bobthegoonisback:

palemoonlightdancing:

Jack Napier slowly caressed his eyebrow with smooth, creamy lotion, tracing the delicate arch with his fingertips. He moaned with joy. Jack always was certain that his eyebrows were his best feature, and he loved the way their chocolate color complemented his tan, silky skin. He lied alone on the beach, naked, aside from wearing a pair of swim trunks he had purchased from a fancy men’s boutique in Gotham City. For several minutes, Jack pondered why a swimsuit-shoppe even existed in the dark city. After all, it was miles away from any water, and the cold, shady atmosphere made for a bleak swimming environment. He shrugged it off and unzipped his satchel he had brought to the sandy beach, pulling out his favorite pair of sunglasses. The sun was shining like a house-fire, and already Jack seemed to feel his eyes melting through his skull. Once he put on the shades, he felt rather relieved.

This was nice. Comfortable, relaxing, feelings that seemed completely foreign to him ever since his accident at Axis Chemicals. His memory from that point on was foggy, but he stilled received visions of those days, from time to time. He’d get cloudy memories of demonic, sinister laughter, ringing through his ears like thundering, falling church bells. He had visions of beautiful, blonde women, running from something in terror. And then, the most frightening of all, he dreamed of bats. All sorts of bats. Towering bats, flying-rabid bats, even bats as large as cars and planes. It was all a blur, until the morning he woke up in Metropolis, in a hospital infirmary. He had wounds all over his body, which had been neatly dressed. His skin was sickly pale, almost pure-white, and his hair was dirty it almost looked green. The worst part- however- was that he couldn’t stop smiling.. The doctors were perplexed, and told him that acidic damage had caused his cheek-muscles to constantly tense into a plastic, fake-looking smile. Jack was eager to get back to Gotham City, but the doctor handed him a note. They told him that it had been ‘delivered with him’. Jack read the note, written from a nameless stranger  who told him to start a new life and never return to Gotham City- his life depended on it. Not normally one for taking orders, Napier figured he had no other options but to listen to the unknown writer and start life in Metropolis. He stayed in the hospital for a month, slowly undergoing procedures to fix his bizarre appearance. Luckily, he had also been found with a debit-card loaded with thousands of dollars to pay for everything. He tanned daily, dyed his hair and finally went into surgery to rid him forever of his permanent grin. The operation was a success. Though he couldn’t move his mouth for two months, his cheeks healed and Jack finally felt normal again. He began working for LexCorp as a supervisor, and found no difficulty getting a new job with his alias- Jack White. Now, several months later, it was summer, and Jack was using his vacation days to lounge at a far-off beach away from work.

Did it bother him that part of his life was a complete mystery to him? Sure. But eventually, he gave up trying to remember. After all, he feared what he might find if he did. Jack shook away the dark thoughts of his memory loss and closed his eyes, sprawled out on a pink-and-green towel, and felt the warmth of the sun sink into his face.

Bob had spent months upon months looking for Jack. He scoured Gotham and then searched the entire United States. Some leads lead him nowhere and some leads seemed to help. The last word he’d gotten was that Jack had been reported working for LexCorp in Metropolis. He’d found that he was on vacation and, knowing his Jack, he knew where to go. He hopped a plane, packing nothing with him. He was fidgety the whole ride.

When he got off the plane, he began making his way for the beach. He knew, as he walked along the sandy dunes, that he was getting all sorts of looks from people. Bob was still dressed in his long black pants, leather Joker jacket complete with bullet hole, RayBans, and his trusty black hat to cover up the fact that he was indeed balding. He paused only for a moment to roll his pant legs up as he awkwardly stumbled along the beach in search for the man he’d sought for months. 

Then, finally, a few yards ahead he spotted those eyebrows. Those eyebrows he would know from anywhere. He stopped to admire them for a moment before he kicked himself into gear and started off running for the man. It was so joyful it went in slow motion. Sand sprayed out and around him with every step he took. The hot sun beat down on him and poured like light from the heavens. He was almost even convinced he heard Chariots of Fire playing as he ran. 

With the music swelling in his heart, breath coming out in huffs, Bob ran for Jack. He halted himself in front of the tanning man and the music stopped with a loud screech. He caught his breath and stared down at his best friend, his boss, his Joker, his Jack. Bob said nothing. He only grinned, but it was the widest grin Bob had ever grinned in his history of Bob grinning. 

Mere seconds after Jack closed his eyes, a sound jolted him fully awake. It was a single note, being played over and over on a piano key. Dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun. Jack arched an eyebrow and looked around, searching for the source of the noise. It sounded like it was coming from a speaker, which began playing the familiar ‘Chariots of Fire’ theme. As Jack scanned the beach for the source of the obnoxious music, he noticed a lone figure, running towards him. The strange man appeared to be running in slow-motion, but Jack couldn’t tell whether it was his imagination or the wind pushing the man backwards. Yellow, thin hair blew behind the man, grinning widely in his dark Ray Bans. Could it be? Could it be Jack’s favorite sidekick? Bob the Goon?

The pair went way back. It started in preschool. Jack was playing dress-up when he noticed a little boy all by himself with the same long blonde hair, gigantic pair of sunglasses, and a hat twice the size of his head. It was then that the young Jack invited little Bob to play with him. “Hey, you! Kid with glasses!” The little blonde toddler hobbled over to Jack silently. “You’re gonna play with me!” exclaimed the enthusiastic 5-year-old Jack, “What’s your name?”

“They call me Bob.”

“Bob, you’re gonna be my number one… guy!” They hit it off almost immediately. The pair was inseparable  Teachers constantly dismissed the duo from class, when Jack would pull pranks and Bob would assist him. It was a perfect partnership. They never parted, even when Jack joined the ranks of Gotham’s criminals, Bob closely followed behind. Last time Joker had seen him, he defended his life from the Batman by threatening to shoot Commissioner Gordon. Now, if the man running toward him was truly Bob the Goon, Jack owed him his life.

The music grew louder and louder, and Jack looked behind him to find a disk jockey blaring ‘Chariots of Fire’ through a giant DJ Booth in the middle of a public beach. Why was it there? Jack blamed the recession. He picked up a spare bottle of sunscreen to his satchel and threw it at the stranger, the music coming to a halting scratch.

“Hey! I’m trying to play here!” the man yelled in reply.

“Fuck off!” Jack picked up another bottle of lotion and chucked it at the DJ, who then got up and left in a mumble of explicit language. Jack stood up as Bob walked to meet him, approaching his towel in a moderate jog. They stood there in silence, Bob smiling with all his charm, until Jack spoke. “Is that you? Bob?”

bobthegoonisback:

Who is this asshole? Not my Jack… Not my Joker… Just a grown man with issues in make-up. Probably just wearing make-up to cover-up that ugly problem on his face. 

Poser.

Jack Napier slowly caressed his eyebrow with smooth, creamy lotion, tracing the delicate arch with his fingertips. He moaned with joy. Jack always was certain that his eyebrows were his best feature, and he loved the way their chocolate color complemented his tan, silky skin. He lied alone on the beach, naked, aside from wearing a pair of swim trunks he had purchased from a fancy men’s boutique in Gotham City. For several minutes, Jack pondered why a swimsuit-shoppe even existed in the dark city. After all, it was miles away from any water, and the cold, shady atmosphere made for a bleak swimming environment. He shrugged it off and unzipped his satchel he had brought to the sandy beach, pulling out his favorite pair of sunglasses. The sun was shining like a house-fire, and already Jack seemed to feel his eyes melting through his skull. Once he put on the shades, he felt rather relieved.

This was nice. Comfortable, relaxing, feelings that seemed completely foreign to him ever since his accident at Axis Chemicals. His memory from that point on was foggy, but he stilled received visions of those days, from time to time. He’d get cloudy memories of demonic, sinister laughter, ringing through his ears like thundering, falling church bells. He had visions of beautiful, blonde women, running from something in terror. And then, the most frightening of all, he dreamed of bats. All sorts of bats. Towering bats, flying-rabid bats, even bats as large as cars and planes. It was all a blur, until the morning he woke up in Metropolis, in a hospital infirmary. He had wounds all over his body, which had been neatly dressed. His skin was sickly pale, almost pure-white, and his hair was dirty it almost looked green. The worst part- however- was that he couldn’t stop smiling.. The doctors were perplexed, and told him that acidic damage had caused his cheek-muscles to constantly tense into a plastic, fake-looking smile. Jack was eager to get back to Gotham City, but the doctor handed him a note. They told him that it had been ‘delivered with him’. Jack read the note, written from a nameless stranger  who told him to start a new life and never return to Gotham City- his life depended on it. Not normally one for taking orders, Napier figured he had no other options but to listen to the unknown writer and start life in Metropolis. He stayed in the hospital for a month, slowly undergoing procedures to fix his bizarre appearance. Luckily, he had also been found with a debit-card loaded with thousands of dollars to pay for everything. He tanned daily, dyed his hair and finally went into surgery to rid him forever of his permanent grin. The operation was a success. Though he couldn’t move his mouth for two months, his cheeks healed and Jack finally felt normal again. He began working for LexCorp as a supervisor, and found no difficulty getting a new job with his alias- Jack White. Now, several months later, it was summer, and Jack was using his vacation days to lounge at a far-off beach away from work.

