Arthur Fleck and Joker Imagines

The Sad Angel - Arthur x Reader

This was inspired by two challenges given to me by VeloySR595, I hope this is ok 😊.

(Y/n) had been watching him for months, the unusual, awkward man that seemed to shuffle along the streets of Gotham, dressed in his black pants, white shirt, and thin tan coat.

She had seen him first when he had shambled into Helms Pharmacy, and she couldn't help but notice the strange man; as soon as she had seen that sad, yet handsome face she knew that she had found her muse, the spark for her creativity. There was something about him that spoke to her soul, something about him that spoke to her heart as he waited for the pharmacist to finish serving his current customer.

(Y/n) hid behind the shelves, using one of the mirrors that hung on the wall to spy on the nervous man; her heart went out to him as he pushed his dripping wet hair from his face, he was soaked to the skin yet didn't seem to care that he was visibly shaking from the cold.

Quickly (Y/n) pulled out the little sketch book that she always kept with her, and began to draw the melancholic man that she could see, furiously scribbling down every subtle line and crease on his face; she could imagine him as an angel, a beautiful yet sad dark angel, that hid a pair of huge black wings that grew from the back of his lithe body, an angel that sat atop the great gothic cathedral of Gotham in an eternal vigil over the equally dark city.

Now all these long months later, her work had become obsessed with the unusual man that she had discovered was called Arthur, a man that by day dressed as a clown, his face painted in an attempt to conceal the sadness that seemed to consume him, his great black wings hidden under the bright, gaudy costume that he wore; yet at night he would become her sad angel again, her inspiration.

She was ashamed to admit that she had been following him, watching his every move, his every gesture; but without him, her work would have been nothing, his features haunting her every waking moment as she painstakingly replicated his every nuance, the thoughts of her sad angel pushing her to achieve the perfection that he was.

"My god (Y/n), this has to be some of your best work; its haunting, eerily beautiful. Who is he?" Douglas, her manager asked, as he looked through the vast array of sketches and black and white paintings that were amassed in her small studio, (Y/n) not really taking notice of the question as she added the last touches to the large canvas in front of her. Dropping the brush to the floor, she stood back and surveyed the masterpiece that she had been working on every spare hour, for months. There was her sad angel in all his glory, his pale naked torso and face standing out starkly from the great dark gothic building upon which he stood. His wings were outstretched, seemingly glowing in the rays of a high moon, the kisses of the celestial orb gracing every taut, sinewy muscle and protruding bone of his lean frame; below him was Gotham, the vile city that (Y/n) and her muse called home, the white lights of downtown the only thing that seemed to brighten the all invasive gloom that permanently hung over the great metropolis. He was Gotham's fallen angel, the combined images of thousands of homeless and poor people, he was the personification of man, yet he was a god, their god, the only hope for the hopeless.

"Jesus (Y/n), who is this guy?" Douglas asked again, as he came to stand behind her, unable to move his gaze from the two perfect green eyes that (Y/n) had given her muse, the eyes the only bright colour that appeared in any of her paintings of him.

"All I really know is that he is called Arthur, and he works for that place called Ha-Has, as a clown." (Y/n) told Douglas, as she looked upon her work.

"Any gallery in the country would fight to display this work (Y/n); but I think that I can finally persuade Macintyre to give you that show you always wanted in the city." Douglas said, as he stood behind (Y/n), and placed his hand on her shoulder.