#┇𝐅𝐋𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓┇

[chaoticjoke]

i don't like asking you for help, but i don't have a choice.

Not sure if... serious?

These words make him blink. Twice. Joker's eyes narrow and brows furrow in confusion -- he's not sure if he's heard Batman correctly. The Batman's. asking. for his help? Really? Reaaaaaallllyyyy? Oh this is already so much fun. Even if this is another hallucination. The Joker can't really tell with all the Thorazine in his system they keep pumping him with these days. He wonders what might actually happen that his arch-nemesis would come to him, of all people.

He can't help it anymore -- loud maniacal cackling is now echoing off the walls of Arkham Asylum. The Agent of Chaos can't tell if it's a joke or not -- and that's what makes it even more hilarious.

"Ooooh, poor little Bat is desperate!" he announces, his voice is hoarse from both laughter and dehydration. "Ah, come on, spit out out already, Bat-man, I'm all ears!" He nods enthusiastically, encouraging the other to continue.

"But, before you do, I have a question." He bats his eyelashes at the masked vigilante, mocking. "What do I get in return?"

@gothamsaved

[chaoticjoke]

The Agent of Chaos is everything but blind. Hardly anything can escape his omnipotent eye.

Especially when he's this close.

The fact that he and the Batman are very much alike he's learned a long time ago, back when the controversial headlines about the Caped Crusader screamed from the first pages of The Gotham Times. BATMAN STOPS MOB MELEE, ARREST BATMAN - NOT JUST YET, BATMAN: SAVIOR OR MENACE? --- he's been watching him from the start, and the more he watched, the more he realized that Batman was the only worthy opponent for him. A perfect nemesis. A better class of hero (criminal?). An equal.

He's never had any intentions of killing the Bat, not even remotely. And when he told him they were destined to do that forever, that endless cat and mouse game, he meant every single word.

There's a theatrical pause that prolongs the visible confusion of the Bat, impossible to hide or conceal behind the mask. Does he even need it anymore at this point? The Joker simply watches him up close, taking in every millisecond as if trying to keep up with the transparent thoughts of the Dark Knight. He can see hesitation written all over Batman's features, the unsteadiness in his voice, the erratic breathing...

The Batman's thinking too loud.

The Joker can't help but burst out laughing again. He's going to regret that later, the consequences of the brutal beating and broken ribs will soon become impossible to ignore, but he cackles nonetheless. The World's Greatest Detective says he doesn't have a clue. A clueless detective. Only in Gotham.

"Oh, youuuu." Joker hisses, tears glistening in the outer corners of his eyes, smearing the dark paint even further. "You're making thisssss SO. much. Fun."

"You're seeing it too now, aren't ya?" He quickly brushes his tongue over his lower lip. "Tell me. How does it feel", The Joker grunts as he makes another attempt to shift himself under the weight pinning him down, "not believing in your own wuuuurrrds, hm? How does it feel" (jerk) "to finally admit to yourself that I was right. All. This. Time?"

Repulsive. Everything about it is.

What's it? Does he even know?

Joker. The Joker repulses him, so much that he shouldn't want to say it like a name. Humanize him. Bruce Batman watches the man's tongue slither like a savoring snake, and there his own nerve endings go, turning inside-out, numbness everywhere, too high a voltage. Static erupts behind his eyes. He doesn't know.

His fingers are bitten down around Joker's forearms like the fists of Egyptian statues, hard diorite and alabaster — but so weak. Repulsive.

Yet repulsion is the basis for everything that drives him.

"Stop it." Broken intervals of sound, laced through grating teeth. "Stop . . ." What? What words are you afraid of? (says the devil under his shoulders.) Or is it that Joker moves? That he moves and Bruce can feel the tendons against his own gloves, flexing, musculature against kevlar, slithering. He's human — except that's not the real problem, anymore. Hasn't been for the last two minutes.

Two minutes is plenty for a revelation. Touch. Repulsive. He can't let go.

"We're nothing like each other," the Dark Knight growls — but it isn't a growl at all. If Bruce is the mask, if that's possible, then he's pulling the Batman back inside him, burying him under his very human fear. "There is no WE, Joker — you're delusional. Blind. You don't see me — and I have . . . no clue what I see."

