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I’m obsessed with you. // Erika x Joker

Surprise!! :D this is a surprise personalized fic for @ajokeformur-ray. I swear- this person is the sweetest. Erika, I really have to thank you for all you’ve done for me. I swear the fanfics that you make always make me smile. One time I was crying really hard and I read one of the personalized fanfics that you made for me, and I swear it helped so much. So, so much. Thank you so much. I seriously hope you feel better <3

Summary: you have a long day at work. Joker is there to help you unwind.

Warnings: addressing negative thoughts

The name “Erika” is used but it can be (mentally) switched if needed ^^

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Originally posted by arthvrfleck

Joker loving you was an understatement.

Everyday when you were at work, he would anxiously wait for you to come back, just like Arthur did. His knees bounced as he stared at the clock. His mind racing.

Erika Erika Erika Erika

He was obsessed with you, both before and after becoming the Joker. You had honestly thought that he would ditch you for someone else after he became the Joker. But oh, you were so wrong. So wrong, it was funny.

The second he heard the doorknob make the slightest noise, he jumped up and ran to the door, opening it for you.

“Erika! Yay, you’re back!” The clown cheered, almost dragging you into the apartment.

You absolutely loved Joker. Your heart melted and happiness rose up your body everytime you saw him. How you loved him. Seeing how perfect his make up was, how his dark eyelashes were slightly white from the paint, everything. You adored it.

But oh, were you tired.

“Rough day?” He asked, even though he didn’t need to ask. He always noticed even the slightest changes in your attitude, which is why you weren’t able to get away with anything.

“You have no idea.” You groaned slightly. It had been such a hard day at work, your boss had been barking orders at everyone.

Joker cooed in sympathy and lead you to the couch in his apartment. He pulled you into his chest and you absolutely melted into his touch.

“Are you still having negative thoughts?” He asked after a pause. He knew that usually long days were what triggered them the most. Hesitantly, you nodded. He exhaled sharply in concern.

“Erika, I- you need to stop with these.” He explained as he held you even closer to him. You felt more of his warmth and it felt amazing. Especially after the day you had.

“You are smart, beautiful- very, very beautiful, sweet, funny, you name every good word in the dictionary, you are it.” He said truthfully. “Anyone who doesn’t see that will end up like Murray.” You felt your heart melt at that.

“B- but I don’t feel sweet. Or beautiful.” You mumbled. He let go of the hug just enough to where he would be able to cup your cheeks.

“Erika, you are beautiful. I love your laugh, your hair, your smile- definetly your smile, you are the perfect size, hell, I love everything about you. I- I’m obsessed with you.” He went on. “How could you not feel sweet? You stuck with me when I was Arthur, and you’re still sticking with me now. You accepted me both ways. I- not even my mom could do that.”

“Do you… do you really mean all of that?” You asked, and Joker instantly nodded.

“Every single bit of it.”

“Well.. thank you, Joker. I love you.” You blushed. He grinned at your blush, but he didn’t bring it up. He didn’t want to make you feel bad. He pulled you back into his arms, where you were practically sitting on his lap at this point. His green fluffy hair slightly rested over your hair as you buried your face in his shoulder. He tightened up the hug slightly, and rubbed your back in a circular motion.

Bad days at work were defiently rough. But Joker always knew how to make them better.

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Summary: It’s my version of a love story between Arthur Fleck and Harley Quinn/Harleen Quinzel, because Arthur deserves some happiness <3 It starts right where the Joker-movie ended, sort of.

I hope you enjoy <3

Word count: 1.501

Trigger warnings: tons of angst and self-loathing


He’s evil.

He’s a murderer.

He’d kill you without a second thought, and he’d smile doing it.

Those were the things her fellow therapists at Arkham whispered about the new inmate. Harleen had believed it – she’d watched the news, that night when Gotham had burst into flames and ruin.

But two days later, in the gleaming white-tiled room, she couldn’t connect those images of the maniac killer with the man sitting opposite her. He was handcuffed to the cold metal table between them, his cheeks hollow and the shadows under his eyes resembled the blue triangles he’d drawn onto his face. And he was thin, really thin. She made a mental note to talk to his doctor about that.

