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. š§”
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
Ko-fi - where I live in a capitalist society and you can make me write stuff!
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WIP excerpt behind the cut for Jan; āthe one where Kon isnāt the fatherā.
content warnings: past sexual assault, past accidental pregnancy.
((Ā chronoĀ ||Ā non-chronoĀ ||Ā AO3Ā ))
"She doesn't have any of the powers," he tells Kon while it's on his mind, because it seems like something he should tell him, and turns the mug of tea in his hands around. It's noncaffinated, unfortunately. "At least not yet, anyway."
"Well yeah, she needs more sun for the other stuff, right?" Kon asks reasonably, poking gently at Kyra's cheek and getting his finger chomped for it. He looks even more besotted. "Even Clark took a while for those to come in."
And Tim . . . pauses.
"'Other' stuff," he repeats carefully.
"Yeah," Kon says. "Like, besides the TTK, obviously."
Tim pauses a lot longer this time.
"Kon," he says finally. "Does my baby have tactile telekinesis?"
Kon blinks, finally looking away from Kyra long enough to give him a puzzled look. Kyra chomps his fingers again. He doesn't seem to notice this time, so she gets more aggressive about it.
"Yeah?" he says. "Did you not know that?"
"How do you know that?" Tim demands. "We've tested her! I've been watching her!"
"Oh, uh . . . I mean, she's been grabbing at and holding onto mine with it?" Kon says. "Doesn't she do that with you guys?"
"With our tactile telekinesis?" Tim asks pointedly.
". . . okay, well, Clark sort of has . . . y'know, sort of has it," Kon says, looking sheepish. "Like . . . kinda."
Well, this might help further explain why Clark was immediately Kyra's favorite, Tim thinks. But also, what the actual hell.
"I'm going to make a list of questions later," he says, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "A very involved list of questions. Jesus, is my baby going to start disassembling things?"
". . . I mean it's fun to, so . . . probably at some point, yeah," Kon says, looking even more sheepish.
"I will never experience a clean house again," Tim mutters under his breath, and Kon cackles at him, the bastard. The "my favorite superpower is the antithesis of IKEA" bastard.
"Oh my god, Tim, are you gonna be that much of a stay-at-home dad about this shit?" Kon asks gleefully.
"Maybe!" Tim says defensively. "Maybe I will! Look, it's already hard enough not to wreck Ma and Pa's living room every day, okay?!"
"Jesus, dude, it's fine, I can literally just put it all back together," Kon says. "Not like it's hard."
"Including what, vintage furniture and complex electronics?" Tim asks in exasperation.
"Yeah," Kon replies with a shrug. "I mean, as long as I've felt 'em once or twice before, anyway."
". . . Kon, there are some things you should've told me about TTK before this," Tim says, just while he's trying to process that idea. That is such a Bart way to say that kind of thing. No yeah I remember that and literally everything else you've ever told me, why? "And especially should've told me while we were actively being superheroes together."
"What, that I can solve a Rubix cube with it?" Kon asks with a snort.
"Yes, actually, but that's really not what I meant," Tim says, and thinksācontingency plans. But alsoāalso, can Match do that, can Match figure out how to do that, would any trick or trap or lock ever keep him out even without taking the Kryptonian powerset into account, even under concentrated red sunlight or a total lack of sunlight at all, even withoutā
"I can literally smell your brain overclocking, man," Kon says, resting his chin in one hand and raising an eyebrow at him.
"Is that hyperbole or another superpower you haven't told me about the full scope of?" Tim asks, irrationally irritated about the idea. Which is stupid, because obviously it is hyperbole, justā
"Uh," Kon says. ". . . look, it's not just smell, it'sāwhatever, hey, how long is Kiki supposed to stay on her stomach?"
"Ten minutes," Tim replies reflexively, thenā"Kon. Do not start calling my baby 'Kiki'."
"I'm not, I'm calling my baby 'Kiki'," Kon replies, giving him a shit-eating grin. Tim missed him so much. Also, he's going to kill him.