Did it bother him that part of his life was a complete mystery to him? Sure. But eventually, he gave up trying to remember. After all, he feared what he might find if he did. Jack shook away the dark thoughts of his memory loss and closed his eyes, sprawled out on a pink-and-green towel, and felt the warmth of the sun sink into his face.

An appreciation post, for old time’s sake. 

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Hello. Joker here. Let me cut to the chase: A while back, a group of friends and I had an amazing roleplaying-circle going on with the various characters of Gotham City (mostly inspired by the Tim Burton Batman films). We had a Batman, a Joker (me), a Vicki Vale, a Riddler, an Allie Knox, and at one point we even had an Alfred! We wrote some long, incredible, and amazing threads together. We’re talking NOVELS worth of writing. (See HERE for an example of one of our favorite stories!) That is, until our Batman unexpectantly disappeared. We spent months looking for them, but we now realize they may be gone for good. Though we miss them terribly, we want to continue following our passions: WRITING! Now, our Vicki Vale can’t handle Joker and Riddler all by herself, she’ll need a masked vigilante by her side. 

These are some of the greatest, kindest, and most talented roleplayers you will ever meet. We are ready to welcome a new member to our family <3 Whether you’re an experienced tumblr roleplayer or an aspiring writer  we’d love to write dynamic, action-packed, MIND-BLOWING threads with you! :D If you have any questions, contact me personally HERE, or my best friend Vicki Vale HERE.

HERE are some tips to roleplaying on tumblr, if you want to learn how. You can also message us about that too c:

Jack rarely experienced flashbacks these days. Ever since the incident at the Batcave, it seemed that his days of the Clown-Prince-‘O-Carnage were done and over with. He resumed his normal life in the mob, where he had been reinstated out of fear from what he had done before. He was a happy worker, and spent his long hours in his office planning his assencion into the eye of the Gotham City public once more. Joker was gone, and Jack was back, baby. But this experience was an exception. Jack fondly remembered the days skipping merrily through the art museum, with his favorite goon right behind him. Rocking some smooth shades and a badass ‘swagga’ about him. 

He remembered the unfortunate night when Batman stole all of his pretty party balloons. Bob was there, too, wearing his signature hat and look of concern for his boss.

Bob had always been there for him. There to do… you know… goon stuff. He always followed his ‘boss’ loyally  and it WAS always about Jack. Always had, always would be. Until, that is, Jack shot Bob in a blind, non-explainable fury. The question was, why was Bob here NOW, back from the dead, and thanking Jack for killing him? Napier sucked in another breath of cigar smoke, certain that his questions would be answered very, very shortly. He leaned back up against the bricks of the outside Bistro. KNOWING his goon would be back.

Jack leaned against the side of a low-town bistro, where the bricks of the wall continued along the 200-foot alleyway. He was puffing a cigar, and was busy planning his grand return to the light and scrutiny of the Gotham City public. Whereas the Joker thrived in an impromptu-setting, Jack required a more ‘calculated’ approach. Every detail had to be attended to. Napier breathed out two-lungs worth of smoke into the air, watching it ascend into the dark, smoggy sky along with steam flowing out of the gutters. Then. A shadow flickered through the mists. Jack took a step back to observe the outline slowly approaching him. The figure had broad shoulders, obviously a man. He was rather short, had long-ish hair, and a recognizable hat. Jack flung himself backwards, pressed against the brick wall of the outside bistro. 

No. It CAN’T be. 

Bob the Goon was back from the dead. How? Jack hadn’t a clue. Then again, he himself had a certain way with coming back to life. Jack raised one of his perfectly arched eyebrows. “Bob… what are you doing here?… I saw you. I SAW YOU DIE!” Jack whipped out his penis pistol and aimed it directly at his old goon alliance.

“And I can kill you again.”

((Sorry I couldn’t resist. And OMG BOB ASGFADLJADL”AD”DADHAHGAD:D:JSHDGLAGAGSAD <333 *Together Again from Young Frankenstein the Musical begins playing* ))

thebatwithamask:

itdoesnthavetobeaperfectworld:

playthegamesolvemyriddles:

palemoonlightdancing:

Out of nowhere, the dark creature of the night swooped into the aging, beat-up warehouse. The Joker experienced a powerful kick to hid middle-upper chest, which threw his entire body backwards into a wall. As he made contact with the bricks of the side of the warehouse, he felt his inner organs colliding with each other in a single clashing, and felt sick almost instantaneously. His skull had knocked the wall sideways, and a strange throbbing, or a peculiar ‘pulsing’ began in his ears. Joker’s mind raced with several discernible words of exclamation. He had just begun to open his eyes, tightly clenching together, as a swerving hit knocked him upside the jaw, bashing in his cheek and the left side of his perfect smile. He tasted the sweet pleasure of blood trickling through his mouth, over his tongue and down his throat. His teeth felt sore and loose, almost dangling from the mushy goo which were his upper gums. Oh, he had missed this. His vision began to falter, seeing only a black, shady blur which moved about rapidly, so fast, shifty, and jerky that the Joker’s eyes could not follow the outline with ease. Another hit unexpectedly impacted him, to the lower chest this time. Joker’s breath had completely left his weakened lungs and he began to hyperventilate, sucking for the oxygen around to fill his chest once more with the feeling of breathable air. He wished he could laugh. He wanted to cackle and spit in the menacing cowl of the Batman and tell him of all the surprises he had in store for him. Then, he would slap the paralyzed man senseless, kick him to the ground, carve out his smile with a knife he had been keeping in his purple gloves, and use his bloody, wrangled corpse to disturb the innocent young mind of Vicki Vale. He would show her things that would leave her thoughts scarred and clouded for the rest of her lonely life…

Fun, yes, but keeping him alive is the best part! For now…

Joker keeled over, feeling the urgent sensation to vomit. He gagged and grasped for air with his gloved hands writhing in agony, his stomach heaving, yet refusing to throw anything up. He felt thick, clotty blood dripping and pouring from his mouth, across his bleached skin, and onto the wooden warehouse floor, making only another stain newly renovated by the clown prince today. The hideous green follicles of hair which hung from his head were violently jerked backwards, and he heard the grumbling of Batman. The very voice set his comedic emotions on edge and grew the corners of his smile even higher. As he replied back between deep breaths, struggling to make his speech fully comprehensible, tiny, faint giggles penetrated his words and made his sentences all one big joke. He genuinely laughed at everything he said! What more could you expect? This meeting was looooong overdue…

“Hehe..he.. Ba-Bat. Battyboy… what a pleasant.. surprise! Hehe..” As his chuckling grew stronger, the back of his head slammed against the wall. Intense throbbing rang through his ears louder, and he was able to open his eyes barely enough to see Batman as a thin, horizontal line. “You ca-an’t kill me, Bats… we all.. know that!” His smile broadened. From the perspective of an outsider viewing the current events, it would appear someone in the Joker’s position would be begging for mercy, screaming for life in front of this S & M loving, bat-shaped executioner. The darky, twisty-turny mind of the Joker RELISHED these sessions of pure torture. The pain felt so good, like a long lost friend came to give him a flowery hug. Getting punished by Batman for his behavior, getting knocked senseless was like a drug to him. It heightened his personality, made him feel like he was the very most important thing in the world. AND HE WAS.

Isn’t that sad, Batman? The first second he stepped into the warehouse, who did he stop by to visit first? The supposed ‘love of his life’, or his oldest, worst, and most bitter enemy? If you chose option ‘B’, congratulations! You are not a mental freak like me!

That was the most hilarious joke of them all.

