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jokeringcutio · 1 year

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"Drabble: The Magician" - Reader x ArthurFleck (established/Joker) & Unrequited Reader x TheGrabber

Crossover time: Fandoms: Joker 2019 + Black Phone 2022

Rating: PG13? Warnings: None really, possessive Arthur, Hints at Arthur already being Joker. Jealousy. For : @lussiane333, Hopefully the first of many crossover drabbles. ~~ Masterlist - Request Box - Support me on Ko-Fi ~~ "Drabble: The Magician" It wasn’t crowded, but most of the audience consisted of children. Most, not all. Beside you, Arthur sat, hand twitching nervously. The magician in front of the audience magicked balloons from out of his hat and tore up a newspaper to make it whole again. You were impressed, even if you’d seen most of his tricks before. But this man was good.

You let your eyes drift to Arthur whose jaw was clenched. He wasn’t as pleased. The white-painted face might have something to do with it, a poor imitation of his own makeup mask. Not quite a clown. But there was more to it, you thought. Perhaps he missed performing? After all, he used to be the one to make the children smile.

Your eyes drifted back to the magician. His fingers were nimble, his draws quick. You felt his eyes upon you a few times, and encouragingly smiled at him whenever he looked your way. Blue-grey eyes, bright and light unlike any you’d ever seen. They bore into you and left their mark. You glanced at your side again, but Arthur’s vivid green eyes were upon the man in front of you, observing his every move.

The man asked a child from the front row to assist him with his next trick. She loved it, and so did the crowd. He was quite good with kids, you thought, charming even. His voice was light and high, not his natural, you thought. The man asked a boy up next, and you loved how he engaged the entire audience, making them go ‘oh’ and ‘ah’ and giving a round of applause that made the children he chose as his assistants feel special and proud.

If this had been all, you’d have thought the man to be a pleasant and well-skilled performer. But then something happened that changed it all.

“For my next trick I will need a volunteer,” his eyes roamed the small crowd, then came to rest on you. “How about you, little lady,” he said in his jolly voice. But something about his gaze wasn’t as playful. It was predator-like. “Would you like to help me out?”

You hesitated, feeling how Arthur by your side tensed when the magician chose you. But everyone was looking at you with such great expectations. Refusing would not do, would it? It would only draw more attention to the two of you and you could not risk that. You didn’t want people to notice Arthur and risk it all.

You took a moment too long to decide, and the magician made it even harder for you. “Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for my lovely assistant,” here he paused to look at you again and gestured for you to come hither.

Frozen and uncertain of what to do, you felt Arthur’s elbow in your back, encouraging you to step forth. Hesitatingly, you stood up and approached the magician.

His grin grew when you stepped closer, then he took off his hat and bowed. You noticed how his long hair was greying at the roots. It resembled Arthur’s hair, though less curly and more wispy. Then the hat was on again and the man straightened his spine. “What is your name, love?”

You whispered your name, which he repeated loud enough for everyone in the back to hear. Another arm stretched out, palm upward, and another plea for applause, after which the magician performed his trick with a coloring book – of all things. He guided your hand with the paintbrush in it, saying a magic word as he tried to fill the black-and-white page with color. It didn’t work the first time. But when his hot hand encircled yours, and his warm palm pressed tight against your skin and guided your hand and the brush in it, the book was suddenly filled with colors.

When you glanced at Arthur you saw the shadow over his features. The magician’s hand was still possessively over your own. His body pressed close to yours. Like Arthur’s, you thought. He’s like him.

He bowed deep after he thanked you, a predatory grin on his lips. You recognized it. Of course, you did. And so had Arthur by the look on his face. It was like a thunderstorm had come over him. He sat with his arms folded in front of his chest when you returned to your seat next to him, lips curled downwards like a theatre mask. He was angry. Surely he understood that you had no other choice? That refusing the magician might have risked exposing Arthur, even if he was in his normal clothes.

You didn’t fail to notice how the magician’s eyes kept sliding back to you all through his performance. He was like Arthur, all right. The thought alone sent shivers down your spine. Because you knew how Arthur was. Who he was. And what he had done.

After the performance, the two of you walked home, arms linked. Arthur was still bristling. “I did not like the entertainer,” he said, voice nearly a whine but not quite. He was doing his best to sound unbothered, when clearly, he was angered beyond belief.

“The magician?” you asked, feigning innocence.

“That one.” It was as if a shadow fell over Arthur’s features. His lips pressed into a thin line in displeasure. You had hoped to see a show with him would have lightened his mood. Instead, it had done the opposite.

“You don’t like anyone,” you said, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. He took long strides as if he was eager to get away. You had to try and keep up with him, which you only managed because of your linked arms.

“Perhaps,” he agreed, “but I especially don’t like that man.”

The two of you rounded a corner and you halted, forcing Arthur to come to a stop as well. He looked down at you, clearly confused. His green eyes sought yours.

“You know what?” you said, looking up at him. A small smile slipped on your lips when you whispered. “Neither did I.”

