as long as there's light we got a chance

Hello, friends, my name is Rin ( or suzukiblu; pick your poison ) and I am a queer nonbinary they/them in their forties who writes a lot and also occasionally draws a thing or two. I mostly post WIP excerpts of my writing, links to my finished fics, and writing-related chatter, meta, and "what should I write?" polls on here, and sometimes some random fanart or reblogs of other people's work. I do semi-frequent writing and/or art-related request memes too, depending on my schedule and mood and the position of the moon and sun and Venus and also my dog's mood, as one does. 🧡

I dabble in various fandoms at various times, but my current hyperfixation is definitely a ridiculous superclone and everyone he hangs out with. So like, mostly Young Justice and the Superfam; mostly them, haha. Blorbo-in-law Match is also very present, if you can/do count him under either YJ or the Superfam.

Some of my content is not sfw or is just straight-up porn; my work may include rape/noncon/dubcon, past or present abuse, emotional or literal incest ( typically Supercest or Batcest, with any shared DNA usually being due to a "someone got non-consensually cloned" situation ), and other related themes, and I also write a fair amount of omegaverse and clonecest if those topics are not your cup of tea. I do my best to tag all of the above and also whatever kinks and common triggers I can think of, so knock wood there shouldn't be any unpleasant surprises for anyone, but just so you're aware, those topics are gonna be around.

I also have a Ko-fi, and I'll write thank-you sentences for anyone who tips me and requests something from a specific WIP, minimum one sentence per dollar. Monthly subs are also available for various rewards, including WIP updates and discounted mini-commissions. The 3USD original serial level is currently on hiatus, but the other levels are all active.

relevant links:

AO3 - where my edited and actively updating/fully completed fics go

DC WIP tags list - where my works in progress are sorted for easy-access with chronological and non-chronological links to their individual WIP tags and a link to a master doc with content notes/warnings for each story

DC WIPs tags list - where the tag for the "actually stay on Tumblr" version of my works in progress list is located; yes it DID require multiple posts to contain these multitudes, hahaha jfc self

misc tags - where the miscellaneous meta/WIP tags from other fandoms I have dabbled and/or hyperfixated in go

related works - where delightful people have taken advantage of my blanket permission to make art/fics/podfics and the like, and also where things I've commissioned and works for multi-person events I've been involved in go ( i.e., bangs/reverse bangs, exchanges, zines; things like that ).

writing talk - where I answer asks about/requests for writing advice and similar things

"Kon has a tendency to tune out the presence of people he trusts," Tim replies with a shrug. "So that, essentially."

"Okay, but that doesn't explain him missing me," Jason retorts in exasperation, rolling his eyes. This fucking kid, Christ. Why does he say such deliberately obtuse shit all the time?

"You think we asked someone we don't trust to be our baby daddy?" Tim asks wryly.

"Absolutely I think you're that kind of person, yes," Jason says.

". . . okay, you think Kon asked someone he doesn't trust to be our baby daddy?" Tim amends. Jason grimaces. Ugh. Supers.

"You have shit taste, Kent," he says. "But then again I've met your boyfriend, so I guess I'm not surprised."

Superboy turns red again at the word "boyfriend", half-covering the stupid smitten smile on his face with a hand as his pheromones blossom up sweeter and warmer, blooming brighter notes of cloves and anise and sugary cinnamon and caramel and something just shy of chocolatey. Tim just quietly but unsubtly simmers in contentment, his own pheromones mercifully contained by his suit's scent blockers.

So apparently they're still in their honeymoon phase, unfortunately.

Again: ugh. And additionally: gross, because seeing Tim Drake looking all smitten is just objectively gross, as an experience. Though "smitten" is admittedly a much better look on Superboy, and Jason's not going to complain about getting a free pass to play voyeur on that. At least as long as he can just ignore that it's Tim on the other end of that smitten look and not, he doesn't know, Cass or Wonder Girl or literally anybody else.