What does Batman hold most dear? ME. Not Vicki Vale. Not the citizens of Gotham or anyone else on the whole fucking planet but ME! And when the Joker committed his crimes, as his intricate plans would unfold, Batman would always be there. Joker was always going to be his number one priority. The Joker allowed his mind to relax into soothing thoughts of the future. He watched his mind simulate Batman and Joker growing old with each other, waging war across the streets of Gotham for decades! Joker looked forward to it, and anticipated it brightly with a grin at all times. The very thought of seeing “Grandpa Batman” made him want to cry of laughter. Then again, he already was ridiculous enough. A full-grown man running through dark alleyways dressed as a black, cheap 50’s looking horror-movie robot, with two devil horns to complete the look. A suit made of rubber, probably the same stuff they use to make tires. The thought occurred to the Joker, just then… how often does Batman leave skid-marks from his costume on the pavement of Gotham. He hoped to find the answer at a further date in time. He turned his focus back on and spoke to Gotham’s knight again.

“You… you’re pathetic, you know. Have you even thought about it Batman?” Joker’s breath began restoring itself in his lungs, and he pushed forward against the Dark Knight’s arm, slowly stepping away from the wall behind him. His ghostly-white teeth completed the snarky smile. “YOU’REthe one who got Vicki involved in this, not me!YOU’REthe reason neither of you will ever have an ordinary life, because you know what’s MOST important to you? You want to chase all the freaks like me in black rubber and spandex! Even after you have babies together, you’ll never be able to escape your life of vigilantism! Heeheehahaha!” Joker laughed, small flecks of bloody spit flying towards Batman’s jaw. “Now who’s thefreak?HeeheehehehahaHAHAHAHAHAHA-” Joker’s laughing was suddenly interrupted by a fierce spasm in his chest, like a million bolts of lightning shocking his ribs simultaneously. He screamed in horror as he experienced the worst pain he had ever felt in his entire life, even more so than when he had fallen into the toxic acid at AXIS Chemicals oh so long ago.. The ringing of pulsing blood in his ears grew stronger, deafening out all other noise from the warehouse. Joker found himself questioning whether to put his hand to his heart, or cover his ears in the blinding pain. The world around him grew blanker, whiter, until all he could see was nothing except glaring, hot white. The pulsing in his ears grew to a volume so great, he was certain his head would explode in the sound. “BOOM-BOOM… BOOM-BOOM… BOOM-BOOM” Yet, as the sound grew to an amplitude of indescribable torment, he swore he heard something else along with the pounding of his heart.

“BOOM-BOOM.. click.. BOOM-BOOM.. click.. BOOM-BOOM.. click..” What is happening to me? His thoughts panicked, crying for a help that would never come to his rescue. Yet, steadily and surely, the noise softened, growing smaller and smaller. The Joker’s vision glazed back to slight haziness, and his chest ceased to emit the chaotic burning sensation, only a slight tingling feeling remaining. He panted as he rose to his knees, glaring at the dark knight.

“What have you done to me?” The Joker crawled forward, reaching out for Batman’s leg while drawing a knife concealed within his right glove. His eyes were set aflame with fiery hatred and burning anger, which built up inside of him like a bonfire. He clawed the air surrounding him, attempting to grab the Bat, but his vision faltered and showed him inaccurate distances. Bats was two feet away, Bats was seven feet away, Bats was sporting pink sunglasses. As he failed to grab the dark knight, his thoughts transformed darker, more urgent. Let me get him! For once! LET ME GET HIM AND SLICE HIM! KILL THE BAT! If it were possible, smoke would be pouring heavily out of his ears and nostrils. His rages and stresses built on each other until his mind felt overwhelmed and anxiety overtook him. He screamed in temper, nothing was going right. Tears fell from his eyes as he fell completely to the floor, dropping his knife and sobbing into the floorboards below. He was a broken man. Who was he kidding, using names like “freak” and “monster”? He was only a man. A man who felt trapped in a box of gags and cheap clown makeup. A man who had not received a sincere act of compassion since he was cursed with his unforgiving face. He resented himself, longed to return to the past. And then, he did. For the first time in god-knew-how-long, slivers of the Joker’s humanity began returning to him in thought. He remembered his childhood. His family. Had he really forgotten? He cried out loud in sorrow as he realized he had lost everything. He was alone. All alone. Maybe that was why he had an obsession with Batman. Because he knew that Batman would always be the closest thing he’d ever have to a companion, a person who’d be with him through times of joy and sadness, a person who would never leave his side. A person he could never get rid of. Just like family. Joker softly smiled as he remembered storming into a bar with Batman and Vicki Vale, holding a gagged old-man and playing “We Are Family” on a boombox. Ah. The good ‘ol days. Wasn’t that FUNNY? More memories entered his conscious. Memories of explosives, tormenting, slaughter, and laughter. The tears from Joker’s eyes grew dry. His thoughts about his forgotten past slipped away, back into the deep crevices of his mind as his thoughts of mayhem, madness, and maniacs flooded his thoughts with warm, happy feelings like a dangerous drug. His red eyes locked onto the knife which he had dropped on the ground, slowly wrapping his snake-like fingers around the volatile weapon as he snickered at the standing Batman. 

“So, how about ONE LAST DANCE with the devil in the pale moonlight, Battyboy? For OLD TIME’S SAKE!” Before the Joker had time to barely move a tendon or muscle in his body to throw the knife, he was interrupted by the sound of clapping. Slow, drawn-out clapping that had a mechanical ring to it. He looked at Batman and Vicki, realizing it wasn’t them making the noise…

An unseen figure had been watching the action-filled scene in its entirety. In fact, he had been watching ever since the Joker had pulled Vicki Vale through the door. He was the sponsor, the man who had approached the Joker weeks ago on the ‘perfect plan to capture Batman’.  Safely lodged several blocks away in the upper floor of his apartment, out of sight and knowledgeable existence, the shadow observed the story unfolding before his very eyes. They shown bright green from the reflections of eight flickering monitors, each displaying a different camera angle or lines of cryptic computer code. This was the throne room, and in the tall, black-leather desk chair sat a king. A king who had orchestrated the events playing out on the monitors with careful precision and accuracy. The equipment contained in the room could easily have been worth several thousands of dollars. Every piece of technology shone brand-new in the soft green light. Then, without warning, a screen featuring the Joker and Vicki Vale went black. Then another. The figure watched with boiling rage as the Joker aimed his gun at each camera filming the events, and shot out each of the lenses dead-center. Before he knew it, four monitors became totally dark. The sponsor picked up his phone and began to dial the Joker’s number, but he received no signal on the other end. He’s trying to hide from me! Ah, there was one thing the Joker HAD forgotten however. A tiny, yet high-quality camera concealed within a red rose the Joker wore on the front of his black jacket. Though the figure could no longer see the angles of the Joker and Vicki Vale from the four top corners of the warehouse, he still had the bird’s eye view. He sat back in his expensive armchair and sipped a glass of ice-water he had been keeping on the desk containing three keyboards, two computer mice, and two pads of buttons listed in numerical order, and a single microphone. He watched the frightened face of Vicki Vale on the screen as if she were a damsel in distress on a cheesy re-run of an old horror movie, eyes stricken with fear, and mouth agape with shock. The figure picked up traces of Joker’s speech, and perked up in his seat when he saw a drastic change in Vicki’s body language. She began seductively posing, flirtatiously winking and strutting herself with an erotic sense of confidence. Her breasts were partially exposed from her ripped shirt, and the rest of her attire looked dirty enough to pass for a costume in an adult film. Not that the sponsor would know…

The shadowy outline continued watching the brand-new computer screen, just after he pressed the ‘record 6’ button on one of his keypads. A red circle began to flash in the sixth monitor, the screen where Vicki acted as though she were a sensual entertainer. This could come in handy later, a personal record of Vicki’s more ‘daring’ side… Then, she stopped, saying something barely audible to the Joker, and then stepping back. He heard the Joker starting to count to ten, then, the camera blacked out. It was then when the figure identified the dark being as “Batman”, the prized possession, the moment he’d been waiting for. He watched with merriment as the dark knight repeatedly attacked the unseen Joker, eventually sending the clown to his knees in pain. Ha. The great and terrible Joker. He really WAS laughable. He then watched as the Joker crawled across the floor, beginning to place his hands around a decent-sized knife from his inner glove. No. No no no, what is he doing? This isn’t a part of the plan! The figure’s jaw dropped, thinking quickly on how to remedy the situation before it would get out of hand… and messy. He pressed the ‘speak’ button on his first keyboard, and started to slowly applaud the three. He saw them look up and around the ceiling of the warehouse, since his voice was being projected through speakers hidden through the long wooden rafters.