You could see Arthur’s mind racing. Usually, you were his voice of reason, the one who berated him and told him that he was overreacting. To hear you agree with him on something like this was quite new. But you had felt it. When your eyes had locked with those blue-grey ones of the magician, you knew there was something wrong with him. “There’s something about him,” you said. “Something,” you hesitated, then finished with a whisper. “Dark.”

“Dark?” Arthur turned to face you, not noticing how the topic of your conversation was now in front of you. A big black van with Abracadabra on the side was parked next to the sidewalk. You noticed how the green and blue letters shimmered in the sunlight. Behind it stood a very familiar man, a brown paper bag in his arms. You recognized attributes from his magic act. The top hat was on his head and his face was still painted white. But his piercing eyes that had betrayed the darkness inside of him were now hidden behind glasses.

“Good afternoon to you,” he piped, sounding way too jolly. His stage voice again, you thought.

“If it isn’t my lovely assistant.” Your name rolled off his lips like dripping honey, syrupy and sweet. You felt Arthur tense next to you, his whole pose rigid. The magician seemed to nearly drop his bag. The flowers that lay on top fell out of it.

“Oh my, would you look at that!” the man exclaimed. “I am so clumsy! Pardon me.”

But you were in front of him on your knees already, picking up the fallen items and handing the flowers to the magician with a shy smile. “Here you go,” you said, not realizing what you were doing until it was too late.

The magician put his bag in the back of the van and turned to take the flowers from your hands. A smile twisted his lips when his fingers brushed past yours. “Why, thank you, dear. Flowers, for me already? We only just met…”

You froze and practically felt Arthur seething a few paces behind you. But the magician was unperturbed. He leaned forward, stepping closer to you until you felt the heat radiate off his body. A scent drifted to you, cologne and a whiff of manly testosterone.

Then he was leaning back again and the distance between the two of you increased again. He turned to place the flowers in the back of his van. “I was just kidding, sweetheart,” you heard him say. Then he turned to face you again. You wished you could see his eyes behind his glasses, to know the look that was in his gaze now. Was he jesting as he claimed? Or was there more to it like you suspected?

“You seem frightened,” he stated, voice finally losing its high and pleasant lilt. In its stead, a raspy low voice came out. Was this his true voice, you wondered? Or another character in him?

“I am sorry,” he said, looking aside, “I did not mean to scare you.” His smile had faded and you thought he might be honest now. Your heart was thumping wildly in your chest. He was lucky, you thought. So very lucky that Arthur hadn’t brought a gun with him.

He hadn’t, right? Oh shit, had he brought the tiny one that he sometimes hid in his shoes?

You turned around to come face to face with Arthur. He had come closer and now stood behind you. The magician’s gaze must be resting on him too now, because Arthur was an imposing sight to see, standing tall and carrying a grimace of displeasure that could strike fear in anyone.

“I am sorry,” the magician said. You heard how his smile must have turned wry. “I was just telling your daughter how lovely an assistant she was.”

The reaction was instant. You felt how Arthur’s body tensed, then how his arm encircled your waist and he pulled you close. His grasp possessive, strong. This would leave no doubt.

You wondered if the magician’s eyes grew wider behind the glasses, because you swore you saw them raise. Then a frown slipped onto his face. “I see,” he murmured.

“I am sorry, Mister…” Arthur waited for the magician to answer, which he did.

The magician nodded curtly at Arthur while he introduced himself. “Albert,” he said, voice raspy and low still. “Albert Shaw.”

“Well, Mister Shaw, it seems that you are treading on dangerous ground.” A smile grew on Arthur’s face, one much like a shark’s. “You should be more careful with your assumptions in the future. You’ve been,” here Arthur paused to wet his lips, “awfully impolite.”

Those words invoked mental images inside your mind of Arthur at his worst, gun drawn and pointed at a helpless victim’s head, already on the floor on their back. You’d seen it before. Awfully impolite. Society. Triggers that made Arthur’s anger surface. Then Arthur broke you out of your thoughts when he turned to you and whispered near your ear, but loud enough so Albert, the magician, could hear, “It is time to go.” And then more pressing, “now.”

You nodded and placed your hand on Arthur’s forearm, a signal that you would follow him. Arthur’s gaze was a dangerous one, fully aimed at Albert as he took you away, back to the pavement. His arm was firm around you, his breathing heavy. A dangerous glint was in Arthur’s eyes and you knew, you just knew, what was going on inside that brilliantly obscure mind of his.

A plot for revenge. A plan for retribution.

Albert had touched something that was his. Something that Arthur had laid claim on. You.

And now that he had the magician’s name, there was no doubt in your mind that you would see that name appear in one of the newspapers pretty soon. Albert Shaw. Murdered. Visited by none other than the Joker.

Unless your feelings about the magician were right. Unless he was as dangerous as the Joker who had claimed you as his own. ~~ Masterlist - Request Box - Support me on Ko-Fi ~~ ~ Fin ~ AN: I am open to requests. This story was not beta-read, might do that later.

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