#and tell me how to rearrange my furniture after spitting on my carpet.

[the-stove-is-divorced]

Not trying to be rude here but, how do you know Bruce is being written poorly if you don't know the canon? Readcomiconline.li is free (use ad adblock)

I know you know your comment is rude.

You just said, "how can you have an opinion when you don't know jack shit, but no offense though!" Like hello? Who even are you? You assume, boldly so, complete and utter ignorance on my part, and THEN insist, incredibly so, for me to do my homework for a fictional man, who's been written by many different ways by many different people ever since the early 1940's, excuse me, 1939, spring specifically, or fuck it, March if we wanna be anal about when it hit the newsstands, if we're including Detective Comics #27.

Buddy, honey, you cannot gatekeep having an opinion about a fictional man on the internet. And in my own inbox, at that! Crazy!

When I joke, exaggeratedly, that I don’t know canon, or that DCU is like the Greek myths, I speak on the fact there are hundreds, if not thousands of issues that I cannot memorize, that are just as canon as each other, even if blatantly contradicting. I speak on the shows like Batman (2007), BTAS, B:TBATB, Justice League: Unlimited, Justice League, Justice League Action, Batman Beyond, are only a drop In the various series, movies, crossovers, guest appearances, AND comics, ALL of which are canon. There are different ages, continuities, universes, versions, etc. Comic is not the only fucking medium, either, hello? I’m not speaking out of my ass, here. And, I’m not stupid? Batman has been around since 1939, technically, and it’s impossible for him to be written right, at least to my standards, every single goddamn time. PERSONAL standards, here. Different authors, artists, make choices about this character, and some of it I don’t agree with, simply put. Some of which, I think is bad! Gee, funny how that works!

So let me make myself clear: I don’t know you. You don’t know me. You don’t know what I know, and you sure as hell can’t tell me what to do, even when you think I’m fundamentally wrong. This is fandom. This is fiction. This is tumblr, honey. You're in my inbox, and anon'd to boot. I could think someone’s take is beyond the definition of stupidity, truly based on nothing but the very nonsensical daydreams and will powered manifestations of someone who hasn't even sneezed at canon material, BUT you know what I do? I mind my business. I block. I hit the back button. I rant to my friends. If you disagree, I’ll happily invite you to block me (: I beg you to.

I know Batman, I’ve loved his character ever since I was a child, I joke because I acknowledge the sheer magnitude of comics, shows, movies, appearances, animated or otherwise is so staggering, it means I will miss something. I can recognize I don’t know everything. There is a lot of fucking complexity here. Have you seen the Robins? But I know, and pretty easily at that, when my interpretation of the character isn’t being written well. I’m not new to Batman, honey, I’ve been a fan since I was a child.

[iamarosegarden]

Better Than That

An AU in which Wylan is taken into a pleasure house. Enjoy!

Part One - Part Two - Part Three  - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight

Ao3

Wylan Van Eck ran away from home. He ran away from a late mother, an emotionally and physically abusive father, and the suffocating weight of expectations he couldn’t live up to. He stole a couple of things he knew his father wouldn’t miss but would bring in a fair amount of money, took his flute, his sketchbook and pencils, and ran.

Once out on the streets of Ketterdam he realized what a sheltered life he’d lived, He did not regret running away. He sold the items and got a room at a shabby inn in the Barrel. Searched for a job. He could not find one. Wylan ran out of money and was made to leave the inn. All his things stuffed into a small pack. He thought that maybe, he could join one of the gangs, though he was against the thought. He was useful enough, no matter what the mocking letters from his father letter probably said.

That next day, after sleeping under a very lovely bridge, and job hunting all day he was walking back to aforementioned bridge through the barrel. His satchel bummed against his side with each step, reminding him that all his belongings were in it. He tried not to check it's pockets as he walked past all the gambling halls and pleasure houses. Wylan hated walking past the pleasure houses. Any time the door opened you could just glimpse the resigned faces of the beautiful people inside. So, of course he avoided looking at them. The one he hated the most was probably Piękni Ludzie, know for not even bothering to trick people into indentures and taking people directly off the streets.

It was ornately decorated, like all the other pleasure houses in Ketterdam, though more modestly than most. Giving the impression that it didn’t need that kind of advertisement to draw people in. Empty frames hung and the outer walls, in gold and silver and bronze, in all shapes and sizes. Ment to mirror the mirrors inside of the house, Wylan had heard. The fast setting sun set the various metals on fire as he passed them and Wylan had to admit it was very pretty. He felt his nerves double. He’d seen three people taken, two girls and one boy. Dragged in by the owner of the house, Mistress Isidore, and somehow forced into an indenture.

