✨ about/info/FAQ ✨

( new pinned post, due to some necessary link and info updates and the like that I wanna make easy-access for people )

Hello, friends, my name is Rin and and I am a queer nonbinary they/them in their thirties 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. 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, hahaha.

Some of my content isn't sfw or is just straight-up porn; my work may include rape/noncon/dubcon, past or present abuse, emotional or literal incest, 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 there shouldn't be any unpleasant surprises, 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:

/does March word count math while setting up April's calendar/

. . . so anyway I wrote 115k last month! that was a thing that I did last month!! I wrote over 100k words in one single month without, like, actually trying to do that on purpose! which is uh about 25-30k more than I usually write in a month, on average!

oh my GOD ahahaha like I'm so pleased with myself but oh my god what and hOW

The Zesti’s still really good, and the arancini things aren’t bad. The café sua da isn’t bad either, though the summer rolls Superman kinda likes the texture a little more than the taste, he thinks, which is weird and not a thing he actually thought might be a thing, but like–kinda interesting, too? And he guesses it’s not that weird; he really likes touching different textures, so what’s the difference between that and, like, eating them? He definitely likes the cornbread best of the food, though, and the peach lemonade he really likes. Like–way more than he expected to, honestly? Like way more. 

It’s just really good, is all.

Well, Cadmus wasn’t programming a kid, when they were programming him. Or–teaching him. Whatever. Like–obviously that is not what Cadmus was doing, when they were doing that. So he’s just not–he’s isn’t a kid, and he doesn’t know how to be a kid. Much less how to be–someone’s kid, which seems like it’s probably . . . different, probably. 

That’s just not something Cadmus taught him. 

Like . . . obviously it wasn’t.

They get sweet potato cornbread and peach lemonade from the barbeque truck and arancini and Zesti from the pizza one and summer rolls and café sua da from the Vietnamese, and Jonathan and Martha seem to really want Superman to taste all of it, so . . . like, he does, because he doesn’t wanna seem like–he doesn’t know, really, just . . . weird or difficult or whatever. 

Superman isn’t actually a kid, is the problem. Or like–one of the eight million problems, anyway. Like, he looks like one, fine, and he’s physically not an adult yet because, like, obviously he’d be Superman-sized if he were, but . . .

“You’re physiologically-developed enough to learn,” she says, setting the kit down on the clear side of the counter with a thump and flipping it open. “If anything happens when one of us isn’t available, then you two better at least know enough to keep things from getting any worse.” 

She has no idea how much actually medical training these two have, given the temporary borderline unmatchable superpowers thing, but it’s definitely not going to have been Kryptonian supplies they had said training with–unless Kal managed at least that, but at this point she is just not optimistic. 

“I . . . guess?” Thirteen says, still looking bewildered. “Like–if you want?”

“Yes, it will, because we’re feeding you the nutrients to make it,” Kara replies firmly, then goes back into the hall and retrieves the triage kit in the hall storage. It’s bigger than the bathroom kit, so she figures that’s the more important one to show them. She returns with the kit in hand and is entirely unsurprised to find Thirteen and Match exactly where she left them. If nothing else, Lois Kal-El is still on the viewscreen and has a clear view of them both. “Hand on the counter; palm up. Match, come here. If neither of you know what’s going to injure you yet, we’re at least making sure you both know how to treat an injury.” 

“Uh,” Thirteen says. “What?” Kara does not see how that statement was in any way unclear.

“We’re going to treat this before it gets any worse, and then I’m showing you how the repair and cleaning functions work,” Kara announces crisp and clipped, because if she doesn’t give them clear instructions and a clear “consequence” they’re likely going to keep expecting consequences, and none of them godsdamn need that right now. “Then we’re making a new pot of rice and some actual lunch, because you’re going to need some damn food in you to heal up right.” 

“It’s fine,” Thirteen says stiffly. “It’ll heal.”

“A name,” he says in disgust, hoping he’s just misheard somehow. He has an inadequate enough gene donor as it is. 

"Yeah. Though, um . . . I don't have like a last name to give you, though, sorry, man," Superboy apologizes, grimacing a little. Match considers killing him and then also himself, just to put them both out of their misery here. "But like–a first name would still count, yeah?” 

"I am literally incapable of caring either way," Match says. Superboy doesn't even have his own "real" name, as far as Match is aware, so he can't imagine why the idiot cares if he does. He doesn’t even know why it occurred to him. 

Further evidence of an inadequate gene donor, he thinks. 

Match stares blankly at him, then slides his eyes to Superman, who is, again, unhelpful. 

. . . ugh. Does he actually have to answer questions like that now? 

