him as if she didn’t notice her own shallow breathing.

“You okay?” she asked.

He held the razor marginally tighter in his hand, cursing himself for asking for her. She didn’t have the same mobility as she had before he went to the hospital. Everything took a minute more now. As of yesterday, she’d started to embrace “the hillbilly look” and allowed the swell of her belly to be free of her clothes, the hems of her shirts bunched up under her breasts and her trousers unbuttoned. The maternity dresses his mother had dropped off sat in the corner of their closet floor.

Her blue nails thrummed against the doorway, on the patch of peeling white paint.

“My hand, it’s …” he stammered. “I’m shaking too much to hold the razor still. Could you – help me?”

Maybe he was naïve – the past few months had been too burdensome to color him optimistic – but he could have sworn he saw the smallest half-smile pinch a dimple into her cheek.

“Sit down,” she said.

He rested on the toilet seat, hiking his foot up on the bathtub for a more comfortable position. The bathroom wasn’t the most accommodating for two people. He couldn’t even think of three.

A soft finger encouraged him to tilt his head back. The bulbs above the mirror cast a halo over his wife, looking down at him through the field of blonde hair covering her shoulders. The refrain of ‘C’est La Vie’ across her chest was partially obscured.

If this was the sight which he was to see when his life was slipping out of his clutch, he may have followed wherever it led.

“Thank you,” he said softly. He pursed his lips as a dollop of shaving cream was spread across his face.

“I’m your wife,” she said simply, washing her hand of the residue foam. “I miss touching you – even in ways that don’t make a baby.”

He exhaled through his nose as the razor started to roar. Her fingers holding him still briefly distracted him from the buzz against his throat. Her thumb stroked his forehead at the apex of his hairline.

“Those old razors we had sold for a good price at Flasky’s pawn shop. I got this for six dollars and those new shoes for you for three.”

The leather ones without laces he saw at the foot of the bed. He hummed in acknowledgement.

His hand gravitated, maybe a little consciously, to the mound of her stomach once she’d finished shaving the underside of his jaw. She scoffed.

“What do we still need for her?” he asked.

Usually, he was of the firm opinion that their little troublemaker was going to surprise its mother and turn out to be a boy. Tonight, though, the word girl soothed his tired head.

Joss hovered the razor over his right cheek, killing the sound.

“I don’t want to stress you out, Art – the doctor said it’s important to take your time.”

“I won’t get stressed out.”

That was a lie. But she was fast approaching, and the doctors had drilled into his head the importance of pushing his limits a little every day.

He stared at her stomach, etching a foamy kiss on the space that his hand had occupied. Joss laughed.

“This isn’t conductive to a proper shave, Mr. Fleck.”

“I don’t care.”

A patch of foam smeared on her belly where he rested his left cheek. The razor clicked on again, and Joss shaved the right side of his jaw.

“Your mom wants to take me to Twice as Nice,” she stated. “She has a few extra dollars to splurge from her last paycheck and she wants to buy more clothes; I keep telling her to buy yellows instead of blues, but she won’t listen.”

“Mm.”

She curled a few strands of hair behind his ear, edging the razor closer.

“We still need a crib; that’s the big one. I don’t wanna squish her in our bed.”

“Yup.”

“Are you listening to me, Fleck?”

The warmth of her skin against his retreated. He looked up at her raised brow, trying to stifle a laugh at the white mush on her stomach.

“Is she awake?” he asked. She rolled her eyes, huffing. More shaving cream on her palm, again spread on his cheek.

“No, she tired herself out doing flips since ten this morning.”

He closed his eyes, smiling as the razor glided on his cheek.

- - - -

The hot commodity of seasonings was few and far between when rent crept on the precipice.

Arthur let himself be a little selfish with the salted butter on his baked potato if Joss insisted on taking the last of the sour cream. Having the records on in the corner of the living room made dinner, he supposed, a little less … pathetic.

On their dining table, Joss laid one hand down. The other hand cradled her chin in between her bites of dinner.

Arthur could barely keep his eyes on Murray Franklin. Neither the man’s new graying haircut nor steaming baked potatoes were as intoxicating as Joss’s fingers curling on the table doily, or her eyes glittering as she stared at the moon through their kitchen window.

When he took hold of her hand, and brought it to the soft scratch of his cheek, and his lips pressed to the vein on her inner wrist, she locked eyes with him. There was an unwilling smile hidden behind her fingers.

“I love you a lot,” he said.

“I love you a lot, Mr. Fleck,” she conceded. “But do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“… Don’t ever leave me alone again.”

He stilled the machinations of her hand on his cheek. Her eyes became wet.

“I’m your wife,” she said, biting her tongue for leverage until she swallowed a lump down. “When you’re hurting, I’m hurting.”

“… I’m feeling better now.”

- - - -

With an extra sixty pounds on her person, Joss’s dancing had become less agile. Still, she insisted. So at eight o'clock, the little space of their living room was a dance hall, with the old cat sitting on the couch's armrest as the only witness to the domesticity Arthur felt dizzied to imagine.

“My back hurts when I sit down and my legs hurt when I stand up,” she huffed, hiking her shoulders in defeat as Arthur swayed them ever so softly. "I can't win."

“I’ll rub your back before bed,” he offered. “Let’s just get through one song.”

“What, You’re All the World to Me?” she joked, her teeth big and broad with her smile. He smiled back sheepishly.

“That might be a little too much for you.”

“Have I ever told you, Art,” she began, resting her arms on his shoulders, “that I think you’d be a great tap dancer?”

“No, why?”

“All that damn Fred Astaire you watch all the time. You look like you’d be dancing on a cloud.”

“I’m always on a cloud dancing with you.”

Daringly, his hands traversed from the exposed area of her ribs, to her tender lower back. Her eyes closed in contentment as his thumbs circled her hip bones.

It wasn’t exactly cheek to cheek, but as Fred Astaire crooned, and Arthur leaned to gently nudge his forehead against hers, he really was in heaven. It was a lot warmer than the one he’d mistaken a few months earlier. Padded walls didn’t hold the same security as the arms of someone he loved.

- - - -

It had taken some getting used to, to sleep on the other side of the bed closer to the corner. Advantageous, Joss said, since she needed to get up more often to use the bathroom, and she could hear whenever he had to get up.

He never disliked more that she was more comfortable laying on her left side. Before, she wasn’t lying away from him.

“One small thing before you go to sleep,” he requested. She was sitting upright to his left, reading.

“What’s that?”

He kissed her, stacking her bottom lip between his own. The smirk of surprise in her minty breath passed to his own mouth. Lip balm coated his cleft scar.

“I’m never leaving you again,” he murmured, pecks placed along her jaw. “I promise.”

#arthur fleck #tw: pregnancy #arthur fleck one shots #joker fanfiction #joker 2019

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