He hadn’t looked at her once in those thirty minutes they’d been in the white room together – not even as she’d entered the room and taken the opposite seat. His dark curls fell into his face, obscuring his features. The smoke of the cigarette he held swirled around him like mist. Harleen intended to give him the time he needed until he’d finally talk to her. If he ever decided to talk to her.

So, since there wasn’t anything else to do, she just kept staring at him like a weirdo. But he seemed too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice, and Harleen couldn’t help but think about what it was that he was thinking about. A strange kind of… interest. Which wasn’t new to her; it was what had drawn her to studying psychology in the first place. That, and the urge to help others. She’d grown up in a loving but poor family in the East End, witnessing what the city and its society did to the people living there. Harleen had seen the first corpse on a sunny autumn day on her way to catch the school bus. None of the other passers-by had even spared a second glance. She shook away the memories clouding her thoughts, and again focused on the convicted murderer in front of her.

Arthur was his name. Arthur Fleck. He’d grown up in the East End as well. Which wasn’t a huge surprise – a third of Gotham’s inhabitants lived in the slums of the East End. Her gaze swept over the pages in his patient record. One convicted murder, but he was suspect in the investigation concerning the triple-murder in the subway a few weeks ago. But there wasn’t enough evidence yet.

She’d never seen the footage of the show in which he’d shot the famous host. Opposing her colleagues, Harleen stuck to her policy of never going into a therapy session with prejudices. She wanted to get to know the patient in the situation, instead of gathering information about them beforehand. It seemed unfair – the patient got to know her only in the sessions, as well. Safe to say, the others often made fun of her methods, of her softheartedness in a city as cold and vile as Gotham.

His strands of hair shifted a little and she saw the badly stitched cut that severed his left eyebrow. He sported a black eye as well; but he shifted in his seat and his dark strands fell back into his face before she could see his eyes. He’d had a car accident, Harleen remembered, right before the police had brought him to Arkham.

She wondered how an obviously injured, reed-thin and quiet person such as Arthur could require the highest level of security. There were two guards positioned in front of the door, with guns and bullet-proof vests. Maybe it was the level of ridiculous security applied to Arthur that had made him laugh. Harleen wondered why they didn’t give her a bullet-proof vest as well, if her patient was that dangerous. Maybe he was just playing the role of a defeated inmate, just to bide his time and strike at the first opportunity? Harleen wasn’t stupid; she knew that psychopathic persons were unpredictable and clever in their manipulations. But again, something told her that she didn’t have to be scared by him. There was nothing vile or menacing about Arthur, and that’s what further fuelled her interest in his story. What had happened to him to make him a murderer? Was he a psychopath, toying with her like a cat with its prey? It seemed like a joke that the broken man in front of her had become the figurehead of the riots that still raged on in Gotham’s filthy, burning streets.

Suddenly, Arthur fell into a fit of laughter as if he’d had the very same thought, catapulting Harleen out of her own contemplations. He still didn’t look at her, but he continued giggling. Harleen wondered if it was real laughter, or the laughter his neurological condition forced upon him. She couldn’t imagine how brutal school must have been for him, and a wave of compassion washed over her.

“I’m sorry, just thought about a joke”, he finally told her, his gaze still locked at the metal table in front of him. It was the first time he’d spoken to her, and his voice was low and raspy.

“Would you tell me?”, Harleen asked, her voice gentle to let him know that she wasn’t making fun of him.

And finally, he looked up and met her gaze. His blue-green eyes hit her like a train and Harleen felt her heart stumbling a little.

Arthur Fleck – the Joker, as Gotham’s rioters had started to call him – didn’t look like a criminal. At all. Harleen had treated enough psychopaths and murderers in her three years in Arkham to notice the difference. Arthur didn’t have that vile spark in his eyes as he held her gaze for a few seconds. He just looked broken and defeated.

Arthur flashed her a weary smile and whispered, “You wouldn’t get it.”

***

I’ll never be good enough for her. I’ll never be normal enough for her. I’ll never be pretty enough for her.