“Well done! Well done! What a show! I must say, you made quite a theatrical entrance Batman. I’m rather impressed!” The shady figure laughed heartily to himself, voice booming with confidence and charismatic ‘charm’. He enjoyed the looks of confusion on all three of the other’s faces, and fed off their fear to make his speech more excitable. “Allow me to introduce myself. You can call me… the Riddler. I’m glad we’re finally meeting, Batman! I have several fun and enticing games that will be certain to challenge you in the near future! For now, I wanted to arrange a little ‘get-together’ to see exactly what you’re made of. Nice fighting style you have there. A fan of ‘roundhouse punches’, I see? I’ll be certain to make a note of that for later. Anyhoo, I congratulate you on winning ‘performer of the night’! You put on quite a show, my rabid mammalian friend!” The figure drew his attention towards the horrified blonde on the screen, snickering at her, laughing at her demeanor.

“Oh, and how could I forget Vicki Vale, everyone’s favorite, lovable, blonde bimbo! You’re probably wondering why we brought you here. I mean, of course we used you as human bait to trap our good friend Batman over there, but how can a good show be successful with a little sex appeal? Oh, don’t worry, I recorded your brief-yet-fulfilling performance from moments ago. Breathtaking. Experienced, aren’t you? You whore!” The Riddler laughed heavily and continued to speak, loudly and clearly into the microphone. At this point, he wanted the words he was saying to sink into her like rocks in a lake. “Does it depress you that your sweetheart Batman didn’t pay the slightest bit attention to you since his arrival? Some relationship! While you act disappointed and scared, why don’t you go and sleep with Bruce Wayne as well? Is it just me or do I see a giant red ‘S-L-U-T’ labeled on her forehead? Honey, hint of advice: hostage videos are meant to be scary, not to be used as pornography! But by all means, if you prefer your supple breasts out in the open like that, go on right ahead! All of this is currently being uploaded to the wonderful networks of the internet, compliments of yours truly!” The Riddler opened a file on a new computer screen, where the newly-recorded video had been stored. With three clicks, the mp4 file began uploading itself to the interwebs. It was the Riddler’s way of making a point. Nowhere is safe. He is always watching, and he always has the blackest, deepest material.

“And last… and least… Joker. I am very, very disappointed at your performance tonight. The drama was weak. I need more action! You should know better! And where’s all that comedy you’re supposed to be famous for? Was that washed up and bleached white too?  I DID appreciate your impromptu however… NOT! Oh! You also owe me four brand new cameras!” He watched the figure of the Joker place one hand on his fiery chest, groaning in sharp pain. “Oh, having heartburns I see? Whoops, forgot to mention it might be a teensy-tiny side-effect to the ammunition-bomb I surgically inserted into your ribcage. Allow me to explain. While you were slumbering away in your whitie-titghties the other night, I hired an excellent surgeon to insert a blood-bomb inside of your ribs, connected to your heart. When The bomb has no need for batteries or cords, it is run by the pumping of blood through your arteries! And in about… hmm, let’s see, two minutes, your brains will be the new wallpaper of that lovely warehouse. SOOOORRRRY! Have fun! You have two minutes until the bomb explodes! As for you Batman and Vicki, this is your time to SHINE! Hi-diddle-diddle, I have a riddle! Listen carefully, for I won’t repeat myself! Right now, all the doors are locked and there is no way to exit the warehouse you are trapped in. If you solve the riddle, however, the steel door to the warehouse will open and you will escape the exploding joke from hell! Lose, and bodda-BOOM! Bye bye Batty! Here’s my riddle:

‘I succeed in my execution, or I fall flat. I mean more to some people than others. Do me wrong, make a fool of yourself. Do the opposite, and my legacy will carry on’… Two minutes! Ta-ta!” The Riddler turned off the ‘speak’ setting of the microphone, leaned back in his chair, and awaited the grand finale of his show. After all, he directed it. And he expected QUITE A SHOW…

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The following moments were all but a continuous motion to the Joker. Moving at speeds almost humanly impossible, the Batman grabbed the Joker and Vicki, and swung out of the building through the rafters above the warehouse. Once they landed outside, the Joker felt wind rushing his face, drying the blood trickling from the corners of his mouth and breezing his greasy, rotten hair through the air. Without warning, the Joker was thrown into Batman’s Batmobile, and the world came to halt. He could no longer sense anything real or current. The Joker closed his eyes and took in a deep breath of air. He had no urge to laugh. He had no urge to cause hysteria, or violence, or deepen the growing chasm of hate between himself and the Batman. He felt peace. Blissful, simple, no-strings-attached peace. Fewer and fewer thoughts circled through his head, like floating chains of words sailing through and around his mind. His cheeks relaxed, as his mind soared through a hidden paradisiac Eden. His mind pictured himself in a bright, sunlit park. Away from the Gothic gargoyles and statue art of Gotham City. No senseless crime, master criminals, supervillains or even heroes. Just a park. People kindly shuffling past each other, smiling and chattering about their happy affairs  The Joker imagined himself sitting on a bench, looking out over an expansive pond. Trees wallowed around him as he sucked in a gigantic breath of sweet, honey-crested air. Birds circled around him. Light shafted through crevices of the branches and landed directly upon his pale face, tanning his skin and transforming him into the man Jack Napier, not the monster of the Joker. His sinister smile melted from his face. He was Jack Napier once more. In his thoughts, he was no longer the madman clown-prince of Gotham City. Wasn’t it enough to be Jack Napier, human? A man with a family? Job? Friends? Words he barely ever thought of since his accident at Axis Chemicals, suddenly twirling through his cerebrum. As a man, he never had any of these things. He never wanted them, either. But in the current, softly-thought moment. He did. He DID want all of those things every man deserved to have. He wanted a LIFE. Not this existence of eternal damnation in the hell-like spires of Gotham! This existence… was merely… a joke.

Then, it came to him. Like a grand strike of zapped lightning, his mind became ensnared with the answer to the Riddler’s puzzle. His mind bolted to life, screaming the obvious answer through every conscious part of his body.

It was a joke.

A joke either succeeds in its execution, or it falls flat.

A joke means more to some people than to others.

Recite a joke wrong, you’ll make a fool of yourself.

Recite a joke correctly, and its legacy will live on, being retold for generations to come.

It was a motherfucking JOKE.

Of course that was the answer. How could the Riddler resist to make a puzzle that tied into the current situation? That’s all he really was. Just a man making puzzles to enhance the story. HIS story. He watched the trio as if they were fish in a fish tank. Sometimes, throwing in fish food to cause a frenzy. He WANTED action. He WANTED drama. He wanted an Emmy-award-worthy TV show masterpiece. And now, as the Joker’s mind drifted further and further into the light beyond, he realized that the Riddler had won. He got what he wanted. He never cared about the Joker’s safety. The Joker had only been one connecting gear in a master trap for the gold: Batman. He didn’t want or care about a PARTNERSHIP. It was all about him. The man, proud as a peacock, wanted all the wealth for himself. But isn’t that how the Joker had been deep down too? Was HE also as vain, as cruel as unmoving, as menacing, as cold-blooded purely evil?

The answer was ‘no’.

When it came to the Joker’s final judgment, anyone claiming that he had never cared for anyone but himself was wrong. There had always been another. One other. Every crime the Joker committed, every violation he enacted, it had all been for one person and one person alone. Batman. The sheer idea of the dark, flying man fascinated him. Whereas the Batman symbolized justice and order, the Joker finely contrasted him with chaos and anarchy. It was this relationship that fueled the Joker. Everything he did, it was only to get closer to the Batman. To learn more about him, to satisfy his curiosity, to fulfill his desires. He was unhealthily OBSESSED with Batman. Just the thought of touching his opposition sent shivers down his spine. A dark pleasure, not of a sexual nature, but of a simple lust to see his face. His face, pitted against him, swinging powerful punches. That was his ecstasy. His personal high. 

He opened his eyes. The vision was blurred, but he could make out the pointed ears of Batman’s cowl hovering above him. All around were the musky environments of a cave-like hall with computer-controlled technology peeking through cracks in the rock walls. Above, almost hidden in the shadowy crevices along the ceiling, tiny red eyes could be spotted. The eyes… of bats. This must be it. Batman’s center of operations. He eyed down at his chest to see blood. Lots and lots of blood seeping through linen bandages laced around the area surrounding his heart. He tried to lift his head up, but he could not. He simply could not. Batman must’ve drugged him. THAT was probably why he didn’t even flinch when he saw the blood dripping from the wound on his chest. He tried to get his eyes to focus on one thing. He stared at Batman’s head for a moment, a mere shadow, until the vigilante’s eyes were visible from behind the mask. Proof that Batman had humanity, unlike what 99% of the Gotham population whispered to their children at bedtime. He blinked. Once. Twice. Then, he slowly lowered his jaw to speak. He spoke softly.

