#tbokk

[rozaceous]

the blorbo-ification of korvin kwan

set in a combo of @vermillioncrown's 'the pros and cons of digging your own grave' and my 'a sunset every hour,' i wrote a scene for verm as gift fic, because i was so affronted by how mean the narrative was to My Boy (korvin) and how much i wanted him to get wrapped in a blanket and also have a dental visit. hence the title--i spiritually adopted him in a hopefully less cracked version of 'you lost the rights to your oc bc you were mean to them.' (we've all seen the screenshots of those posts, right???)

so this is allie finding out that dick grayson has been hiding an entire twelve year-old from her. she is not well pleased lmao.

Allie’s pretty sure that she’s timed Dick’s work schedule correctly, but she’s also willing to wait outside the doorstep of his latest safe house until he arrives and soothes her frazzled nerves about his general state of being.

What Allie is not expecting is for not-Dick to answer the door, and especially she isn’t expecting that someone to be a wavy-haired East Asian boy who opens the door but doesn’t undo the chain lock, peering through the gap between door and frame all squinty-eyed.

“Um,” says Allie, eyes flashing to the 302 on the door, which is exactly the number it should be. “I’m…looking for Dick?”

The evaluative quality of the kid’s stare does not diminish. “You’re too young to be a girlfriend.”

She’s helpless against the instant full-face squinch that sentence causes. “We’re more like mutually adopted siblings,” she hazards, voice tight, and regretful that everything regarding the usage of Dick's name sounds inappropriate for the public, especially under-eighteens.

A pause.

“Mr Richard didn’t tell you he underwent child acquisition,” he observes.

“He didn’t, and he’s going to rue that fact until the day he dies.”

“Sounds like siblings, yeah. You’re Allie, then?”

“He talked about me to you but couldn’t be bothered to mention you to me?” she mutters, mostly to herself.

“I was trying to pretend to not-hear him talk to you on the phone. Not really possible in this shoebox.” Some of the squinting eases. “If you can prove who you are, I can let you in until Mr Richard gets back. Otherwise I’m calling the cops.”

Allie is…impressed by that statement, she's pretty sure. “I haven’t got a driver’s license yet, but I’ve got a learner’s permit and a library card. Sufficient evidence?”

A hand pokes through the gap, fingers making grabby motions. Three minutes later has her standing in the kitchen, shoes and coat off, and peering at the meal prep in progress.

“Korvin,” as she’s been informed is the kid’s name, “I know Dickard’s idea of a good meal is take-out, but what the fuck? Do you seriously have to cook it yourself if you want a vegetable?”

“Mr Richard makes sure I get fed,” is the dodgy reply, and Allie knows what covering for someone you don’t want to get in trouble sounds like. So she decides straightforward is best.

“Look, I love Dick to bits,” she tells Korvin. “But his life is held together by silly string, boyish charm, and Barbara. Fuck,” she realizes, pulling her flip phone from her back pocket. She holds the power button until the screen lights on. “Yeah, hope that freaks them both out and gets him over here tout de suite.” She puts her attention back on Korvin, who is regarding her with similar wariness as when he first opened the door. “My point is, if you’re not getting taken care of, you tell me, and I make sure it happens. Capische?”

Korvin seems a little too stunned or cagey or something to reply.

She flips her phone back open and opens her contacts before pressing the device into his hands. “Put your number in and text yourself so you can contact me. Which, by the way, is an ‘anytime’ kind of offer.”

Another, slightly wide-eyed look, and Korvin follows her instruction.

Twenty minutes later and even the way that Dick opens the door tells Allie that he knows he’s about to get the ass-chewing of his life. He slinks through the entry like a dog pretending it doesn’t know a thing about the torn up couch cushions, grinning brightly and waving at her across the apartment where she’s removing vegetables from the oven.

“Hey, Allie!” She’ll give him credit that nervousness makes his voice waver only slightly. “See you and Korv met!”

"Hm."