Can't (can) let go, or he (just doesnt want to) will lose him again.

[chaoticjoke]

bruz3r answered:

“ I can do it again. “  He growled, letting go of the cable for a good full minute before he stepped on the remaining pool on the floor and pull him back up from where he’d hung THE JOKER from. Pulling him back up a little higher, feet by overbearing feet until they’re back to eye level with the clown’s almost vacant stare and THE DARK KNIGHT’S angry glare. 

The thought occurs that all his future problems could be fixed with just ─ letting go.  But there’s a trap awaiting cops and some innocent civilians across the city. And the temptation dissipates just like that ; automatically replaced with the ever prevailing rage at his presence. 

“ Where are they? “ He grits through his teeth, stepping closer to the ledge, grabbing him by his tie and tightening it around his neck. “ Answer. Me. “

"And yet they call ya World's Greatest Dee-tec-tive." Joker mocks and clicks his tongue. His voice is clownish and nasally, head dizzy. "Guess that's too, uh, farfetched." There's a devilish smirk written over the smeared greasepaint. Their game is only getting better and better as it progresses and he's excited how far he'll be able to push his arch-enemy this time.

They both know if The Dark Knight finally snaps, it's going to be a win-win for The Agent of Chaos. That brings a self-satisfying grin to Joker's scarred face. He doesn't know what he enjoys better -- the boiling rage on the Bat's face or the fact that he's chocking him, using his necktie as a makeshift noose.

Is he sure he wants to hurt him this way or..? A low rumbling chuckle is slowly filling the air. Oh, it hurts goooooooood. ...Maybe that black suit of his has been chosen for a reason?... The Joker starts laughing maniacally.

"I ahhhhh," he wheezes, "I'd appreciate if you were a little bit more... specific."

@bruz3r

[chaoticjoke]

➫ BRUCE thought he had Joker on the ropes, chasing him all over Gotham, following him into this warehouse and feeling like he finally had the guy cornered. But as always, the other had a mouth on him and couldn't stop himself from talking. It was really annoying, he had always thought so, but it's not like he could ever get rid of this enemy. Joker was like a cockroach. "You've got a twisted sense of morals, Joker. Maybe I'm a villain for all the low lives who ruin my city, but I'm cleaning up Gotham with every scumbag I get off the street." He stepped into the shadows, behind some boxes and disappeared into the rafters. "Are YOU saying you're a hero? A hero for who, exactly? I'd love to hear this sorry excuse for all the chaos you cause." (x)

Oh, he liked where this was going. The Bat's taking the bait.

The Agent of Chaos had been waiting for this little tête-à-tête with his caped arch-nemesis for a long time. He had always known how much his words affected the Batman, hitting where it hurt the most, just like his knife would pierce the vulnerable flesh between the Kevlar armor plates.

So here comes the good ol' batsplaining. It was an absolute pity that Batman would never know how adorable he looked when he tried so hard to teach him the difference between the good and bad, the black and white, the right and wrong, the positive and negative. This was starting to get too much fun. Black-ringed eyes watched the Batman, unblinking, and, the more he listened, the more amused he became with every moment of their existential conversation. The Joker couldn't help it anymore -- dark mocking laughter slowly filled the warehouse, giggles echoing off the walls and ceiling.

"Your city..." he mused, snickering. Sooooo... possessive.

Excuses? The Joker truly had no excuses, no reasons. He just had this ability to turn others' plans upside down. Just for the heck of it. Because he could. And he was damn good at it. It wasn't about excuses.

"No. No, no, no, no. Noooooo. There's nothing heroic about chaos. Y'see, it's uh, it's natural." He swiped his tongue over his lower lip. "This... so-called morality is just another tool to control people. But chaos? It's just is. And that's the beauty of it." He gestured wildly to emphasize his point. "You're just too stubborn. to understand. that."

@berylcluster

[chaoticjoke]

@nightvow from here

"But you did break your rule, didn't ya?" Joker keeps taunting, despite Batman's unsuccessful attempts to avoid the sensitive subject. No so incorruptible anymore, not so righteous.

"Twice-ah." Talia. A little bird told him. Were there others? The Dark Knight is not that different from him, no matter how much he denies that. He just doesn't see the full picture yet. He will.