It wasn’t that he thought that he himself would be dragged in, just that he couldn’t bare to see some other poor soul taken. Wylan’s mother had had a soft spot for people tricked into those kinds of things. Wylan could still vaguely remember her gently talking about the injustice of it. His mother had been a kind woman. Kinder than his father by any means. Wylan was dragged out of his memory by a clawed hand hooking onto his arm.Jerking him to a stop and causing him to knock into several people on the street. He started to turn around, started spurting out an “Excuse me?” But another claw grabbed his chin and sharply turned his face toward the them. Wylan felt his breath leave him. Mistress Isidore turned his face back and forth.

“Oh, such a gentle kind of beauty. These freckles… So odd, almost elegant… and this hair,” she cooed and removed the hand from his chin to touch his red-gold curls. The other claw still firmly hooked on his arm. “You’d do well,” She murmured, and Wylan was struck by how soft her voice was, the brush of a feather, unfitting for such an undoubtedly cruel and sharp creature.

Then she was moving toward the door of the house, and Wylan was too shocked to really do anything other than try to weakly pull away, but he’d never been very strong, another thing that his father hated about him. Had hated. “Come come, boy, I only want you to think about a job here,” she said, but Wylan was certain that she knew he didn’t buy it, and he was also sure she didn’t care.

Then they were inside the house. It was decorated to match the outside, millions of framed everywhere, not empty though. All the frames held mirrors, and the sofas that were littered throughout the foyer were white with reflective crystal details. Making the whole room seem shiny and reflective. A couple of the workers looked up from the couches they were lounging on, or the conversation they were having with a possible client.

You could tell the workers apart from the clientele because they all wore silver or bronze or gold colored clothes with flashy and reflective jewelry and embellishments. One girl draped in silver flashed a friendly smiled at him before returning to her conversation, one boy in tightly fitted gold smiled sadly and then turned back to his book, and one girl in bronze just shook her head at him while following a man into a hallway, that, judging by the fact that it was a pleasure house and the layout of the building, was probably full of bedrooms.

He was still being dragged through the room by Mistress Isidore who lead him to a door in the wall that he guessed led to her office. She pulled open the door and snapped her fingers twice. Wylan saw two of the workers move to flank the door before it swung shut behind him. The room was not an office. It was a bedroom. Or maybe a better way to put it was living quaters. One part of the room held things typically in a bedroom and the other held more sitting room-like furniture. The hand on his arm was gone and Mistress Isidore was sitting in one of the plush chairs. Wylan stayed standing.

“Sit down, sit down darling,” she cooed, but even though her voice was soft, it reminded Wylan of how his father sounded right befor a hit. He visibly winced and moved to the other chair, knowing there were people at the door. “Oh!” she cried after he’d sat down, “would you look at that,” she pointed at the carpet where muddy footprints were clearly visible, “I don’t suppose you have enough money to pay for that? Ten-hundred kruge?” She continued and Wylan ground his teeth. He knew for a fact that those footprints were not his.

“Those aren't my footprints,” he spit out. His voice much weaker that he wanted it to be. ‘This can’t be happening’ kept running through his head like the notes to a song. He could practically feel the anxiety pumping through his brain.

“Listen dear, I’m going to find a way to own you no matter what you do, so I suggest you give up now,” she said it like she was giving him a piece of motherly advice, and Wylan wanted to laugh. Mistress Isidore knew all the tricks in the book. He fuzzily remembered his father saying nearly the same thing, he’d said, “Wylan, I highly suggest you give up this act. Words can’t rearrange themselves. Just read the text.”

Wylan let out a sharp bark of a laugh, involuntarily. “Mistress Isidore, I knew that the minute you dragged me inside. I was just hoping you’d have a soft spot for pretty faces,” he replied and nearly clapped a hand over his mouth after. Why did his attitude always come out when he least needed it? He heard a snort from the other side of the door and watched Mistress Isidore’s face to see how she’d react.

He braced himself, but she only went a bit red with anger then clapped her hands together and said in an overly sweet voice, “let’s get you moved in then.”

***

“The Wraith and I are going to look through the pleasure houses for recruits and secrets,” Kaz called as he passed Jesper, who was sitting on one of the black couches in the Crow Club. Jesper looked up from where he’d been cleaning his pistol. Every now and then they made rounds through the pleasure houses. It was how they got some of their best secrets and their best recruits. Jesper jumped up and fell into step besides Inej and Kaz.

“Which ones are we sorting through today?” He asked, he knew The Migraine wouldn’t be on the list. Inje couldn’t go in there without having a panic attack.