"Asshole," he mutters, and Kon laughs, then scoops Kyra off the floor and rolls onto his back with her, laying her on her back on his chest and floating up a foot or so in the air. She screeches excitedly and waves her hands at the ceiling.
"Kikiiiii," Kon coos down at her while Tim is busy recovering from the earwax-melting pitch Kyra's currently using, catching one of her little hands in his fingers and giving it a gentle little squeeze. She reaches back and tries to smack his face off, which seems both like an extreme reaction and also a very Kyra reaction, and makes Kon visibly melt. "Gonna come flying with me, baby girl? What you think, wanna get a kitten and a bow and start up a delivery service together?"
Either Kryptonians are weird, or Kon is weirder. Tim's still collecting data on that one.
WIP excerpt for sakoku_decree behind the cut; āJason gets knocked up and accidentally goes home about itā.
content notes: omegaverse, aftermath of feral drop, pack dynamics.
((Ā chronoĀ ||Ā non-chronoĀ ))
Jason grits his teeth against the knife of grief in his throat, against the burning ache in his chest, against his own damn grip on Bruce's sleeve and the way his omega still won't let it the fuck go. The way his omega is still so close to the surface, so close to feral, so close toā
He didn't even want them to know he kept the key on him. Didn't even want them to know he was back in Gotham, if it came to it.
He didn't want any of that, but his stupid, stupid goddamn omega still put him here. Still has him between Cass and Damian in a nest built just like every single one his mother'd ever made and the one she'd died in, and Bruce's arm exactly as far in that nest as he'd pulled it, and held it, and this whole damn room smelling like . . .
Even with his head clear again, his omega's still too close to feral; too raw from being feral. And it's his stupid, stupid, stupid goddamn omega that brought him here, even as much as he hates it.
And as much as he hates it, it's his stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid omega that makes him sayā
"Because I don't want to be in the damn Bat pack," he chokes outāspits out, spiteful and furious and hurting about it, his fingers curling tighter in Bruce's sleeveāabout having to say it, because how the fuck is that even something he has to say? "I didn't bring my fucking pup toātoā"
As stupid and fucked-up and feral as he was last night, he didn't go to the cave. Didn't go in through any of the cave entrances or even go near it.
He'd gone to the front door of the manor, and he'd pulled out the key, and he'd let himself in. He hadn't broken in. Hadn't gone in through a window or picked the lock.
He'd used the key, because a Bat wouldn't have.
Bruce stares at him, looking struckālooking like he thinks he's said something that's never even occurred to him, because of course it goddamn didn't. Of course it never goddamn would've.
"Jason," he says, his voice rough and expression tight. "Any pack of mineāas far as I'm concerned, you've always been a part of any pack of mine."
"Fuck you," Jason says, more like a reflex than anything else. Bruce's expression tightens even more.
"You were in the Wayne pack before you were ever Robin," he says, and Jason almost bursts into tears. Justāalmost. Almost.
That's not true, it'sāhe was dead, so it's not true. He wasāhe wasn't good enough, and then he was dead, and then he was replaced again and again and again, and then he wasn't good enough again. He came back "wrong", because he came back angry; because he came back sick of it all; because he came back and wasn't the same anymore, and didn't believe the same things anymore.
Because he came back and was justāsomeone else. Someone who doesn't fit here, and doesn't agree with Batman, and never will again. Someone who doesn'tāwho isn'tā
He's not someone Bruce would've raised. He didn't turn out like someone Bruce would've raised. If he hadn't died, if he'd been with Bruce from twelve to eighteen or even longerā
When they find him, Tim's first thought is not, "Thank God we got here in time." That's what Dick sighs in emotional relief, because he's a good person.
It doesn't occur to him to secure the area, check for other adversaries, or determine the severity of his injuries. That's what Bruce does, because he's a good person and nothing if not mission-oriented.
He isn't the one who rushes to cover his body with a cape. That's Damien, because even if he's an annoying brat of a brother, he's still a good person who cares about things like a person's dignity.