"One more kill and you'll become... a serial killer."

[chaoticjoke]

Why so... stubborn?

Life would be so much easier for the poor little bat if he wasn't always been in constant denial. Well, maybe that's why it makes his every encounter with the Batman so much fun. The Batman is his only worthy opponent, both in physical and verbal fight.

No matter how hard the Dark Knight's trying to maintain his composure, the Agent of Chaos does know his arch-nemesis always puts his words into consideration, and getting under the bat's skin has always given Joker some sort of sadistic pleasure. He can do this all day.

"Wanna bet ?"

The Joker is the very worst of his adversaries because — because he is everything Bruce fears he could become. Might still become one day, if he loses the ironclad control he struggles to maintain every second of every day.

But saying it out loud, to the Joker no less, is unimaginable. Less so, is drawing back his fist to crack across the green-haired thug's cheek, but it's another good exercise in self control — only allowing himself a single flexing of his fist as he otherwise forces himself completely still.

"We have nothing in common." A flat out lie, and they both know it, but he'll take it rather than agreeing. Poking at the hornet's nest to give him one more reason to contain it.

[chaoticjoke]

@godresembled asked:

“You weren’t really going to say that, were you?” - batman

"...You know what your problem is, Bat-man ? You're uh, overanalyzing things. Put everything to quest-chun. You think too much. And that slows you down. Makes you vulnerable."

[chaoticjoke]

The Joker will go to any lengths only to get into the Bat Tumbler and make Batman take him for a ride with him. He's that hopeless.

[chaoticjoke]

Some of you have probably noticed how often Batman is mentioned in our threads, even unrelated to the events of The Dark Knight.

And that's because the Joker thinks about his arch-enemy all the time, or most of the time, the man dressed as a bat has forever invaded his stream of consciousness.

I don't make the rules.

[chaoticjoke]

The Bat is brutal.

The whole Batcave sequence seems like a dream, except the throbbing pain in his rib and thigh makes him realize this is actually happening.

Despite the state of permanent numbness, the Batman makes him feel.

There's no point in fighting back -- the Joker is completely relaxed, welcoming every kick, every blow from his arch-nemesis, embracing the pain, basking in it.

His body feels like Jello as he collapses onto the hard concrete with a loud thud, no time to be ready for Batman's next move aaaaand--- his vision turns white.

“Oooof—” So no first-aid kit. Got it. He could’ve just told him. Geez. Looks like the Bat never learned how to improve his communication skills…

The Batman’s giving him the silent treatment. Does he think his punches are stronger when he doesn’t talk?

The Bat will never learn: starts with the head as always. The thought makes him laugh maniacally, despite Joker's current predicament, his giggles echoing off of the cave walls, completely invading the dark solemn space of Batman's official headquarters.

He doesn’t care how deranged he must be looking at this moment. He’s enjoying every second of his quality time with his arch-nemesis.

“Oooh, a private cage? Kinky.”

That only proves his little theory that the Bat is into that kind of stuff. That black getup just can't suggest otherwise.

The Dark Knight has been waiting for him, getting all prepared. And that's the only thing that matters. The thought sends pleasant shivers down his spine, the sharp pain in his rib almost forgotten, there are more interesting things to concentrate on at this glorious moment, anyway.

He works his jaw, thrilled for what’s coming next.

“Are ya gonna.. put me on a leash, too?”

@chaoticjoke​  sent:  “Where’s your first - aid kit ?!” black-rimmed eyes wander frantically around the dark walls of the bat cave. The Bat got him good this time – besides multiple bruises that have already begun forming all over his body, a broken rib that is now aching constantly (he won’t be able to laugh in days), the most annoying of all is the batarang sticking out of his left thigh — the Bat must be too happy to see him…