"Alright, either sleeves up or jacket off," Serling Roquette instructs brisk and businesslike as she tugs one of her bracelets up her own arm with her teeth and then preps a needle. She's roughly the same age as Superboy, physiologically, and a year older than the clone, physiologically. Or fourteen or fifteen years older than Superboy and sixteen-almost-seventeen years older than the clone, but that's only debatably relevant. She's a physiological teenager, either way. Teenage, human, white-presenting, female, and just . . . in a genetics lab.

There's not that many differences between them, superficially, but the clone still can't imagine being anything like her.

The clone doesn't even know why she'd actually try to imagine something like that, though.

"Do we get a lollipop after if we're good? Or maybe a groovy sticker?" Superboy jokes as the clone's jacket slips off her shoulders without her actually doing anything to take it off, and Roquette smirks at him.

"Like you're ever good for the needles, youngblood," she scoffs, then turns her attention to the clone and gestures with the needle. "We're gonna go for the ditch, dollface, so which arm's good for you?"

The clone thinks about laughing the same way she thought about crying, but isn't sure how to start.

Isn't sure if she could stop, either.

Just . . . what a question, she thinks; asking which arm she wants blood drawn from like her opinion about that actually matters. The Agenda never asked her a single thing, because why would they?

"Gods," Cassie groans feelingly, digging her big blunt fingers into his neck and gripping the whole thing hard. Kon feels dizzy and head rush-y and a little bit punch-drunk and a whole lot stupid and so so so so so fucking good. He vaguely remembers Cassie telling him that he needed to come before she'd actually fuck him, and he knows he already did once but the idea's suddenly the most important thought in his whole stupid head and he's already shoving a hand down underneath himself to fist around his cock and do his fucking damnedest to just rut down into.

Cassie groans again, and Kon just shivers.

"Cassie," he pants into the pillow, fisting his cock tighter. "Cassie, Cassie, c'mon, c'mon, lemme just—"

"Roll over," she orders roughly as she jerks back from him, and he whines. He also lets go of his dick and rolls over in a burst of super-speed, because fuck if he's doing anything that might keep her away from him any longer. "Fuck."

"Cassie," he—whines again, probably, probably it's a whine again—and throws his arms around her neck and yanks her back down on top of himself to kiss her. He grinds his cock up against her abs and she chokes against his mouth and pins him to the mattress.

"I—gods, Kon, let me—gods," Cassie moans between kisses, which is the only way he ever wants to let her talk again. So he just kisses her harder and harder and grinds up against her harder and harder and if he still needs to come again, well—it's not gonna be much harder than this, if she just keeps kissing him like that. Keeps kissing him like that, and keeps being on top of him like this, and keeps him pinned down like this. Like something she wants to—fuck if he even knows, really, but something she doesn't want to lose again, or let get away, or . . .

Something she just really, really wants to fucking keep.

Tim doesn't actually know if this would make Kon the fun uncle or the cool big brother or who even knows what to Ellie. Maybe he should be trying to angle him more towards "godfather", though he's not actually sure how Kon would feel about being a backup parent to himself, interdimensionally-speaking, so . . . more data is going to be required, definitely.

So, so much more data.

"You smile a lot," Ellie says abruptly, then immediately looks self-conscious.

"Yeah, people tell me I don't take shit serious enough," Kon replies wryly. Tim halfheartedly considers trying to shut down the swearing in front of the four month-old ten year-old, but he knows a losing battle when he sees one.

". . . you have gold teeth," Ellie says, a little guarded.

"They're caps," Kon tells him, baring his teeth to give Ellie a better view of said caps—meaning, a better view of his canines, because those are the teeth said caps cover.

"Technically they're an alloy of gold and promethium," Tim says.

"Yeah, I get punched in the mouth way too much for just regular gold to handle," Kon says with a laugh. Ellie spends a long moment staring at him. Tim does not let himself catastrophize about it. It's fine. This is fine. He's interdimensionally kidnapped a ten year-old version of his best friend and is moving in with his boyfriend without even getting out the contingency ring and Bernard and Jason are making lasagna in his kitchen and everything is fine.