[vermillioncrown]

an actual AU snippet: a number of different selves

bc @rozaceous and i keep teehee-ing about 'folie a deux' and aaaaall the au's we have for our dc-siocs

money where the mouth is: bonus snippet + concept for followers

(it'll prob just be like my longer mdzs au's with one written part and the rest is just back and forth)

impetus: roz and i saw a shitpost where someone laughed at "bruce wayne x reader divorce" and said "he's already going through it and people are really inserting themselves in the narrative just to divorce him lmao"

which we then joked "damn we'd be set. he could have whatever mistress he wants as long as we could have financial support and leave us alone. we'll play his trophy wife"

and then we both realized that there would be things we couldn't let go if we ever caught wind of it. like it would drive us insane to abide by it. and thus...a version of our si's w bruce (yeah you heard me, both of us)

so here's a thing, bonus only for tumblr🙂

“I put you two in that meeting to clear up any hard feelings,” Lucius stares dead-on at his screen. He tries very hard not to pinch the bridge of his nose—composure needs to be maintained. “It can’t have gone that poorly.”

“Time is a finite resource for us lowly mortals and I’m not getting that hour back,” Vivienne grits out. “A fucking PA—where does he get off on his high horse? I hope he explodes.”

What?

“—know how many people work here, Lucius? Let alone just my division? And you’re wasting everyone’s time with each dead-on-arrival concept that gets shuffled into our portfolio and then ‘mysteriously’ yanked when it’s just good enough to Frankenstein into whatever high school science project that’s hiding in some Gotham sewer tunnel.” Her tirade is caustic and not hidden behind the typical red lipstick smiles. “Morale is dipping. There’s only so much you can pay to keep mouths shut and stop turnover.”

Vivienne makes very good points—the fact she has the acumen even three years ago was why WanyeTech moved to fund her PhD and fast-tracked her as a technical director upon entering the workforce. She caught on very quickly—too quickly—that there were private uses of certain advanced concepts within R&D, and she cared. Fortunately for WayneTech, her diligence meant increase in efficiency for the company; they’ve won several bids that have extended their reach into two new industries.

(Fortunately, WayneTech is privately held and not subject to public shareholder scrutiny.)

Unfortunately for the Batman, it meant additional roadblocks for his tools and supplies. It was by God’s grace, or something, that Vivienne didn’t decide to either blackmail them or whistle-blow. What she argued for was more oversight and appropriate man-hours and billing for certain projects that went towards a ‘private use case.’ The willingness to help (out of logistical fury) took a load off Lucius’s shoulders, but it put two new headaches in his skull: one next to each ear every time Vivienne or Bruce complained about each other peripherally.

“Does His Dark Grace think he’s not subject to g-forces?”

“Lucius. I asked for four different configurations. It should be able to fit.”

“Love his idealism—of course we have the manufacturing tolerances of an ant colony!”

“This is over-redundant and unnecessary. It gets in the way of visibility. I need a design change by two weeks.”

...and so on, so forth. So Lucius decided to cut himself out as the middleman and make the two talk to each other. A direct stakeholder meeting to capture requirements and fulfill proposals, so to speak in company terms. As both Bruce’s long-standing friend and Vivienne’s superior for her tenure at the company, he’s in the unique position to see the similarities in their personalities and (perhaps foolishly) believed they would get along after candid discussion.

And somehow, it all went to hell in a hand basket. That’s probably on Lucius for forgetting that adults were equally susceptible to playground scrapping as his six-year-old son. Thankfully, there’s less physical dirt involved or impromptu weapons, even if Vivienne looks ready to rip her stiletto heels off to use as a real stiletto.

“Vi, what do you need me to give?” Lucius straightens and prepares to negotiate. The greatest vulnerability of adding good talent is having more people in the know. Loose ends. It’d be a blow to lose Vivienne, but as long as she doesn’t talk—

“He’s lucky he’s a net good,” she snarls, now pacing in front of his desk. “He’s fucking lucky city statistics are on his side.”

“Vivienne.”

She stops mid-rant. “What.”

“Are you terminating our agreement?”

Vivienne takes a few calming breaths before rearranging her stance into something more office-appropriate rather than riled up before taking part in an illicit cage match. “No, Chief Fox. I am not,” she answers with a placid smile, tone light and even.