“B-Ba-Batman… Come closer.” He slowly lifted his bare, bleached hand and pressed it to Batman’s jaw, unshielded by his mask. His fingers felt the stubble, tracing along the protruding chin of a rather masculine face. It was, in this very moment, the Joker felt not the soul of his enemy enigma, but the soul of a man. A man as vulnerable as him. So vulnerable, they both wore masks. They both drew from the fear of their opponents. “I’m done with this. I-I’m done fighting this war over Gotham. It’s funny, Bats. All this time, I thought I was doing a SERVICE to Gotham city. I thought I was the vigilante. Fixing, perfecting a place that will never be cleaned from the bloodstains we’ve both created to achieve our own visions of a utopia. Now I see… It WAS all a big joke. This… FILTHY city can never be ridded of it’s imperfections. You can try all you want. There will always be people like me. Introduce a little light, in comes a little dark. Yin-Yang, Batman. The balance of the universe. For every you… there’s me. What happens if there’s no more ‘me’? There will be others to take my place. As long as there’s YOU, there will always be others, to paint Gotham City red. But…” The Joker slowly closed his eyes and looked at his reflection off of the old butler’s spectacles “I don’t want to do that anymore. I want to be… a man. Not a monster.” The Joker could barely breathe. He chest heaved, yet he felt no pain from all of the medication. “I want to be Jack Napier.”

The joke had finally gone flat, and the man once known as Jack Napier came to the surface of the fallen clown’s consciousness. An old, forgotten personality, re-emerging from the deep, dark shade of Joker’s twisted brain. The Joker, the sadistic clown of madness, felt his personality failing, falling into the back of Jack’s mind. Back into the realm of nightmares, away from reality. Jack blinked. Once. Twice. Everything that had happened, every single event from the past following his accident at Axis Chemicals, melted into his memory, fuzzy like a bad dream. Jack looked up at the Dark Night, brandishing a confused look in his eyes. 

“Ah. So you’re the Batman I’ve heard so much about. Jack Napier. Nice to meet you finally.” Glancing at himself once more from the butler’s glasses, Jack commented slyly “Damn! Here, Batman, how much can I pay you to wipe this stupid grin off my face?”

edwoodrp:

palemoonlightdancing:

edwoodrp:

Ed stared curiously at the Joker. He took a few notes on how silent he was. How menacing his smile became, how his eyes pierced into his own, Ed began to tremble from nerves. The way the Joker locked his eyes on his made him feel uneasy. He felt like a mouse trapped in a snake’s glass cage just waiting for it to strike already. The anticipation was building within Ed. He nervously ran his fingers through his hair and tapped his pen on his notebook. 

“BULLDOZER!”

Ed jumped in his seat dropping his pen to the ground as the Joker finally said something. His eyes widened as he saw the Joker rise and act out this twisted fairy tail. The laughter rung in Ed’s ears making him even more nervous. That’s when the Joker looked as if he was charging right at him, Ed lifted his notebook to shield himself that’s when he heard a crash. His heart stopped as he slowly put his notebook down to see the Joker laying next to his lovely camera that had been thrown to the ground. He stared at the Joker in fear and bewilderment as he asked if he could do another take. Ed couldn’t find the words to speak. He stood up looking at his precious camera laid out on the floor. He put down his notebook on his chair as he slowly kneeled down to pick up his camera. He checked that everything was still in working order.

He felt the Joker staring at him. He felt uneasy, frightened, hoping that the Joker would just disappear from his studio. Knowing he was alone with this man, this clown, was frightening. Ed always saw the good in people, no matter what they looked like or acted or identified themselves as. But the Joker was different. The Joker didn’t have that soft spot that Ed could always find in people. Ed wished Allie was with him just to calm his nerves.

Once he finished checking his camera, his attention went back to the Joker who was still laid out on the floor smiling up at him. Ed opened his mouth hoping the words would come as he shook his head. His voice was shaky and it cracked out of fear, “N-No….. No… you’ve shown me enough Joker…. Th-thank you…” He extended his trembling hand to help the Joker off the ground. 

Joker got to his feet, and slowly stepped forward. He stood directly in front of the director, who now looked up at him, trembling. Joker checked his watch. It had been two minutes. The director wasn’t broken yet, but he will be. Though he was smiling, Joker’s eyes had an effect of showing Ed that he was not amused with the answer he had just recieved. “No? NO?” Joker’s laugh, like the roar of a crazed hyena, broke the uneven silence of the enclosed audition room, filling the atmosphere with a frightening sense of horror, and pure, unhinged terror. The Joker leaned in even closer to the director. His breath practically dripped from his mouth, a smell of unkempt rot and decay, with a tiny pinch of an overwhelming chemical scent. He practically blew his breath into Ed’s face and slowly dictated his words, enjoying each little vowel and consonent spilling from his tongue.

“Now, I want you to take some time to think… Are you absolutely SURE you want to end the audition right now? Because I don’t think you realize who I am. I am the Joker. The most feared guy in all of Gotham City. Sure, they don’t know me over here in Plastic-Boobs-and-Tanline-Land, but they will. THEY WILL, and you’re gonna help me. You’re GOING to put me in one of your movies. You will make me famous around the world. Do you understand?” Joker grabbed the collar of Ed’s clean shirt and raised him off the ground, with only one, bleached-white hand. Joker backed the director up the clean wall, and cackled in his face, making sure that the demonic laugh would travel through Ed’s eardrums and ring in the very pits of his tiny brain. “I said… ‘DO YOU UNDERSTAND?’” The Joker lowered the man from the wall, and turned around to brush off the shoulder of his nice, up-kempt purple suit. Ah, this was the life. He had almost forgotten how much fun it was to mess in the heads of normal citizens, unlike Batman and Vicki Vale, whom he considered his ‘rubber and bleached bitches’ and found them to be quite extraordinary. Compared to those two, Joker found little interest in the rest of society. He could care less who was the President of the United States, or who was delivering his favorite “Papa Gothie’s Pizza”. However, this one director, this seemingly ordinary man, Ed Wood, was an exception. Joker raved about Ed’s movies, found their direction vastly misundertsoode and secretly the workings of a genius. It was this man who Joker had obsessed over for years, and now that he was here, it was like a childhood fantasy playing out before his eyes. He turned back to face the director, ready to ask him again.

“Can I audition again?” Joker put his hand in the back of his suit pocket, grabbing hold of his lucky pistol. The man better pray he chooses the right answer… Because if he doesn’t, he’s about ready to dance with the Devil in the pale moonlight…

As the Joker stood and loomed over Ed, Ed trembled more violently. His knees getting weak as the Joker’s horrid laugh echoed throughout the room. Ed did nothing but stare as the Joker checked the time and lock his cold eyes back onto his. Ed jumped slightly as the Joker yelled, “NO? No?” The laughter was deafening. Ed tried to cover his ears, but before he could do anything the Joker’s face leaned ever so close to Ed that he could smell the greased makeup on his face. He could smell the deathly stench of the Joker’s breath getting blown in his face. Ed was never good with unpleasant smells and became dizzy. The disgusting stench the oozed from the Joker’s mouth made Ed close his eyes and scrunch his face. He shook his head trying to stay conscious from the deathly fumes as the Joker began to speak.

He locked eyes with the Joker at the mentioning of Gotham. He is another goon from Gotham… Why? Why choose me? Why make ME film this clown? Why didn’t he go to Orson Welles? Why couldn’t he have gone to James Whale? Ed’s thoughts were interrupted as he felt the jerk of the Joker’s hand pushing him into the wall. As he was lifted Ed tried to escape from the Joker’s grasp. He held on to the Joker’s wrists hoping to free himself. As the Joker began to cackle, he froze in fear. He stared into the Joker’s eyes as his maniacal laugh bounced around every wall in the room. It became deafening. “DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” Ed nodded violently stuttering out his words, “Y-yes… yes… I-I understand…” As the Joker lowered him his knees were weak. He fell down kneeling trying to catch his breath.