Ellie frowns a little deeper, still looking uncertain. Tim belatedly realizes that the habitual needling that he and Kon tend towards communicating via might seem genuinely antagonistic to Ellie, obscene hand gestures or not. He doesn't know how the kid might be interpreting their conversation or how the kid might be taking their conversation, or if that's something he might get the wrong idea about and—

Kon gives Ellie another one of those rough big-dog nuzzles and rumbles low in his chest again, then grins slyly at Tim. Tim regrets many, many life choices he's made, and is also immediately relieved to get knocked off that particular anxiety spiral.

"So Rob can officially never claim we're not his favorite now, Ells, so thanks for winning that argument on our behalf," Kon says.

"Ellie's my favorite," Tim retorts reflexively, eyeing him just as reflexively. "You are gonna be lucky to stay in my top ten." Kon laughs, big and bright and easy, and Ellie stares at him in an obvious cross between bewilderment, fascination, and awe.

The girl on the ground is still the most gorgeous girl that Cassie's ever seen in her life, including Aphrodite—which she is for obvious reasons not going to be stupid enough to say out loud, but can't help thinking either way—but also the girl on the ground is, apparently, Kon. Which is something Cassie really can't help thinking, but also really needs to not think.

Though—she can't actually figure out why she's thinking that. Like . . . it's just . . . why is she thinking—?

“There’s something about being biologically made in every way to present as an omega that makes him sick,So yeah, Kon has some big feeling about that.

there’s also something about the way Cassie is so *nervous* around him,like-like he’s not just used goods,like he’s *worth* being nervous about.

Kon has some big feelings about that,too.”

"Cassieeeee," he says, lifting his head just enough to put on a deliberately whiny tone while she's still panting for breath and giving a very deliberate rub back against her sticky, softening cock. "Why'd you waste it, babe? If you weren't gonna do it inside, you at least coulda let me swallow again."

"I am going to kill you, Kon-El," Cassie says very, very evenly, her voice low and rough and low. The sound of it makes him wanna melt into a shivery fucking mess, and he grins wider and probably even dopier over it.

She sighed and crumpled up the letter. There had to be some way to explain it properly. Thoughts of the garden lingered in her mind: the winter flowers coming into bloom, white and pale yellow and bold red, if only she could stay and help them to bloom. They wanted to bloom, she had felt it, they just needed a little bit of care. 

"We need to talk about it, Nightwing," Superman says evenly, and Superboy feels nauseous.

"Not if it's not immediately relevant," Nightwing says. He says it too matter-of-fact and clear-cut and pointed to even be a counter or an argument or anything but just—just a fact, and then Superboy doesn't know what he feels at all.

He doesn't even know what he thinks about what Nightwing's saying—what Robin'd said, technically, 'cuz Nightwing wasn't being subtle about using the same phrasing Robin had. He doesn't know what to think about it. He just . . .

Nightwing's still holding Robin's elbow easy and steady and easy to escape, and Robin still isn't escaping.

Scott swallowed and felt his mouth get dry at the thought. That was. Well, he wouldn't say no to that if they were offering. "Sure." He croaked out and Kip laughed again.

"Oh this is going to be fun."

"Holy fucking hell," Bernard groans as he curls his hands under Kon's ass and Kon just—lets him.

He could just fly, obviously. Like . . . obviously he could just fly. But it feels—better, kinda, to use his TTK. To wind it through Bernard's muscles and joints and reinforce and support them, and . . . and not lift himself. Just . . . Tim told him to let Bernard do that, so . . .

Tim told him to let Bernard do that, and he—and he really wants to let Bernard do that. It's a thought he's literally never had in his life, but when Tim had said it . . .

Tim really is always right.

So the idiot died and dissapeared, wooo, clap clap. The girl is not crying, she doesnt even look scared. A kid her age surely knows how it looks like when someone dies. He certainly knew, when he was her age. Though it might be different for a real baby instead of a guy like him, that just appeared one day with knowledge of the world. His world.

"Baby siss'er name," Cassa-anna insists, stomping a foot. It keeps staring down at it. It doesn't—oh.