“Emerald Palace, The White Rose, and Piękni Ludzie,” Kaz listed as they walked out of the club. Inje nodded and set her silent course toward Emerald Palace.

Jesper was regretting agreeing to come. He was tired, and though saying hello to Nina had been fun he was bored out of his mind. He sighed as they approached Piękni Ludzie, prepared for another hour of milling around listening to useless gossip that wasn’t actual secrets. Inside, the group saw that Piękni Ludzie had several new indentures in the newbie corner, or as clients liked to call it, the virgin corner. Two boys and three girls.

Two girls had black hair and looked Suil, the other one had short brown hair and pale skin, they were huddled in a group, whispering to each other. The two boys were sharing a couch. One with brown hair and tan skin was reading, and one with red-blonde hair and pale, freckled skin was drawing.

“I’m going to go see Isidore. Inje, you and Jesper see if any of the newbies are useful,” Kaz ordered and then waltzed off with his cane. Inje rolled her eyes and started toward the corner. As usual they were all attractive, but Jesper couldn’t stop looking at the red-headed one. Inje had moved to the group of girls, so he walked up to him.

***

“Hey freckles, what are you drawing?” Wylan blushed. He could feel it spreading across his cheeks. He smacked himself internally, a week of flirting and suggestive language and he still blushed every time. He looked up at the boy who’d asked the question, quickly shifting his sketch of the building’s layout under a sketch of a waterfall and pond with lilies on it while the speaker was, hopefully, caught up in the color of his eyes. A grey-blue that he'd always thought of as watered-down but had charmed some of the merchant's daughters. He shyly lifted the waterfall up to show the man before adding in some more details to it for show. “That’s really pretty,”

“Thank you,” Wylan replied and gestured with his pencil toward the crowd loosely, “one of them asked me to draw it.” It wasn’t a lie. A woman had been here yesterday, had seen him sketching and had then asked him to design her a tattoo for her back. “Something with water,” she’d said.

“Actually... It was her,” he added, seeing the woman in the crowd and stabbing his pencil at her.

The boy hummed and looked at the waterfall again. “Knowing Zofia she’ll probably want a border of some kind, did she want a tattoo?” Wylan added a board of water lily roots and did some more shading as he hummed a yes. The woman- apparently Zofia, came over.

“I believe...this is done?” Wylan held the sketchbook out to her in question.

She looked between the boy and Wylan, she eyed his still pink cheeks. “Jesper did you come over here just to fluster the newbies?” Zofia questioned as she gingerly grabbed the book. Wylan was charmed with how delicately she handled it.

Jesper laughed, “You ought to know better Zofia. Kaz wouldn’t come anywhere near Piękni Ludzie if we weren't looking for recruits,” he replied. Zofia let out a laugh.

“This looks great kid. Could you color it? I prefer color,”she rushed on, then pointed to t flowers on the sketch, “could you make these pink? I know white is more common but-”

“I actually can’t color it…” Wylan cut her off to answer. He would rather be rude than let her get her hopes up.

Zofia looked at him confusedly “Why is that?” She was almost pouting.

It was Wylan’s turn to give her an odd look. He gestured around him at the room. “I don’t exactly have easily access to colors, ma’ma,”

“I see,” she replied, sounding a little embarrassed. She recovered quickly though, a talented Wylan wished he had. “I’ll get you colors,” she declared, handing the sketchbook back to him. Wylan shook his head.

“You really shouldn't go through all the trouble, you can just have someone else color it,” he tore out the page quickly and handed it to her. Glancing down to make sure the building’s layout wasn’t visible.

Zofia looked down at the uncolored piece sadly, then turned to Jesper for support. Jesper rolled his eye and grabbed the paper and gave it back to Wylan. “She wants you to color it, and she's offering to get you supplies. Take the offer,”

“If you really want me to… then okay,” he said, but Zofia was already asking him was his favorite media to color in was and what brands he used and telling him about her favorite brands. Jesper had moved to talk to Conrad.

Zofia told him that she’d be back with paints on Friday, probably. She was a very animated woman and was infinitely excitable.

***

“Anyone useful?” Kaz questioned as the group emerged from the frame-covered building.

“I’d say no, unless you want an artist or a poet in the dregs,” Jesper reported. Inje gave him an odd look.

“The girls weren’t very useful either,” she said.

“What was that boy drawing anyway?” Kaz asked, out of boredom.

Inje said “a layout of the house,” at the same time Jesper said, “a tattoo for Zofia.”

“Odd, that Zofia wants a tattoo of the layout of Piękni Ludzie’s layout,” Kaz hummed with interest.