He doesn't even crack a joke to break the tension. That's Jason, who comments, "Damn, Blue, since when can you even grow a 'stache?" Because under everything, even he is a better person than Tim.
Because Tim doesn't do any of those things when they find Superman, weak and bound and barely conscious, but still undeniably Superman.
No.
No, his first thought is that he knows that body inside and out - well, not this "that body", but a body that is this body's near-exact duplicate - and he's never seen this body look quite so beautiful.
His second thought is that, if he plays his cards right in the next few weeks, he could get his version of this body into a similar position. Maybe take some pictures. Definitely take his time to enjoy it before he sets that body free.
The last thought Tim has before snapping back into mission mode and rushing forward to work at the ropes is that if he does get a chance to do that with his version of this body, he can never, ever let Kon find out where he got the idea.
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WIP excerpt for catboyJupiter behind the cut, who asked for "Match, much to his totally-not-dismay, is forced to socialize" and is getting āMatch needs to get some Pocketsā.
content notes: internalized dehumanization, past sexual abuse/grooming, past statutory rape, past sexual assault, mental conditioning, indoctrination, coerced partners, implied threat to life of minors, nonconsensual cloning.
((Ā chronoĀ ||Ā non-chronoĀ ))
If he was, though, it seems unlikely that the Agenda would've bothered producing these three. Even if they can't clone Superboy again, producing and educating three viable clones with DNA that had to be sourced from three different superheroes just wouldn't be worth the investment. Especially because Impulse and Wonder Girl's DNA both must've been unreasonably difficult to work with and Robin's must've been unreasonably difficult to even source.
And especially because, unlike Superboy, Robin, Wonder Girl, and Impulse all work very closely with an older and much more seasoned mentor, and said mentors are a speedster with decades of objective experience, the most famous "urban legend" on the East Coast, and Wonder Woman.
Match is aware of the existence of the sunk-cost fallacy, but there is no possible level of sunk-cost that any reasonable member of management could be expected to sign off on to willingly get Wonder Woman involved in any situation where the desired results could be definitively proven to be impossible to achieve.
So . . . it's not impossible to achieve.
So he wasn't designed to have the capacity to develop Pockets, but he also wasn't designed to prevent the development of Pockets.
So that's why the Agenda produced these three.
Match isn't sure why he feelsāsomething about that. Or what "something" it is he feels, either. He doesn't actually feel things, justā
There's something. That's all.
"I still say we file the suspension request," Shadow says.
"I still say we should stop calling him a slut all the time," Double says, then pauses, tilts his head, and amends: "Unless he likes that, I guess? My uploads are grifin' useless about it but the handlers talk a lot and they kinda made it sound like some people do. Maybe, anyway? I also read some of their books and emails and DMs and stuff."
". . . when, exactly?" Shadow asks.
"This conversation's been really slow," Double says with a shrug. Match . . . frowns. He hasn't noticed Double moving around like that, or even gotten the sense that he might've been. So is Double that fast already, or . . .
Technically, saying "this conversation's been REALLY slow" wasn't actually saying "DURING this conversation".
. . . mm.
"We could also just touch him better than anybody else is," Echo mutters under her breath. "That'd be less paperwork anyway."
Match doesn't understand what "better" means in that context. They're all in his telekinetic field anyway.
"I literally just said to check before calling him a slut," Double says, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "If he doesn't like it you're gonna be sabotaging us from the get-go and this is already gonna take long enough. Unless there's another Wonder Girl, I guess. Echo 2.0, whatever. 3.0? I dunno how many they'd bother making of us all, how expensive were you?"
"I've been awake for twenty minutes, why do you think I'd know the project budget?!" Echo snaps at him. "Did they put the project budget in your uploads?!"
"I mean that's a lot of time," Double says. "I bet Shadow knows his. Probably Match doesn't, I guess. Do you like being called a slut? Or degrading names in general, I guess, there's more options than just 'slut'."
Match tilts his head, vaguely mystified by the question.