. . . is it asking it . . . ?

"I don't—um, no," it says uncomfortably, shaking its own head. "I'm Experiment 13. 'Cuz I'm not finished. If I get finished I get to be—I get a name if I get finished."

It gets to be Superman, if it gets finished. But, well . . . "Superman's" a name.

“A trip to a villa in Italy will relieve my stress far better, but I’m being send to the country to be sequestered somewhere without cell phone service. I know what that means. It means she’s afraid I might say something crazy or post something strange on social media – outing us as a family of lunatics to all of her little friends.” I spit out, only a little bitter.

“Wow, tell me how you really feel.” Liz says back, “Also, you think you could say that a little louder, I think the guys on the other end of the terminal couldn’t make that last bit out.”

No one is paying us any mind, all wrapped up in their own worlds, but I look around and laugh anyways. Liz always knows how to get me back out of my head, it’s almost certainly why my mother let me take her with me on this trip.

"So like . . . this a multiverse thing or what?" Gar guesses, sliding sideways into the kitchen and peering after Nolan as the other heads back to the fridge. "Time travel? Psychic projection?"

"Actually we're pretty sure Tim made them in the basement as a trauma response," Cassie admits.

"Oh, well, that's not gonna be a fun conversation," Gar says with a grimace.

He feels a little bad, ok? I mean, not for him, its horrible that a person as stupid as him has so much power over society, specially because the dumbass is fucking stupid. No, he feels bad for girl he has in his arms while a guy he barely knows is killing (as much as one can kill) the girl’s father. Well, no her father, but a kid her age wouldn’t know to separate her father from the impostor being murdered down on the arena. It might not be the most appropiate thing, to make her watch, but he’s not a dad to know what is or isn’t appropiate for her to watch, it doesn’t matter how strongly those little hands cling to him.

Superboy isn't a person either; he's just stupid enough not to know he's not a person. And apparently multiple other members of Young Justice are that stupid too, since they went and got Pockets about that useless genetic scrap material. Even Robin was stupid enough to do that, which the level of training that Batman demands really should've precluded him from indulging in.

Match isn't stupid like that. He wasn't designed to have the capacity to develop Pockets. He in fact actually finds it extremely unlikely that he wasn't designed to specifically prevent him from ever developing Pockets.

Star didn't quite meet his eyes, but she dug her nails under the edge of his glove without hesitation, pulling the leather down over his palm. Her nails weren't sharp enough to cut (unlike his) but they scratched just a little against his skin. David smiled down at Star as she pulled his glove free and turned it right-side out before handing it back to him.

"No worries, babe, it'll be all good," Superboy lies, because he thinks she's something worth the effort to lie to—someone worth the effort to lie to—and squeezes her hips one last time before taking a step back to make room for Serling Roquette to move in.

The clone digs her gloved fingers into her own thighs between the hem of her bike shorts and the straps of her kneepads. Superboy puts a hand over the back of one of hers and squeezes it too. She'd think he was keeping physical contact to make it easier to get his TTK around the needle, except if he was doing that, he'd be touching Roquette, not her.

-

Eventually she releases him and loads him down with poi and laulau and he pays her out of the wallet he'd taken from Tim's backpack on his way out the door. The Official Young Justice Number One Goal at all times is to make more openings to tease Tim about being the team sugar daddy, that never changes.

Or should it?

"That seems like a disproportionate response," Tim attempts. It's one of the more blatant lies of his life, yes, but he needs to at least make the attempt. Just . . . the attempt is very necessary, at this point.

The attempt is actually just straight-up mandatory, at this point.

"It'd still just be trying on clothes, though, wouldn't it?" Suzie whispers questioningly to Kon, cupping a hand around her mouth as she does. She's clearly trying to avoid Cissie hearing her, but just as clearly not being anywhere near quiet enough to manage that.

"Well, it'd have to be tryin' on underwear if we were goin' for the same kind of 'self-assessment', y'know?" Kon replies with a leer, because he is the literal worst.