“Then, what would make your life easier?” Lucius does understand that she’s doing them a huge favor at an equally huge cost from herself. There’s a lot of duties that are more effort and well-beyond what someone her pay grade should need to touch; the delicate situation requires her to be equal parts every role for end-to-end conceptual design to manufacturing.

When Lucius scouted Vivienne Yang from her undergrad in Gotham University, it was by chance—there were technical managers scouting and giving PR for various capstone projects, and he decided to tag along. There, as he was browsing various posters, is where he found her. The work done by her team wasn’t novel (just par for the course with undergraduate engineers), but it was the polish that caught his eye. A methodical approach to answering the prompts given by the capstone courses, justified scope, and structured analysis and design choices that made her team’s final concept (proposed electric car design) stand out. Their value proposition considered necessary support infrastructure and manufacturing as part of their considerations.

He called them ‘her team’ because it was clear that, despite being barely 5’6” with pointed choice of footwear and surrounded by young men over a head taller with the typical engineers’ mannerisms to boot, she called the shots. Oh, of course, her teammates contributed to the questions he asked (”Andy,” young-Vivienne barked, and Team Member Andy jumped in to answer about the drivetrain sizing), but she was the systems integrator.

This was the type of skill that took years to build—usually, years of practical experience on the job—and she had it as intuition. And when Lucius corrected certain assumptions on their design, she didn't take it personally but was instead able to promptly speculate how that would shift their design point.

Thus, he put out an immediate sponsorship for her to grab an advanced degree (or two), school of her choice, research topic to be approved by whatever technical manager in WayneTech that acted as her liaison, and would jump into a stable job with a salary and employee benefits other grad students could only dream of.

Landing something as prestigious as Director of Advanced Concepts, slated for Chief Technology Officer by her 30s, in a Fortune 500 company? Barring the fact that the work was based in Gotham, crime capital of the United States, it would be something like pure fantasy to any aspiring engineer.

She took the sponsorship offer, and Lucius learns over the years that she financially supports her family living out-of-state and genuinely enjoys the various industries that intersect within WayneTech’s R&D. She likes a job well done, is practical and professional (if not overly enthused) when defense-related bids come across their table, and disdains many of the big research or tech conglomerates that make the news for various crimes or “waste of brain cells and human effort.”

Her morals aren’t obvious, but Vivienne’s choice to support Lucius’s efforts to protect Bruce in his uphill crusade is her character vouching for the Batman, even if she dislikes the actual man behind the mask and his design requirements. That she considers it still of worth is something that Lucius needs to compensate her for.

Lord knows had Bruce actually gone through with that projectile design, he’d have already lost an eye. If Vivienne says his proposed ���Batplane’ design will vibrate into smithereens, he’s inclined to trust her on that.

“I’m going to start calling him an idiot and vetoing stupid requirements,” Vivienne declares, one eyebrow raised like she’s daring him to object.

“You mean you haven’t been doing that already?”

“Lucius, I have been nothing but polite to him. You have the CCs,” she refutes, looking at him incredulously.

He’s not sure by whose standards her scathing emails can be considered ‘polite’, but of course she can be worse. He needs to smooth this out, redo the first meeting ASAP. His hairline can’t take more of this.

“Fine, alright. Just—let’s try to set up another discussion. I’ll attend this time.”

Vivienne actually snorts. “Guess I’m never beating the PA allegations.” She looks down at her watch. “Fuck. Should have just written you an angry email. How am I going to make it five blocks in ten minutes?” She mutters and just as suddenly as she invaded his office, she strides out with a distracted, “Okay thanks, I’ll continue this later.”

He’d rather she not, but it seems she’s sticking around the Wayne Enterprises HQ building to call into her upcoming meeting; he hears her requesting a fresh notepad, a hot cup of coffee, and a private conference room and everyone outside honors those requests immediately.

That’ll give Lucius about two hours to process Vivienne’s rant, track down Bruce for his side of the story, and figure out how to smooth things out. It shouldn’t be unreasonable.

His phone call to Bruce shatters his expectations.

“You called Director Yang my what?”