He looked up as the Joker turned to ask his question again. Ed looked around dazed wondering Why? Why me? Why did you come to me? Why is it that you have to audition for me? Ed looked down running his fingers through his hair taking a second to breathe. I need to stay calm. Do whatever he says. Then you can go back home. Home with Allie. Safe. Ed picked himself back up acting strong. He stopped himself from trembling and cleared his throat sounding confident, “Yes… Yes Joker you can. Come. Let’s try this again. Here. Sit on the couch and tell me another story. Or if you want we can do an interview type audition. I can ask you random questions and you have to answer them OR you can ask me questions. Of course this is Your audition. You can do what ever you want.” Ed stared at the Joker with a raised eyebrow. He needed to show some power. Inside his throat a knot of fear was forming. Inside his mind was screaming, crying, all he wanted to do was run out of that audition room, far away from this clown. But there he was. Acting in front of the Joker like he was still a director. He was still in charge of whether he would cast him or not in a film that has not been made or even thought of. Casting him to make him a B-rated cult classic star.  He grinned up at the Joker as he grabbed his notebook and pen and sat back down in his director’s chair, “Whenever you’re ready Joker…” He crossed his legs waiting for the Joker to begin. 

What a shmuck. The Joker snickered at the man before him, the barely ‘renowned’ movie director Ed Wood. A man without a spine, floating along through life like a cowardly leaf on the water, sailing with any waves that come his way through the ocean. And now, the Joker was only another bump of water, gliding across the ocean and carrying Ed’s leaf wherever the Joker chose to go. Just like he liked it. He knew it would only be a matter of time before the squeamish director would bend to the Joker’s every whim. All he had needed was a little encouragement, constructive criticism, that’s all. The permanently-lodged smile upon the Joker’s face curled upwards, a sinister grin compared to the likes of the a demented cartoon, basically any sick cartoon you could find on PBS. The Joker often liked to think of himself as an animated character. He had no idea why, but there was a certain part of him that imagined how awesome he’d look as a cartoon. Maybe one day. Ed’s films would help get him there. He’d become so famous, so well-known that children across the nation would sqeul in delight when his face flashed accross their low-tech television screens. Women would swoon on the streets as he struts past them, walking to a tune of ‘Haters gonna hate’. Hell, even men like the queer Ed would fall backwards in fangasm. With more power than the president, he could sway the public opinion of the entire nation with a simple press conference. An army of security men would guard his every angle, men daunting compared to the likes of Batman. Joker could have anything and everything he’d always wanted. It was a no-brainer. The Joker HAD to become a celebrity.

Unforgettably, he had already contacted five other directors, the general answer to his requests being no. When the Joker threatened them, the director’s security proved to be… problematic. So, the Joker had settled for his sixth choice: a director with minimal security, minimal backbone, and minimal common sense in film making. Ed Wood was the obvious choice. True, the director had enjoyed a few of his films, but mostly for the fact that he was blinded by the gorgeous ass covering his television screen in “Orgy of the Dead”. He knew deep down that Ed was a flying shit of a director, and this would make him easily malleable. The Joker would be able to take advantage of his insecurities, and, to his estimate, drive him hysterical within an hour. He glanced at the expensive Rolex gracing his wrist. Six minutes had gone by. Right on schedule. After threatening the pitiful man, the Joker was asked to take a seat on the couch and redo his audition. Wise choice. His other hand, which had been wrapped around his lucky pistol in his pocket, relaxed and released the weapon. He sat his bottom on the cushy couch and kicked his feet up onto the small coffee table. Another story? What ever would he say? The one about the rabbit who walked into a shredder? No, too political. The story where the mime fell down an invisible elevator shaft? No no, too risque… He was stumped. AGAIN. He would have to improvise. Perform something that would really stir some of his audience’s emotions. He ran to the prop box on the side of the room. Opening the chest, he searched the through the assortment of random objects. A pink tutu… a magician’s hat… AH! A rope! Perfect! An idea circled in his mind as he began to talk directly to the camera, raising an highly-arched eyebrow.

“Once upon a time, there lived a teeny-tiny director of teeny-tiny movies. He was so nervous, so scared of a mean ‘ol man who wanted to be a movie star! The mean man said the the director would die if he wouldn’t put him in his movies! And the director didn’t! Oh no! The next week, the director found a body in his closet! It was his queer little lover! DEAD! Bloody, rotten, and DEAD! All the people he loved began falling from the world like flies, and the director was all alone in his pathetic little life. So you know what the little director did?” Not receiving a response from Ed Wood, he continued. “The itty-butty director got fed up with the universe, took this long rope, AND HUNG HIMSELF LIKE A CHANDELIER!” In that moment, the Joker raced to the sitting Ed Wood, wrapped the rope around his neck, and tugged the circulation out of his head. This would scare the pitiful man straight. 

thebatwithamask:

palemoonlightdancing:

itdoesnthavetobeaperfectworld:

Vicki hated this feeling, hated even having to pretend for one single second that she was even remotely interested in the Joker. But this was necessary. Sometimes in life you have to do things that you don’t want to in order to protect yourself or more importantly the people that you love most. As sick as this made her, every second that she could distract the Joker, keep him focused on her, was another second bought for Bruce and the rest of Gotham. She just prayed she could continue this long enough for it to make a difference and that he wouldn’t turn things around on her too fast.

She cringed inwardly, her disgust growing as she felt him tense and heard his breathing getting heavier. It made her sick, but she had to be thankful for one simple thing here. She had him. His mind, his desires, had not changed much through the years. He was like a hungry dog with a treat. All you had to do was dangle the treat in his face and he started to drool. It was pathetic and vile, but for right now it worked to her favor. She hadn’t expected it to be that easy. Now all she had to do was keep this awful charade up long enough to save herself and Bruce. 

She did her best to disguise her distaste when she felt him move, his breathing still heavier than usual. She looked up at him, trying her best to plead with him to listen to her. Just keep him distracted. She watched as a wicked grin formed on his face and she heard his whisper. Great… That thing. She held the repulsive skin tight outfit in her hands and nodded as she looked up at him still. Wait a second… Did he expect her to change into this right in front of him? Oh shit… This charade was getting a little more dangerous. Of course it couldn’t have been that easy, could it?

Suddenly his phone started to ring again and Vicki welcomed the new distraction. She had a feeling she was going to have to think of something fast to detour him from his gross idea of her undressing and changing into his joke of an outfit right in front of him while still keeping this charade up. This new distraction was short lived, however, when she watched the Joker throw the phone to the ground and it stopped ringing. She jumped when he pulled his gun out and fired two rounds off into the phone. Well, that was the end of that distraction for good…

She watched nervously as he pointed his gun at the wall corner this time. The camera… He fired off another round and with that one of the many cameras in the room were destroyed. She watched, jumping slightly each time he fired off another round to destroy every last one of the cameras in the room. A horrible feeling washed over her then, a sick realization in the pit of her stomach. With the phone and cameras destroyed they were completely alone. As much as it sickened her to know someone out there was helping to orchestrate this whole thing and watching them, at least she knew someone else was watching them and they weren’t alone. Now, however, he’d gotten rid of that added element and made this just between the two of them. Shit…

When she heard the laughter, she knew she was in trouble. Her mind raced with a solution, a way to keep this charade up long enough for Bruce to get here and make a move. More than just her life depended on this. She had to stay strong. She had to follow this through somehow. Remember, he’s just a hungry dog…

Vicki’s eyes held his as he sat down in the chair she had formerly been sitting in. She saw his eyes on her and knew what was coming, knew exactly what he wanted. She felt the bile rising in her throat again as he lecherously raised his eyebrows at her in anticipation. Oh god… She watched him glance down at his gun, a reminder that if she angered him this was all over. Perfect, just perfect…

She took a deep breath, her eyes still locked on his for the time being, She licked her lips, tasting the dried and fresh blood there as she put on a fake seductive smile for him. She stepped closer, walking slowly and bent slightly in front of him. She let out a soft laugh with a moan. She slipped one hand around to the base of his neck and rested it there for a moment before it trailed along his neck slowly. Her lips were near his ear again, just barely brushing the putrid skin. It was taking everything she had in her to resist the urge to gag or perhaps knee him in the groin. This had better work… ”Mmm, now Joker… I can put this on for you no problem, but if you watch then everything is just spoiled for you, now isn’t it? I don’t want to show you everything right away. What’s the fun in that? Hm?”

All she could do was hope that he’d be enticed enough at the thought of something else that he’d give up on this perverse idea of watching her dress. If you dangled a treat in front of a hungry dog he’d drool in anticipation for it, but if you held an even bigger treat in front of him his attention would go for the bigger and better treat. It was risky, but she had to try because there was no way she was changing in front of him. She had to keep him distracted. She had to fight for herself and for Bruce. Too much was at stake. 