“Four and a half months ago,” he says. “And no.” 

“. . . elaborate, please!” Thirteen says indignantly, waving his hands much more dramatically and expressively than necessary. It’s extremely annoying.

“I–you–wait, what the fuck, we’re gonna get the super-hearing that soon?” Thirteen demands, leaning forward in his seat. “I thought that was like–I mean Black Zero had it, but he was way older than us!” 

“Who the hell is Black Zero?” Match asks suspiciously. 

“An extremely long and multidimensional story, whatever, I’ll tell you later,” Thirteen says impatiently, waving him off. Because Thirteen assumes there’s a “later” in which he can be telling him things, apparently. “When did the hearing thing kick in? Is that all you can do? Like–Kryptonian-ly, I mean?”

“I can hear that,” Match says, because Superman has an eidetic memory so lying would be impractical and also–also he doesn’t know what Superman would do if he did. Superman already knows he’s a liar, but Superman knows he lies as he’s been ordered to. Lying to an owner would be–different. Obviously. 

“You can not!” Thirteen protests indignantly. Match ignores him. “I can’t do that yet, how the hell can you?!” 

Match would really prefer to keep ignoring him, but that question is so stupid he really can’t help eyeing him over it. 

“‘Yet’,” he repeats pointedly.

Jonathan and Martha both give Superman a long, unreadable look, and Superman just winces again, then sets down the clothes he was unnecessarily sorting. They’re out of season anyway, from the look of them. 

“That . . . really isn’t what I was thinking, no,” he says, and then frowns again. Match is unconvinced. “But–you two can hear that? Heartbeats?” Match stares blankly at him. 

“Uh–no?” Thirteen says, looking bewildered. “That–what?”

“Superman explicitly stated we should go ‘home’ and then brought us to this base,” Match reminds Thirteen dubiously, eyeing him as he does. “Also this base is an isolated farm with two occupants in their mid-seventies, one of whom has an irregular heartbeat and neither of whom appears to be usually physically fit for their respective ages, no sign of any additional occupants, and no immediately apparent security system past the dog. Providing security, surveillance, and manual labor in the maintenance of this base would be markedly more useful to Superman than stationing us in either his fortress or the Watchtower.” 

“. . . oh,” Thirteen says lamely, and winces himself. It’s irritatingly similar to the way Superman does it. Match doesn’t wince, but if he did, he’d hope it would look less stupid. “I mean, I guess that–makes sense, yeah. Uh.” 

At least Thirteen can follow a line of logic occasionally, Match thinks grudgingly. Superman clearly can’t.

“No,” Superman says, and . . . hesitates, frowning to himself with a trouble expression before glancing from the stairs to the front door and then to his actual literal parents who he let Match know existed. 

Something occurs to Match that is objectively insane and outright delusional levels of idiotic, which, he realizes resignedly, probably means it’s the exact course of action that Superman has in mind. 

“Are you intending to assign us to your parents’ base of operations?” he asks with a grimace. “Why would you do that?” 

“Where the fuck did you get that idea?!” Thirteen sputters at him as Superman winces both guiltily and unsubtly. Match is unimpressed, but unsurprised.

Thirteen looks skeptical about that idea, which is reasonable, even coming from Thirteen. The Justice League is definitely not going to want a pair of non-members installed in their headquarters, even if the zeta tubes are presumably less inconvenient for travel purposes. Batman definitely won’t, given they were both being designed for the specific purpose of applying controlled-by-unelected-committee violence meant to influence the fate of, in his own case, countries and wars, and in Thirteen’s case, the actual literal damn planet. 

Experiment Thirteen was supposed to be Superman, after all. Subject Match was meant to be something even more disposable than a standard clone. And only the prototype design for that, on top of that. 

So no, Match cannot imagine the Justice League agreeing to that idea. Especially with him having been built by specifically the Agenda and operating under their authority ever since, and Thirteen being currently employed by Cadmus. A not-insignificant percentage of the Justice League isn’t even necessarily sold on Thirteen, the last Match knew.

“I guess, yeah,” Thirteen says uncomfortably, turning his fork over in the remains of his pie again. “But like–then what’s wrong with Cadmus? Like, it’s not the Agenda, and where else are we supposed to go, like S.T.A.R. or something? Like I know you like them way better than Cadmus but–” 

“Kon,” Superman cuts in, his expression pained again. “I meant you shouldn’t be in any lab. Either of you. You remember I said that, right?” 

“You said you weren’t letting the Agenda take Lara back,” Thirteen says, still sounding uncomfortable. “Or–so like, what, the Watchtower, then?”