[vermillioncrown]

#verm has been pushing for a different title bc this one makes them shy abt korvin being my blorbo i think#but what are friends for if not adopting your si's as their favoritest guy???

i am absolutely 🙈🙈🙈 about korvin being blorbofied lmao

this is the healthier version of "losing custody of my oc" bc roz knows that the narrative makes sense and thus she has to let it play out lmao. tbokk is korvin's safe space 😌

the last time she responded to a new hlwi snippet was so fucking funny

the blorbo-ification of korvin kwan

set in a combo of @vermillioncrown's 'the pros and cons of digging your own grave' and my 'a sunset every hour,' i wrote a scene for verm as gift fic, because i was so affronted by how mean the narrative was to My Boy (korvin) and how much i wanted him to get wrapped in a blanket and also have a dental visit. hence the title--i spiritually adopted him in a hopefully less cracked version of 'you lost the rights to your oc bc you were mean to them.' (we've all seen the screenshots of those posts, right???)

so this is allie finding out that dick grayson has been hiding an entire twelve year-old from her. she is not well pleased lmao.

Allie’s pretty sure that she’s timed Dick’s work schedule correctly, but she’s also willing to wait outside the doorstep of his latest safe house until he arrives and soothes her frazzled nerves about his general state of being.

What Allie is not expecting is for not-Dick to answer the door, and especially she isn’t expecting that someone to be a wavy-haired East Asian boy who opens the door but doesn’t undo the chain lock, peering through the gap between door and frame all squinty-eyed.

“Um,” says Allie, eyes flashing to the 302 on the door, which is exactly the number it should be. “I’m…looking for Dick?”

The evaluative quality of the kid’s stare does not diminish. “You’re too young to be a girlfriend.”

She’s helpless against the instant full-face squinch that sentence causes. “We’re more like mutually adopted siblings,” she hazards, voice tight, and regretful that everything regarding the usage of Dick's name sounds inappropriate for the public, especially under-eighteens.

A pause.

“Mr Richard didn’t tell you he underwent child acquisition,” he observes.

“He didn’t, and he’s going to rue that fact until the day he dies.”

“Sounds like siblings, yeah. You’re Allie, then?”

“He talked about me to you but couldn’t be bothered to mention you to me?” she mutters, mostly to herself.

“I was trying to pretend to not-hear him talk to you on the phone. Not really possible in this shoebox.” Some of the squinting eases. “If you can prove who you are, I can let you in until Mr Richard gets back. Otherwise I’m calling the cops.”

Allie is…impressed by that statement, she's pretty sure. “I haven’t got a driver’s license yet, but I’ve got a learner’s permit and a library card. Sufficient evidence?”

A hand pokes through the gap, fingers making grabby motions. Three minutes later has her standing in the kitchen, shoes and coat off, and peering at the meal prep in progress.

“Korvin,” as she’s been informed is the kid’s name, “I know Dickard’s idea of a good meal is take-out, but what the fuck? Do you seriously have to cook it yourself if you want a vegetable?”

“Mr Richard makes sure I get fed,” is the dodgy reply, and Allie knows what covering for someone you don’t want to get in trouble sounds like. So she decides straightforward is best.

“Look, I love Dick to bits,” she tells Korvin. “But his life is held together by silly string, boyish charm, and Barbara. Fuck,” she realizes, pulling her flip phone from her back pocket. She holds the power button until the screen lights on. “Yeah, hope that freaks them both out and gets him over here tout de suite.” She puts her attention back on Korvin, who is regarding her with similar wariness as when he first opened the door. “My point is, if you’re not getting taken care of, you tell me, and I make sure it happens. Capische?”

Korvin seems a little too stunned or cagey or something to reply.

She flips her phone back open and opens her contacts before pressing the device into his hands. “Put your number in and text yourself so you can contact me. Which, by the way, is an ‘anytime’ kind of offer.”

Another, slightly wide-eyed look, and Korvin follows her instruction.

Twenty minutes later and even the way that Dick opens the door tells Allie that he knows he’s about to get the ass-chewing of his life. He slinks through the entry like a dog pretending it doesn’t know a thing about the torn up couch cushions, grinning brightly and waving at her across the apartment where she’s removing vegetables from the oven.

“Hey, Allie!” She’ll give him credit that nervousness makes his voice waver only slightly. “See you and Korv met!”

"Hm."