"I don't have an opinion about what you call me," he says.
"Are you sure?" Double asks doubtfully. "I feel like if we pick stuff you like to call you this'll be a lot easier. Especially if you do have narcissistic personality disorder."
Match's mystification has gone a lot past "vaguely", at this point.
"I'm not staff," he reminds Double. "You don't actually need to explain your logic to me. None of you do."
". . . our logic for what?" Shadow asks.
"I mean if you want to have sex with me, you only have to explain your reasoning to staff," Match says. "It's inefficient to waste time explaining it to me."
". . . okay, maybe 'slut' actually was the word to go with," Echo mutters under her breath, her face turning red. Shadow just looks momentarily annoyed. Orāsomething past annoyed, some part of Match thinks, for some reason. But then the expression is gone, and he thinks he might've mis-assessed it.
It seems like a strange assessment to have come to mind, though. He's not sure why it did.
"Hm," Double says, and whatever look is on his faceāwhatever looks are on his faceāgo by so fast that all Match sees for a good two and a half seconds is a rapid blur. Then his face clears up and snaps into a skeptical expression, and Match thinksāhe isn't sure, exactly, what he thinks about that. "Okay, yeah, I think we should probably file the suspension request. Even if he doesn't have NPD or the touch thing doesn't work, he's still not gonna get Pockets for any of us if we're not doing anything for him that the handlers already are."
"If we are not functioning as a viable resource, you mean," Shadow says, his eyes narrowing in consideration. "We need to be providing some form of unique function to be useful enough to Subject Match to encourage the formation of Pockets."
"That is not even kinda what I said but okay, sure," Double replies agreeably.
"Ugh," Echo mutters as she rubs at her cheeks with the heels of her hands, her face still red. Her expression hasn't changed all that much, unlike Shadow and Double's. It doesn't matter, really, but Match notices it anyway. "Okay, but what if the request gets denied? How're we supposed to be 'useful' then?"
"We can pivot to alternate procedures," Shadow says. "Having contingency plans is preferable SOP anyway."
Match frowns. He doesn't know what that even meansāuseful to him? He doesn't even know what would be useful to him.
He was designed to be the useful thing. He doesn't need anything external to fulfill that purpose.
. . . except for Pockets, apparently. But that's Superboy's fault anyway.
Most of the inconveniences and annoyances in Match's life are Superboy's fault, so he probably should've expected it.
WIP excerpt for whoareyouidonteven; ādraft studā.
content notes: omegaverse, mating cycles/in heat, family-planning via attempting to recruit a crime lord who is legally your dead-brother-by-adoption to knock up your best (boy)friend, and Tim Drakeās total lack of respect for both personal boundaries and Jasonās impending migraine, which lbr, at this point probably deserves its own character tag.
((Ā chronoĀ ||Ā non-chronoĀ ))
"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.
WIP excerpt for lee; āfrom Andromeda to your eye".
content notes: internalized dehumanization, nonconsensual cloning, nonconsensual body modifications, undercurrent/backstory of abuse of cloned lifeforms.
((Ā chronoĀ ||Ā non-chronoĀ ))
"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?
The Agenda didn't even ask which side of her chest she wanted the brand on.
WIP excerpt for lee; āCassie gets cursed and Kon gets k'edā.
content notes: magical sex swap, cisswap. not degradation kink but Kon is definitely wishing Cassie would hit him with a little more dirty talk and DEFINITELY wants pushed around.
((Ā chronoĀ ||Ā non-chronoĀ ))
"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 justā"
"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," heāwhines again, probably, probably it's a whine againāand 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.
"Iāgods, Kon, let meāgods," 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, wellāit'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 toāfuck 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.
It'd sound stupid to say it, probably, but it makes him feel fucking wanted.
Thank-you sentences for Waywren Truesong; āinterdimensional kidnapping via Robinā.
content notes: past child abuse, past sexual abuse/grooming.
((Ā chronoĀ ||Ā non-chronoĀ ))
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 capsāmeaning, 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.