With each subtle movement of her hips, each soft lick of her lips, Joker became enraptured and enchanted by her seduction. His eyes glazed over as more thoughts of sin, of darkness perverted his mind. Oh wait. His mind WAS already perverted. He found himself rolling back his eyes in pleasure, licking his own ruby-red lips. He felt like a king. He sat back in his ‘throne’ watching the sensual prowess before him. Like a king and his jester. He had always wanted one. Now, like the horrid, monstrous toad he was, his tongue darted in and out between his teeth. His eyes grew bigger, taking in Vicki Vale’s advances. She was no longer the sweet, innocent young lady of which Batman pursued, oh no, she was the seductress of the Joker, the closest thing to a devil on earth. And at this very moment, this devil was thriving, feeding off the looks of sexual desire in the blonde’s bare-blue eyes. How could he resist? He struggled to hold himself back, as his hands occasionally jumped up, wanted to reach out for her. He wanted to grip her smooth body and pull it against his. He wanted to roll on the ground with her, tongue sliding down her lean stomach. He could almost feel her fingernails, red, scratching down his back. He let out short moans of paradise, of joy. This was the life. He tried to imagine where Batman and the rich snob Bruce Wayne were. No doubt Batty-Boy would be on his way, riding in that stupid car of his. ‘How come I don’t have a car?’ Joker thought to himself. Sure, he had the ice-cream truck of fantasy, where he had lived several great moments of his life, but he wanted a badass ride. One even greater than Batman’s. He took note of it, storing it in the dark, demented crevices of his brain for later use. Just the very thought, the IDEA that Batman had something better than him… it made his sick. He growled with anger, which all but ceased when he remembered he had the one thing Batman held most dear. And she was stripping for him! Oh, Batman won’t be pleased to hear how naughty she’s been! Joker giggled. His eyes lit up, growing larger in merriment and bliss.

Then Vicki Vale had to go and RUIN THE MOMENT. Joker scowled when she asked for a moment of privacy, but then, after she explained to him that the best would be saved for last, he began to drool over the thought. Like a panting dog, he nodded his head in agreement, speechless and trying to gather his thoughts. For, at the moment, the only comprehensible speech inside the dark brain of the Joker consisted of “YES YES BOOBY BOOBY GRABBY GRABBY!” The complexity of his own thought never quit at amazing him, the Joker implied to himself. At times, his brain would be aroar with conundrums, plans, scheming, yet at other times, his brain would use a more simple approach. The same technique occurs when in the presence of the dark knight, when Joker’s mind would repeatedly scream “KILL KILL PUNCHY KICKY -His lips look like a slug- KILL!” along with another assortment of words that even the Joker sparsely used. Still, Joker took pride in his own mind. It was his very mind that, time after time, nearly destroyed the Batman once and for all, the same brain that tormented and belittled the clueless citizens of Gotham City, and admired the eloquence of Vicki Vale. She wanted him to look away. Very well. Whatever it took to get her into that sexy number of a suit. He himself had created the thing, and many happy memories stood behind it. He put his hands over his eyes and smiled his mischievous grin. 

“I’ll give you the count to ten, then I’ll open my eyes!” Joker could barely handle sitting still. His excitement was overwhelming. This was the very moment from his dreams. The moment where Vicki Vale would join his side, and finally see him for the true being he truly was… a master of dominance, a beast with a fire within his soul, a monster beyond fathomable distortion. And her eyes would change. She would learn that all of these things… are good. AND HILARIOUS AS HELL! Finally, a girl with his sense of humor, a girl who he could hold hands with while slaughtering young, innocent children. A girl who he could make love to while the rest of Gotham shreiked in a fiery explosiuon. A girl who would understand his heart, as disturbing as it was, and share it with him. Together, Forever, his delicate Vicki Vale, as fragile as a harlequinn doll. Harlequinn… exactly. Joker’s plastered grin lifted his cheeks higher, and hearing nothing but silence, he began counting.

“One.. Two… Three! Four! FIVE-SIX! Seven… Eight. Nine!...” He slowly opened his eyes…

Darkness swept into the warehouse. A thickening blackness, invading from the rafters and descending upon the concrete below. A noiseless silhouette, seemingly motionless like a bottomless chasm, pooling onto the ground. He remained there with the stillness of a statue. It was not hesitance that kept him there but detection. The Batman kept his hand placed firmly on the floor. He waited, his own impatience was beginning to eat him alive, but something more than that. There was guilt insurmountable, surrounding his core and implementing with fierce lashes. He had foolishly let her slip from him again, foolishly believed they were safe- foolishly believed he was able to live his life without fearing for the lives he had so carelessly endangered.  

His jaw tightened, lips peeling back into a grimace as he moved with apace guided by something less than reason and more than anger. He stepped with a knowledgeable silence, keeping a keen ear for any movements, any signs of life in the place. All the while he skimmed the area, heading for the heart of the building, he couldn’t help this notion that he was being watched. It was something beyond paranoia that gripped him, he felt the sear of mocking eyes peering down at him. Something was wrong here, worse than he had expected. A torturous plan within a plan.  

He paused before turning the next corner, halted by the cackle that emanated some 100 feet away. A monstrous reverberating guffaw, that in the unexpected instant of hearing it tore into him leaving him to fend for the unease it produced. An unease that signified the pain the fiend had already inflicted, a horrible truth of what might he might find… If it would kill him to see her so broken, again… If he would be strong enough to let the bastard live.  

His hands trembled at the wincing recollection of discovering her disappearance, the panic, the dread - swimming unsteadily through his veins at an alarming rate. He denied it at first, too sure of his own protection over her, too scared of the truth. But then he saw it… watched the tape - witnessing her blood drenched face, pleading to him - aching for him, for his false assurances, begging him to free her. His stomach had contorted into twisting vines in his stomach, dragging his intestines out of his mouth turgid hooks. The tears in her eyes, her anguish ridden body - every strike every horrendous laugh, ripped at his soul. He knew he had to act, to break himself from his shock - to morph into that other being and search for the one he loved. Someone he always found himself so close to losing, teetering in between safety and certain peril. A variable in their lives he would be quick to fix… even if it was a difficult choice to make, it would be for the good of them and their future.

His head turned in one fluid motion as the echo of bullet shots filled the air. His eyes widened behind his cowl as he dove forward instinctively, moving with a quickened pace toward where the noise had come from, stilled from the voices that emitted from behind the door. He listened carefully, calming his heart as he stood by the door with bated breath. If he moved in now, he would be undoubtedly shot, and upon close impact the bullet would surely be lethal.   

He felt the twist of his stomach, fear extending itself across his abdomen and tightening its grip around his intestines. Closing his eyes in a futile intent to rid himself of the anxiety of finding her mortally wounded… or something inconceivably worse.

No longer able to hold himself back, he slammed his weight into the metal door, its hinges shattering at the force of his entry. His eyes scanned the room, the rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins, but his eyes met hers in that split second and all of his apprehension fell into darkness. He blinked, his eyes wide and fury growing. She was as he had seen her before, weakened by the heinous acts she had endured from the ingrate. The mixed look of relief, and yet there was pain… pain he had let come to pass… pain he too would reap upon the detestable creature that lingered only some feet beyond. He turned to the demon clown and through the rage that surfaced as did his limbs, and he charged at the beast. His foot colliding into the Joker’s chest sending his body crashing into the wall behind him, words came through clenched teeth.

“-Ten.”

His blood boiled beneath his flesh as he gazed at the monstrosity before him. That horrible waste of life that threatened to destroy all that loved - one that sought revenge, but he would show him a salvation that went beyond this petty toss of life… He would give him truth, and feed it down his throat, and he would know pain like no other.

He hauled the pathetic heap up from the ground by the collar, thrusting him into the wall with a force unknown to himself before then. He held his hatred at bay, but was weakened by the knowing sneer ever present on the Joker’s face. His smug carelessness leaked his truest insecurity. Power. He believed he had control over the situation… he would soon find otherwise.  

Batman’s thickly gloved hand wrapped around the clown’s ghoulish neck, tightening in his clasp as he threw his fist into his pallid cheek. He gripped down, pressing against his gullet, as he sent his knee into his chest, basking in his pain and the cough of well deserved blood on his face. Holding his head back so that he could properly see the man behind the monster, the thing that quivered, remaining behind  the cage of his mind. And rapidly, he wrenched his arm back in a threatening stance.  

“Give me one fucking reason why I shouldn’t kill you.”  

It was a command.

