#clowntramp

[clowntramp]

I legitimately got butterflies and heart palpitations from the trailer. The feelings I get from seeing Arthur in his suit and makeup cannot be expressed in words.

[clowntramp]

If I start writing a fic that takes place after the first film (obviously) but before the second movie (duh it’s not out yet) would any one read it??? It would be spicy, violent, and so indulgent.

[clowntramp]

Am I completely insane for this?

[clowntramp]

My fellow residents of chuckle town, it has been a while but I am back on my bullshit (hyperfixating on Joker once again just in time for the trailer to drop on Tuesday) and if anyone is still out there please make yourselves known

[clowntramp]

I have two dumb ideas for my OC/Arthur Fleck/Joker fic. Which one do you like better?

1. Hit-woman contracted to kill our boy

2. Modern day clown-loving bitch (much like all of us) finds herself inexplicably transported to the universe of Joker

[clowntramp]

snuggly

[clowntramp]

Ok

[clowntramp]

“Curiosity”

Part one of three

Arthur Fleck x Reader

Warning: adult themes, mention of dissociation

It was your first day at Ha Has Amusements. Party clown wasn’t your first career of choice, but it seemed like easy money, and you got hired on the spot. You saw a flyer on a street corner and took a chance, knowing that wearing a wig and clown makeup was better than offering five dollar blow jobs just to get by.

The office smelt like stale cigarettes and booze, and Hoyt, the boss, was already shaping up to be quite the ass, and a perv. You entered the dressing room, which was littered with portraits of clowns and nude women, and put your bags down by the lockers. You took your mirror and makeup bag out, carefully laying out the paints and brushes on the bench beside you. You could feel them staring at you, their eyes became fixed when you walked in. Men who dressed up as clowns for a living never thought they would share their space with a woman, let alone such a young and attractive one. You expected this, most of your previous jobs had all been staffed by men, with you as the only acception. Even outside of work boys would always keep you around, just for the eye candy.

You started to apply your makeup, trying to ignore their incessant staring. It only took a few moments of concentration before you were finished with the look. Blue triangles above and below your eyes, red circles on your cheeks, red nose and a red painted smile. It didn’t look good, but you looked like a clown, and that’s all that mattered.

—————————————————————

You spent the first half of your shift at a kids birthday party, the second half was spent spinning a sign outside of a pizza parlor. It may not sound like hard work but you were tired once you arrived back at the office, it was dark, rainy, and cold, you just wanted to get home.

The dressing room was empty, all of the men had packed up and left by the time you got back. You opened your locker, then took a seat to take off your clown shoes. Relief settled in as you slowly started to peel off the many layers of your costume. You remained in your undergarments, finding a freeing comfort in the empty space.

It was silent as you sat there relaxing, taking deep breaths, letting your eyes close. The paint on your face had grown tight, you raised your eyebrows and watched the white paint flake into you lap. It was a satisfying feeling to watch your mask crumble off.

You reached an arm up to your neck, forcing your fingers in deep, massaging off the tension of the day. Clowning around was hard work. Suddenly, you heard a door open in the distance. The sound startled you, and you got to your feet. Your eyes moved around the room in search of a towel or robe, something to cover up your barren body incase anyone walked in. It was futile, there was nothing. You rummaged through your locker in search of the clothes you had worn to work. You heard the rhythmic pattern of steps approaching as you finally fished out your large tee shirt. You quickly pulled it over your head as he walked in. His gaze was fixed to his hands, unaware that there was another body in the room.

You pulled down your shirt uncomfortably in attempt to cover your lower half, but the slight motion caused him to look up, startled. He stopped in his tracks and looked to you with wide eyes, letting out a gasp before turning around swiftly.

“I-I-I’m s-sorry!” he blurted out in a strained voice, “I didn’t think anyone would be here.”

You quickly found your pants and pulled them on, “it’s ok,” you said softly, aware of the clear distress in his voice, “I’m all dressed now it’s ok.”

He turned around, brows furrowed, he let out a pained nassely chuckle before a cough ripped through his chest, causing him to reach up and grab his throat. You cringed at his apparent discomfort and felt the urge to go over and rub his back. He looked meek and gentle, mostly tired. His clown makeup was smudged terribly with traces of what looked like blood. He stood tall but his posture was defeated. He looked different than other man that you had seen in the dressing room, more delicate.

He ran a shaky hand through his rather greasy hair, you could see his embarrassed cheeks through the faded white on his face, “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to barge in on you, I’ll let you be, I’m sorry.” You could hear the shame in his voice, and he turned around to leave,

“Wait,” you said desperately, “I’m just finishing up, you don’t have to leave, I’m new here, I should have locked the door, it’s my fault.”