Those thoughts kept circling through Arthur’s head as he’d made his way back into his cell, accompanied by the two bulky security guards. And they continued as he sat on his bunk and stared at the white wall of his cell. Everything in Arkham was white. The hallways, the cells, the therapy rooms, the clothes. As if the blinding white could somehow wash away the darkness of the place and its inhabitants.

He’d never been good or funny or pretty enough for anyone. Arthur closed his eyes and let his imagination carry him away for a little while, away from white-tiled walls and handcuffs, into a life where he wasn’t a convicted murderer, and where he was handsome and worthy to be loved. If he’d met her in that life, he would’ve asked her on a date. He would’ve brought her flowers and made her laugh with his jokes. He imagined how her beautiful face would look like if she smiled, and what it would feel like if she smiled at him.

Somewhere, someone screamed in agony, catapulting him back into the cold, white reality of his prison cell. Screams weren’t rare here in Arkham, that much he’d already learned. He stood and walked toward the small mirror on the wall. Even through the dull glass, he could see how worn out he looked. Dark shadows under his eyes, cuts and bruises all over his face, hollowed out cheeks. All Arthur could see was a hideous monster. He flinched and turned away, resisting the urge to punch the stupid mirror. His stupid, ugly reflection.

He knew all too well what his mother would’ve said if she was still alive, if he’d told her about how beautiful his therapist was. What would she want with someone like you?

In the therapy session, he hadn’t been able to utter a single word, panicked that he’d burst into a fit of laughter and scare her off. Well, she already knew he was a freak. It didn’t matter, anyway. He was a monster – and he’d liked it. Loved it. Those few moments as he’d danced on the shattered police car, his blood sketching a smile onto his face, the crowd cheering for him as the fires painted the night in hues of blood and destruction… he’d felt alive. For the first time in his life, he’d known what it felt like to be truly alive and seen. He wanted more of that. If he failed to make people laugh, to bring joy and happiness into the world, maybe he’d be able to be the freak Gotham city needed right now.

It was true what he’d told Murray, that he didn’t believe in these things, that he wasn’t political and had never intended to start these riots. But maybe, that had been his fate all along. They might have washed out his hair dye and greasepaint, but Artur knew that they couldn’t take away that feeling of being alive.

Arthur Fleck was a nobody. The Joker… could be more.

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Request: “Can you write Arthur with chronic migraines?”

God, @disabledwarriorwriter​ thank you very much for your patience!!
I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. The song is “Ha! Ha! Said the clown” by Manfred Mann; but I had in mind the tune of “Send in the clowns” sksksks Idkw
This is pure fluff (and slight angst at the beggining), so I hope I have fulfilled your request the right way, otherwise let me know and I will gladly modify it.

Also, sorry my English is more basic than H2O, I’m still learning. Here you go!

Word count: 1450

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  • Arthur hates to worry you, he always tries to act like everything’s okay and whenever he has a migraine episode, he runs to the bathroom as soon as possible. But sometimes it is impossible for you not to notice…

“This whole thing is ridiculous, Arthur, it’s pathetic. What were you thinking, for God’s sake!?!?”

Keep reading

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Hey! I love your posts! I wanted to ask for a imagine of the Joker, where he falls in love with a cute and kind reader, who is a psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum. The reader is afraid of him, but ends up falling in love with him too. I'm sorry if the request is too specific.

Omg I’m so sorry this is so late! Yes I can totally do that ^_^ thanks btw!

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SO, i don’t think it will be useful to anyone but, still wanted to share (we never know)

because i couldn’t choose just one picture as a lockscreen, i did this.

i took pictures from google, instagram, tumblr and screenshots i did myself so, can’t remember shit, it was probably 3 am, don’t @ me again

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credits not needed, but if you can, say it’s ya girl thanks, but i don’t think y'all are gon’ use these anyway. 🤡

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Just so everyone knows I’d be more than happy to do some imagines, headcannons, etc for Arthur and Joker.

leave me a message or ask! And please specify if you’d like it to be about Arthur, Joker or both.

I think I’m best at smut and angst for Joker specifically but will definitely challenge myself to fluff and other things with either!

Whatever you guys want! I’ll write it ;)

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