He might need to sleep on some things, though. Just . . . maybe one or two.
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Thank-you sentences for Nora; āinterdimensional kidnapping via Robinā.
content notes: past child abuse, past sexual abuse/grooming.
((Ā chronoĀ ||Ā non-chronoĀ ))
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 andā
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.
Tim wonders if he's going to have to worry more about Kon being a terrible influence on the kid or more about Ellie just deciding he likes Kon better than him or Bernard. Whichāunderstandable, with him, but not Bernard. Everyone likes Bernard more than him. Even Jason apparently likes Bernard more than him. Which is a low bar to clear, yes, but the point stands.
OP I love everything about this character concept/character design and all the implications of him holding his baby self while labelled "#bootstrapping", because put together it all really implies that this kid at some point in SOME timeline decided when and where he wanted to grow up and then just baby-snatched his baby self from the 21st century to said time and place like superhero-CPS, thereby guaranteeing his baby self would in the future be available to do that in turn and thereby closing the time loop into his ideal family life, check and MATE. Just straight-up Bill and Ted time-travel rules all the way. Fulfill your dreams, kiddo! Be excellent to your baby self and manifest your best life!!
Also love that Kon's fashion sense is apparently genetic even across multiple centuries, because that implies either:
a) Clark HAS a fashion sense, he just chooses to dress like That(tm) anyway, which considering basically his entire secret identity hinges on glasses, bad posture, and very careful wardrobe choices probably IS accurate,
or, the funnier option,
b) Lex Luthor secretly yearns to be punk but knows he couldn't pull it off.
Kon: āMy style doesnāt come from the big S or anyone else who had a few alleles thrown in. It comes from a bunch of genetically-engineered 1940ās-style newsboy clones. And Beverly Hills 90210.ā
WIP excerpt for lottie behind the cut, who asked for something Cassie/Kon and is getting āCassie has a sexuality crisis, Kon has a gender one, and Circe makes everything worseā.
content notes: internalized homophobia, internalized transphobia, unintentional misgendering of a closeted character, one(1) half-alien superclone was harmed in the making of this fic.
((Ā chronoĀ ||Ā non-chronoĀ ))
The girl on the ground is still the most gorgeous girl that Cassie's ever seen in her life, including Aphroditeāwhich she is for obvious reasons not going to be stupid enough to say out loud, but can't help thinking either wayābut 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.
Thoughāshe can't actually figure out why she's thinking that. Like . . . it's just . . . why is she thinkingā?
JustāKon's all muscle like always, but all that muscle is currently wrapped in and accented by the kind of curves that usually only show up in Amazons and New Gods, in Cassie's experience, because standard-build human women with muscles like that don't have body fat like that. Like, Barda has curves like those.
Diana actually does not have curves like those, though, because Kon is definitely more, uh . . . landed, so far as his, uh . . . tracts go.
Actually, on that subject, Cassie's not sure even Mighty Endowed has curves like those. Which should maybe be less of a surprise after, like, everything about Power Girl and the fact that she and Kon are technically cousins, sort of, or at least . . . second cousins, kinda? But like . . . but . . .
But the bright blue crop top and the absolutely perfect tits that are this close to busting out of it and the tiny, tiny red leather shorts that really only kind of cover that just as perfect ass and the fishnet thigh-thighs and shit-kicking steel-toed boots and flashy gold hoops and studs and makeup and at least Barda and Power Girl are decent enough to wear one-piece costumes, godsdammit! At least Barda and Power Girl wear one-pieces, mostly! Sleeves! Capes! Sporty cuts! Sports bras! That kind of thing!
Kon is not wearing any of those things.
At least, Cassie really can't call the cut of those shorts any kind of "sporty". Mostly she can't call them anything, because she's feeling kind of faint at their mere existence. She thinks she might need to go lay down or maybe go do some breathing exercises or something.
Lesbian. She is such a lesbian. Likeālesbian.