𝐇𝐄'𝐒  𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐃,  𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐃,  𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃  𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍  with  his  weapons,  but  it  STILL  seems  not  be  enough  for  that  constant  itch  of  trying  to  fulfill  this  RAGE   that  boils  red  and  DEEP  at  the  presence  of  the  joker.  it’ll  never  BE  ENOUGH  to  make  up  for  all  of  the  people  this  psychopathic  monster  has  brought  harm  to.  THE  CLOWN  isn’t  even  supposed  to  be  up  walking––  after  unarming  &  rendering  him  from  any  hidden  weapons  or  tricks,  but  he’ll  make  what  little  walking  he’s  managing  less  EASIER  for  him  as  the  bat  turns  and  balled  fist  plows  into  hideous  mug.  black  glove  digging  into  white  paint  and  kicking  him  backwards  as  foot  shoves  into  that  broken  rib,  hand  grabbing  the  joker’s  ankle  and  starting  to  DRAG  him  to  his  next  destination.  the  equipped  cell  the  cave  holds  that  will  keep  him  locked  and  TRAPPED  IN  until  arkham  can  take  him  back  in  WITHOUT  letting  him  escape  again.  

[chaoticjoke]

@godresembled asked:

❛  is that how you say thank you?  ❜ from the 🦇

"Ya want me to kiss you or somethin'.. ? "

[chaoticjoke]

🐼

Send me a ‘🐼’ and I’ll post my favorite cute image of your muse.

Ladies and gentlemen. It’s sHOwTiMe

(don’t mind Harvey though)

(can’t stop, sue me HAHAHAHAHAHAAA)

AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST

[chaoticjoke]

@thesharpestsmile see, Batman, he’s just a

[chaoticjoke]

Arkham, Arkham, Arkham... Blah-blah-blah. The Joker fights the urge to roll his eyes. Again with the idle threats. How unimaginatively boring. With Harvey Dent, though? There was nothing to twist, really. He just had a little chat with him. Too easy. The Bat sounds like a broken record now. Typical Batman.

"Not unless you're going with me." Joker wiggles his eyebrows, the corners of his mouth stretch in a devilish grin. "'Cause uh, remember? You and I..." A lick of lips. "We're a package deal."

"Don't. This isn't about me. You don't get to put their lives on me, Joker. Not after what you did to Harvey and Rachel!" He snarled, his fists clenching tight at the thought of grabbing the Joker and breaking bones and sinew until there's nothing left but a lump of flesh radiating pain. "You sat there and you twisted him. You took a man who lost everything! And you pushed him over the edge—isn't that what you said before? That all it takes is a push." The Bat snapped at him, his anger boiling hot.

"You're going back to Arkham and this time you're not getting out!"

[chaoticjoke]

Ah. Finally.

A smile full of triumph and relief is painted on the clown's face, black-rimmed eyes twinkling maliciously. He knew everything wasn't in vain. The pointy-eared vigilante just made him wait which wasn't very nice. The Agent of Chaos almost began to wonder if the Bat was sick or dead, or even worse, killed. Murdered by somebody else. The Joker imagined just how pissed he would get if that really happened. He'd unleash chaos and wreak havoc upon Gotham until it was completely burned to the ground. And yet that wouldn't even begin to cover his disappointment.

Every inch of his body electrified with adrenaline and anticipation as the Joker sees the familiar black silhouette approaching. It's impossible to stand still -- a myriad of violent and chaotic thoughts is flooding his mind, purple gloved fists clench and unclench, tongue runs over the mangled lips, again and again, as his dark gaze is focused straight on the Caped Crusader. The Joker doesn't blink as if afraid that his archenemy might disappear if he did. The Clown Prince of Crime can't afford that, now can he? Too risky.

The Batman makes him feel... intoxicated. The Batman. makes him. feel. Feel... different things. That's why he likes hates him so much. That's why their every encounter is so much fun. The Joker despises the sheer possibility of that fun ending one day. One bad day. He'd prefer it to continue as long as possible. Forever.

"About tiiiiime." Joker sing-songs sarcastically, fighting the urge to grin from ear to ear. He's missed his Bat so much. He knows, deep inside, the feeling is mutual.

"I knew you couldn't resist showing up," he wiggles his eyebrows, gloved hand casually pointing upwards. "especially after I fixed the Bat signal and gave it a little pizzazz."

Doesn’t even have his cowl on. Maybe that’s a risk. No need for ponderous introspection: he knows him. Knows his unpredictability (whatever way that can be known). Knows that there’s something churning in there, eating at him. Whatever fuels him, he won’t believe it’s just the flames. Watch the world burn. But he doesn’t just watch, he couldn’t. Bruce knows it.

But you won’t even use his name. (Well, maybe I would. If he gave one.)