Out of nowhere, the dark creature of the night swooped into the aging, beat-up warehouse. The Joker experienced a powerful kick to hid middle-upper chest, which threw his entire body backwards into a wall. As he made contact with the bricks of the side of the warehouse, he felt his inner organs colliding with each other in a single clashing, and felt sick almost instantaneously. His skull had knocked the wall sideways, and a strange throbbing, or a peculiar ‘pulsing’ began in his ears. Joker’s mind raced with several discernible words of exclamation. He had just begun to open his eyes, tightly clenching together, as a swerving hit knocked him upside the jaw, bashing in his cheek and the left side of his perfect smile. He tasted the sweet pleasure of blood trickling through his mouth, over his tongue and down his throat. His teeth felt sore and loose, almost dangling from the mushy goo which were his upper gums. Oh, he had missed this. His vision began to falter, seeing only a black, shady blur which moved about rapidly, so fast, shifty, and jerky that the Joker’s eyes could not follow the outline with ease. Another hit unexpectedly impacted him, to the lower chest this time. Joker’s breath had completely left his weakened lungs and he began to hyperventilate, sucking for the oxygen around to fill his chest once more with the feeling of breathable air. He wished he could laugh. He wanted to cackle and spit in the menacing cowl of the Batman and tell him of all the surprises he had in store for him. Then, he would slap the paralyzed man senseless, kick him to the ground, carve out his smile with a knife he had been keeping in his purple gloves, and use his bloody, wrangled corpse to disturb the innocent young mind of Vicki Vale. He would show her things that would leave her thoughts scarred and clouded for the rest of her lonely life…

Fun, yes, but keeping him alive is the best part! For now…

Joker keeled over, feeling the urgent sensation to vomit. He gagged and grasped for air with his gloved hands writhing in agony, his stomach heaving, yet refusing to throw anything up. He felt thick, clotty blood dripping and pouring from his mouth, across his bleached skin, and onto the wooden warehouse floor, making only another stain newly renovated by the clown prince today. The hideous green follicles of hair which hung from his head were violently jerked backwards, and he heard the grumbling of Batman. The very voice set his comedic emotions on edge and grew the corners of his smile even higher. As he replied back between deep breaths, struggling to make his speech fully comprehensible, tiny, faint giggles penetrated his words and made his sentences all one big joke. He genuinely laughed at everything he said! What more could you expect? This meeting was looooong overdue…

“Hehe..he.. Ba-Bat. Battyboy… what a pleasant.. surprise! Hehe..” As his chuckling grew stronger, the back of his head slammed against the wall. Intense throbbing rang through his ears louder, and he was able to open his eyes barely enough to see Batman as a thin, horizontal line. “You ca-an’t kill me, Bats… we all.. know that!” His smile broadened. From the perspective of an outsider viewing the current events, it would appear someone in the Joker’s position would be begging for mercy, screaming for life in front of this S & M loving, bat-shaped executioner. The darky, twisty-turny mind of the Joker RELISHED these sessions of pure torture. The pain felt so good, like a long lost friend came to give him a flowery hug. Getting punished by Batman for his behavior, getting knocked senseless was like a drug to him. It heightened his personality, made him feel like he was the very most important thing in the world. AND HE WAS.

Isn’t that sad, Batman? The first second he stepped into the warehouse, who did he stop by to visit first? The supposed ‘love of his life’, or his oldest, worst, and most bitter enemy? If you chose option ‘B’, congratulations! You are not a mental freak like me!

That was the most hilarious joke of them all.

What does Batman hold most dear? ME. Not Vicki Vale. Not the citizens of Gotham or anyone else on the whole fucking planet but ME! And when the Joker committed his crimes, as his intricate plans would unfold, Batman would always be there. Joker was always going to be his number one priority. The Joker allowed his mind to relax into soothing thoughts of the future. He watched his mind simulate Batman and Joker growing old with each other, waging war across the streets of Gotham for decades! Joker looked forward to it, and anticipated it brightly with a grin at all times. The very thought of seeing “Grandpa Batman” made him want to cry of laughter. Then again, he already was ridiculous enough. A full-grown man running through dark alleyways dressed as a black, cheap 50’s looking horror-movie robot, with two devil horns to complete the look. A suit made of rubber, probably the same stuff they use to make tires. The thought occurred to the Joker, just then… how often does Batman leave skid-marks from his costume on the pavement of Gotham. He hoped to find the answer at a further date in time. He turned his focus back on and spoke to Gotham’s knight again.

“You… you’re pathetic, you know. Have you even thought about it Batman?” Joker’s breath began restoring itself in his lungs, and he pushed forward against the Dark Knight’s arm, slowly stepping away from the wall behind him. His ghostly-white teeth completed the snarky smile. “YOU’REthe one who got Vicki involved in this, not me!YOU’REthe reason neither of you will ever have an ordinary life, because you know what’s MOST important to you? You want to chase all the freaks like me in black rubber and spandex! Even after you have babies together, you’ll never be able to escape your life of vigilantism! Heeheehahaha!” Joker laughed, small flecks of bloody spit flying towards Batman’s jaw. “Now who’s thefreak?HeeheehehehahaHAHAHAHAHAHA-” Joker’s laughing was suddenly interrupted by a fierce spasm in his chest, like a million bolts of lightning shocking his ribs simultaneously. He screamed in horror as he experienced the worst pain he had ever felt in his entire life, even more so than when he had fallen into the toxic acid at AXIS Chemicals oh so long ago.. The ringing of pulsing blood in his ears grew stronger, deafening out all other noise from the warehouse. Joker found himself questioning whether to put his hand to his heart, or cover his ears in the blinding pain. The world around him grew blanker, whiter, until all he could see was nothing except glaring, hot white. The pulsing in his ears grew to a volume so great, he was certain his head would explode in the sound. “BOOM-BOOM… BOOM-BOOM… BOOM-BOOM” Yet, as the sound grew to an amplitude of indescribable torment, he swore he heard something else along with the pounding of his heart.

“BOOM-BOOM.. click.. BOOM-BOOM.. click.. BOOM-BOOM.. click..” What is happening to me? His thoughts panicked, crying for a help that would never come to his rescue. Yet, steadily and surely, the noise softened, growing smaller and smaller. The Joker’s vision glazed back to slight haziness, and his chest ceased to emit the chaotic burning sensation, only a slight tingling feeling remaining. He panted as he rose to his knees, glaring at the dark knight.

“What have you done to me?” The Joker crawled forward, reaching out for Batman’s leg while drawing a knife concealed within his right glove. His eyes were set aflame with fiery hatred and burning anger, which built up inside of him like a bonfire. He clawed the air surrounding him, attempting to grab the Bat, but his vision faltered and showed him inaccurate distances. Bats was two feet away, Bats was seven feet away, Bats was sporting pink sunglasses. As he failed to grab the dark knight, his thoughts transformed darker, more urgent. Let me get him! For once! LET ME GET HIM AND SLICE HIM! KILL THE BAT! If it were possible, smoke would be pouring heavily out of his ears and nostrils. His rages and stresses built on each other until his mind felt overwhelmed and anxiety overtook him. He screamed in temper, nothing was going right. Tears fell from his eyes as he fell completely to the floor, dropping his knife and sobbing into the floorboards below. He was a broken man. Who was he kidding, using names like “freak” and “monster”? He was only a man. A man who felt trapped in a box of gags and cheap clown makeup. A man who had not received a sincere act of compassion since he was cursed with his unforgiving face. He resented himself, longed to return to the past. And then, he did. For the first time in god-knew-how-long, slivers of the Joker’s humanity began returning to him in thought. He remembered his childhood. His family. Had he really forgotten? He cried out loud in sorrow as he realized he had lost everything. He was alone. All alone. Maybe that was why he had an obsession with Batman. Because he knew that Batman would always be the closest thing he’d ever have to a companion, a person who’d be with him through times of joy and sadness, a person who would never leave his side. A person he could never get rid of. Just like family. Joker softly smiled as he remembered storming into a bar with Batman and Vicki Vale, holding a gagged old-man and playing “We Are Family” on a boombox. Ah. The good ‘ol days. Wasn’t that FUNNY? More memories entered his conscious. Memories of explosives, tormenting, slaughter, and laughter. The tears from Joker’s eyes grew dry. His thoughts about his forgotten past slipped away, back into the deep crevices of his mind as his thoughts of mayhem, madness, and maniacs flooded his thoughts with warm, happy feelings like a dangerous drug. His red eyes locked onto the knife which he had dropped on the ground, slowly wrapping his snake-like fingers around the volatile weapon as he snickered at the standing Batman. 

“So, how about ONE LAST DANCE with the devil in the pale moonlight, Battyboy? For OLD TIME’S SAKE!” Before the Joker had time to barely move a tendon or muscle in his body to throw the knife, he was interrupted by the sound of clapping. Slow, drawn-out clapping that had a mechanical ring to it. He looked at Batman and Vicki, realizing it wasn’t them making the noise…