"Not to repeat myself, but do forgive the drama," Circe says, which reminds her they're in mortal dangerāor at least "about to get horribly cursed or horribly DOUBLE-cursed and probably need to call in Diana" dangerāand Cassie snaps her eyes over to her just in time to see her settling down lightly onto the ground as the magic spilling out of her hands and glowing in her eyes dissipates into nothing but afterimages of light. "Just something about playing the old games that brings the performer out of me, you know how it is."
She smiles at Kon when she says that last part, and heāsomething happens at super-speed, Cassie just barely manages to clock, but mostly only because she's spent so much time around Bart that her reflexes can tell there's something she's not clockingāand then bristles aggressively and jerks to his feet, hands already in fists. Cassie feels a really inappropriate way about the way that Kon's tendency to push his chest out when he squares up pushes hisāchest out.
There's justāthere's just a lot more there to push out, suddenly.
"Oh, I do like this one," Circe muses, smiling to herself as she tangles her fingers in one of the long bronze and leather necklaces layered over her breastbone and looks Kon over in a way that makes something in Cassie's spineābristle, almost, and . . . "Really outdone myself this time, actually. Well, you already know how many people won't believe a girl when she's telling them the facts, Cassandra. So the irony's a fun little treat, if nothing else."
"Iāwhat?" Cassie says blankly, because what the hell does Cassandra's myth have to do with a transformation spell; that's not evenā
"What the fuck, lady?!" Kon snarls furiously, and the usual low tenor of his voice is pitched up into a low alto instead, which immediately takes Cassie out at the knee, hormonally-speaking. Very weirdly, but very, very hormonally. Justāshe has literally never reacted so viscerally to just hearing a voice in her life, andā
Circe's smile quirks up a little at the corner. Cassie's survival instincts remind her of the actual priority here and she immediately switches to desperately trying to figure out any way out of this situation, because their chances of taking out Circe are basically laughably nonexistent, especially when Kon's already pissed-off and lost his temper, and especially without having Tim or Bart or any other backup in the room, and especially without having Diana for backup.
Gods, Circe is just not someone Cassie wants to have to deal with without Diana on deck. Or taking point, in an ideal world.
Cassie would really like it if Diana were at least here, whether she was doing anything or not.
Cassie would vastly, vastly prefer Diana being here over literally any possible backup she could ever possibly have, actually.
"Don't do anything stupid, Kon," she says warily. He doesn't even look at her, but Circe spares her a glance with a wider, slyer smile. Cassie only notices that belatedly, unfortunately, because it is very hard not to be staring at Kon's chest right now. Or his ass. Or hisāeverything. Just like . . . just his current everything.
So much everything.
How does he have so much everything?
Ngh.
"Bit of a drama queen yourself, I see," Circe says to Kon. He glares at her and opens his mouth like he's about to say somethingāsnarl something, from the look of himābut Circe just snaps her fingers and a bright red ball gag materializes in Kon's lipsticked mouth, stark black leather straps locking it in place around his head.
There are so many things wrong with Cassie, because her first thought is that nobody should look that good gagged. Though at least her second thought is what the FUCK?!, because justāliterally, what the fuck, why is it a ball gag?
āThereās 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.
thereās also something about the way Cassie is so *nervous* around him,like-like heās not just used goods,like heās *worth* being nervous about.
Kon has some big feelings about that,too.ā
"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.
Then she grabs the back of his neck and shoves his face back down into the pillow. He lets out a shocked, breathy, gleeful huff and rocks back up against her again.
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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.Ā
"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 justājust 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 sayingāwhat 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.
Your targeted attack worked!! (Thank you, I've been trying to make progress on this pod_together fic for a week now.) I wrote way more than three sentences but here are the last 3..ish. (this is for the writing meme thing)
"Yes," Ilya grinned, "Scott said next Stanley Cup winner gets double teamed but I think we can do better. Triple teamed"
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 justālets him.
He could just fly, obviously. Like . . . obviously he could just fly. But it feelsābetter, 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 heāand 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 . . .