A risk, yeah. Or maybe it’s funny. Spent all that time trying to get him unmasked, now Bruce is here, open. Out in open, waiting.

Then he sees. Soft, at first, his eyes that track the familiar shape and its nearby origin. Sees it stretch across the velvet black . . . betrayer-limbs unspooling.

Lights. Camera, action. . . .

That’s not funny. Because it’s weird, being up here, at home; yet in-between: one world that isn’t his own. And one that is, but can’t be.

Seeing that light that twisted smile puts the taste right back on the farthest corners of his tongue.

Movement. He is a blur. Lurch—    Shape of shadow suspiring against breeze. Breeze bending to shadow’s will.

Cowl is on. No face now. The man is gone, become the symbol—

<THERE>

—Their lurching is backwards—these faceless gunmen who’re posted up around the entrance/exit wherethrough a stair descends—pulled on a string. Yelps (not enough time to be shouts) pepper the static stillness, charging a frenzy. Their shadows disappear. Make way for a different kind of shadow.

But one almost gets him—as he twists off the brunt of his own attack there’s a glimpse of metal ‘cross his shoulder. Teething. Deflects it—he thinks Just barely, feeling of Close call that drives up his blood.

Eight weeks. That’s all?

Shadow sweeps out of focus, seemingly off the ledge. Nobody’s fooled. The Joker’s gunmen have their guns looking high, over the roof of that entrance, or maybe behind it, or maybe into the velvet fabric of night. There he is—somewhere. (Isn’t he?) Got to be.

The Batman.   Face a macabre, Venetian cavity where somewhere-eyes glitter, and they look, somehow, like teeth. Puncturing.

[chaoticjoke]

This is going even better than he could ever imagine. And imagine he did. Countless times. He'll cherish this moment till the rest of his days. The moment of truth. La piece de resistance.

Batman's (Bruce's?) face is absolutely priceless.

The Joker flicks his tongue to lick his lips, tastes copper -- yum. A few more angry blows from the Bat's fists and he might as well need another set of stitches on his signature smile.

It hurts to laugh.

"You...." he rasps, half-giggling, half-coughing. "You still don't get it, do ya?"

He won't be surprised that one or two of his ribs have been broken. Just because of one word. Five letters. B-R-U-C-E. Brucie. Brucie-boy. Ha.

Bruce here thinks he knows him, knows what stands behind his reasons and motifs, knows the way his brain operates. In fact, he doesn't know anything about him. He doesn't even know his name.

Bruce here is straddling him, pinning him down with his weight, holding his wrists -- very straightforward. Black-ringed eyes twinkling maliciously as he makes an unsuccessful attempt to shift himself a little, trying to adjust his body under the weight of the Dark Knight. This is personal now, Joker can tell, they're on a whole new level. Good.

"You and I? We're two of a kind. Two sides of the same coin. I see you. For who you really are. Think you're hiding behind the mask? No. You're hiding without it."

Bruce is a bad actor — because he's spent so long wearing the skin of an exceptional one.

Does Joker feel it, too? That onslaught of nervous-system fever when your performance, that deeper facade, falls too near to the real face? The one that's hidden away at the shallow surface?

Just like the Joker laughs, the Batman's rage is a snarl that batters the night, worsening the closer to the edge he gets — Which face is which? — edge of himself, where all that rage really is, because he doesn't know the answer — Which face is which?

“Care!” rasps from between his lips, a face like fury in animal skin inches from Joker's, “You dont care about anything—no one you hurt will ever hurt you, nothing you do will ever sate you, nothing you are will ever be anything . . .” Panting. All the freight-train fury seeps from the vague cedarwood breeze of his breathing, because suddenly it dies in his chest. “. . . and yet I'm the reason. . . .” Suddenly, he sounds like Bruce.

Confused. Capsized. Anguished. Alone.

The Batman has stopped. The gunfire has stopped. Bruce doesn't realize he's on top of the man, holding him down like his fingers might just disappear inside Joker's wrists. He doesnt realize how his own body shakes with its force. He sees green flecks in brown, dirty eyes.

“I'm the reason . . . that you're still out here. Is that it? Is that why you torment me?” Shaking. “How?”

There's a real face, and a fake one. So which one am I?