He turned around, gave you a weak smile and walked over to the vanity, placing a plaid duffel bag down. He audibly winced as he sat down before flicking on the incandescent light bulbs that framed the mirror. As you gathered up your things that were spewed about you noticed the extent of his facial injuries in the light. His upper lip was caked in blood from his nose and he had a deep gash above his painted eyebrow. You watched him flinch in pain as he held up a dirty rag to the cut.

“My goodness,” you said faintly, “what happened to you?” You walked over to him slowly, standing beside him now, he looked up at you timidly. “Here,” you said, taking the rag from his hand cautiously, “I can do it if you like, I know how painful it is to clean a gash like that.”

He closed his eyes and nodded, “please, thank you, that’s very kind,” he said with a cracking voice.

You took a half empty water bottle off the vanity and poured a little on the rag, he tipped his head back and you leaned in close, “Ok, this is going to sting a little bit, just bear with me.” You placed the rag onto the cut gently and he let out a groan, clutching the arms of the chair. “I’m sorry, I know it hurts, we’re almost done,” you said in your most soothing voice. You cleared the wound and the surrounding area of any face paint then patted it dry lightly. You took a couple of fresh tissues and folded them, placing them directly on the cut. You held it there with slight pressure until it clotted with blood. You continued in silence and tenderly patted away the blood under his nose. You were close to his face and the stench of cigarettes and sweat overwhelmed you. It wasn’t utterly repulsive, you probably smelled similar, but there was a distinctive undertone of musky pine, probably from his aftershave or deodorant. The mixture was actually quite pleasant and strangely familiar.

He stared at himself in the mirror as you finished cleaning up his face. The act of wiping away his makeup felt very intimate. Heat rushed to your cheeks at the intrusive thought of this. “Ok I think that’s the last of it,” you said rubbing away the last bit of dried blood.

He looked up at you gratefully, “thank you.”

You smiled, “don’t worry about it.”

You put the rag back down then continued to gather your things in silence. You glanced over to him and he remained staring at his reflection. His eyes were vacant and his face still. You recognized this look, he was dissociating. Having been familiar with this state yourself, you decided to break the silence, to snap him out of his trance. You had always been grateful for those who had done this for you.

“So do you know of any good places to grab a drink?” You said while you zipped up your bag and flung it onto your shoulder.

He turned to you slowly, “what?” He questioned softly, as if you had spoken to someone else. You repeated the question with a slight smile. “Oh right,” he said with a strained voice, “Um I don’t really go get drinks, so I’m not sure.” His gaze fell on his lap and he started to bounce his leg idly.

This wasn’t the answer you were looking for. You hoped he would have mentioned a place, then you would have said something along the lines of ‘maybe I’ll go there, would you like to join?’ Then you would’ve gone out and hopefully learned more about this mysteriously bruised co worker. You thought that he was intriguing, simply because he didn’t act or look like any of the other men who worked at Ha Ha’s. And more specifically he didn’t look at you like you were a piece of meat, which was refreshing.

“That’s ok, I shouldn’t waste my money anyway.” You tried to sound nonchalant, “I’ll see ya around I guess, hope your night gets better.” He gave you a weak smile in response then turned back to the mirror.

As you walked down the hall, you thought you heard sobbing or laughter, or both, you weren’t sure. But as you left the building a sudden pang of guilt hit you. You felt bad for the guy, he looked pretty beaten up and you don’t get those kinds of injuries from taking a fall, someone did that to him on purpose. You turned around and walked back towards the building, your body moving without thought.

You took a deep breath before entering the dressing room again, attempting to muster up the courage for what you were going to do next. You entered and he was still at the vanity, he looked up to you in the mirror, running a hand through his hair.

“Do you wanna maybe hang out sometime? I mean I’m new here, in the city, and I don’t have many friends, and you’re the first person who hasn’t been a complete asshole. I mean only if you want, I understand if you’re like busy or something.” You bit your tongue hard as he looked at you tilting his head a bit as if he was confused. You counted as three painful seconds past. You took his silence as a no, “It’s totally fine if you don’t, I understand, I’ll see you around.”

You turned around and started to walk out, “Wait” he said, his voice cracking slightly. You turned and faced him, the corners of his mouth were twitching up into a soft smile. “I'd like that,” he said sweetly, “when?”

“When are you free,” you said trying to hide your excitement, you didn’t think he would say yes.

He looked around the room, “right now?” He asked.

“Yeah! Do you wanna come over? I live a few blocks away, I can let you finish up here and you could meet me there, or whatever.” You said, trying your best to sound casual.

“Ok,” he said quietly with a gentle smile, “I can do that.”

“Great! Let me write down my address for you.” You walk over to the table and tore off a bit of newspaper. You scribbled down the address and handed it to him. “Alright so I’ll see you in a few.”

“Yeah,” he smiled.

As you walked home you couldn’t help but question why you took a liking to this man. Something about him drew you in, something unexplainable. It was a strange feeling, almost familiar. You always questioned everything, but decided to that you wouldn’t question this. There was freedom in letting things happen, and you would come to this realization very soon.