Guys is this too weird for a first fic posted here
Batjokes oneshot
2 months. It had been two months, and gotham had still not recovered from the carnage the Joker had caused. His reasoning? No one really knew. Many had speculated he did it all for fame, for the attention he had so lusted over for years. His constant destruction on the city had led the people of Gotham to flee, to escape this manic. But some stayed, only to watch as he descended further into crazed rage. Those who stayed still did not know the intention of his ill will, no matter how many lives were lost because of him. No one but Bruce. He alone knew that the Joker had been wanting his attention. And he got it. In some sick, perverted way, that lunatic managed to keep Bruces attention, so much so that he consumed every aspect of “Batsy”s life. Bruce Wayne had been scouring the city every night for the past two months, searching for his muse, whether he liked to admit that’s what the Joker became to him or not. He followed up on every single clue the Joker left at his scenes. His crimes really did look theatrical, the way he handled his victims bodies and mangled their faces beyond recognition, just so they could look every bit as vile and repulsive as him. However, every clue seemed only to lead the Bat in a circle, an endless, death filled circle that only led to more bodies, more fear, more victims. That is until he found the Jokers newest toy he had discarded. A young woman. Bruce didn’t recognize her, and he certainly wouldn’t now that she had those horrific lines carved in her cheeks. But it wasn’t this that caught his attention. It was the way she was sitting peacefully in the mahogany chair, no other part of her body touched or tampered with. He had not severed any of her limbs, like he had his past victims. No. There she was, sitting in the middle of this abandoned warehouse, like a dew drop on a crisp morning. She was pure. She almost had colour left in her, other than the dried up blood and the coagulated spills on her dress. Why was this? Before Bruce could even think, he heard a slight laugh coming from the shadows that sent a chill down his spine. The vigilante went to grab his blades, but quickly realized they had been swiped, somehow. He turned to see the Joker, standing there in the pale moonlight, wielding the weapons. He spun them around in his fingers in a way that was so graceful, almost too perfect. He was like a black swan tearing through a sea of his white brethren, leaving a trail of bodies and blood behind him. He had destroyed this city time and time again, yet he kept wanting more. The Bat, not wasting a second more, broke out of his trance and launched at the Joker. The maniac, not knowing how else to react in close combat, threw the blades he had previously stolen. They whipped past Bruce, nicking him in the cheek, just where his mask let the light in. The man reached the Joker fast enough, and hit him square in the jaw before the latter could react. The purple suited man fell back onto the ground, face already pruning with a bruise from Batsys hit. He didn’t let himself slip away into unconsciousness, however. He wanted, he needed, he lusted for this moment. Crudely, he let out an ear shattering laugh, with gargles of blood filling the air as he was receiving more and more blows from the man he desired. The only sounds coming from that warehouse were the sounds of two men slowly driving each other to madness, whether it be the punches thrown or the twisted, maniacal laugh the Joker freed from his throat. As his ribs shattered, all he could do was laugh. As he felt the life draining from his beaten body, all he could do was lay there and take it. It was all he ever wanted, to be noticed by Bruce Wayne. And he finally did it.
