Batman: The Fan Fiction by Yaoi Fangirl 666
Joe’s hand pulled the trigger, it was easy as making a fist with his big strong manly hands. The pearl necklace fell to the ground with Martha’s body and scattered across the apathetic pavement of the alleyway, as his weak father pleaded for his life, “Please, don’t kill my son like you just did to my beard! I’ll do anything”.
Dr. Thomas Wayne crawled on his knees over his wife Martha as a zipping noise was heard and the last thing she saw was, CENSORED. Bruce sat their cowering behind a trash can and watched, aroused by the horrific display of violence and power imbalance, which in no way reflects a deep psychological trauma the author of this garbage experienced as a child, despite what that idiot Dr. West told me last week in therapy. But I digress.
Another shot echoed down the alleyway as Bruce’s weak father joined his controlling wife face down in a pool of blood that reflected the full moon’s light. He was so handsome, this lower class murderer, Bruce cried, “No! Don’t run!” red and blue light painted the brick walls.
Cop cars blocked off the entrance to the alley, “Police, freeze! PUT THE GUN DOWN!” an older, boring, authoritative and far less sexy good guy voice shouted.
“Is this the end of Joe Chill?” shouted the dream boat from the river Styx, silenced forever by Detective James Gordon double tapping his gun, as two bursts of blood, intestines and a spaghetti dinner splattered onto the brick wall. Ringing filled Bruce's ears before a loud clang was heard from the metal Joe's revolver falling against the pavement.
“NO!!!” shota Bruce screamed as he made his way onto the road to the dreamiest bad boy he’s ever seen and put his tiny effeminate hands around, the bullet wound trying to stop the bleeding like his stupid dad who was always busy saving stupid people’s lives, pasta sauce spewing with blood. “What the fuck youz lookinz at yaz twerp!” uttered Chill with his last breath as he attempted to grab the boy before passing out.
“I’m sorry son, I really am…” the mustached detective said putting his hand on the boys shoulder as sirens approached in the distance. Bruce reached for the gun on the ground, barely able to lift it with his tiny hands.
- “No son, don't do it! Killing him won’t bring them back, let the law—
- OW! Son of a bitch! You shot me you little shit!”
Detective Gordon grasped his right side as a bullet entered and
Harry Bruce ran screaming into the night sobbing, having lost the most beautiful man in the world to these cold unfeeling enforcers of arbitrary laws.
In the years to come Bruce would visit
Voldemort Joe’s grave in secret, pressing his hand to the small cold gravestone in the pauper’s field, a world apart, dreaming how things could have been between them had he lived. Bruce swore that night with Satan as his witness to kill as many cops as possible while dressed in all black as a furry, the police would know the pain of rending from him his forbidden love for an older violent criminal that took everything he never wanted away from him, like stupid overly protective parents who won't let me spend the night at Brandon's.
Handsoff moderator's response: Please say yes, for the love of God and all that is holy, make it end! My vomit bag is already full, and I think my eyes are bleeding just from reading this horse shit. Who the fuck actually writes something like this, I mean seriously, fan fiction this bad has to be one of the red flags for severe childhood sexual abuse, that or you were just born a sociopath. I guess you didn't dox anyone, so I can't delete this, but really, do us all a favor and get some professional help!
Bored Realhousewife 69's response: It's a good start, but needs more rape.