Thank-you sentences for LadyKarma behind the cut; “mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees”.
(( chrono || non-chrono ))
“Uh–that’s not, like–” Kon cuts himself off, and tries so fucking hard not to swallow too roughly or let his expression change too much or . . . anything like that. Which is almost definitely fucking pointless, in a room with three Bats–even three very weird Bats who apparently just, like, believe shit when he says it–but he really fucking tries.
There’s always an audience, he reminds himself.
“Naw, man, I’m more like, like, the unofficially-adopted cousin that rolls up to the family reunion fashionably late to spike the punch bowl with alien vodka,” he replies with a breezy shrug–replies like someone’s recording; like it’s footage that’s gonna follow him ‘til he up and fucking dies again and footage that Clark will see. “Didn’t turn out a supervillain in this timeline, though, so your dad lets me do the ‘Super’ thing.”
“Oh,” Jon says, his frown deepening as he glances down at Kon’s very much “S”-less chest again. “So like–are you Superboy, then?”
“Supernova,” Kon clarifies, dropping one arm from around the other to gesture demonstratively at himself. “Kinda outgrew the ‘boy’ vibe, honestly stuck with it longer than I shoulda as it was, but you know–gotta invest in the brand identity, right?”
It’s a fucking stupid thing to say, especially to a ten year-old who definitely has no concept of “a superhero but like, getting endorsements for it” as an instead-of-high-school job, but like . . . yeah.
Well, Kon says a lot of fucking stupid things, so whatever. Just giving the kid realistic expectations and shit here.
"Oh," Jon says again, and frowns a little deeper. "Um . . . so then your me is—?"
Kon does not want to have to tell this kid "oh, no, he's not Superboy, he's SuperMAN, because he was the one your dad wanted to give it to, because I disappeared and no one even remembered I existed or noticed I was gone, ESPECIALLY not your dad, your dad forgot me more than ANYONE else, so the whole entire thing I was created and lived my whole LIFE for just isn't mine and never gets to be, even though I really thought it was gonna, because as soon as YOU happened your dad found out what REALLY wanting to pass his whole fucking life's work on to someone was like, so even once he remembered me, it was never gonna BE me", and also doesn't want to figure out how to just say something normal and not insane-sounding, and if Jon finishes that question he's going to maybe lose his mind, just—
They might all be dead or worse or literally have been, like, fucking unmade or some agonizingly horrifying shit like that, and he's thinking about stupid shit like that.
He might never see his Clark again, and his Clark might be dead, and his stupid fucking ass is thinking about stupid fucking shit about his own selfish-ass fucking feelings. Just because their world remade itself without him once—well, nobody in it really missed him aside from Bart and Tim and Cassie. Nobody else had noticed that anything'd happened at all.
So it's totally fine, if that's happening again. If worse is happening. If—
It's fine, because he told this kid he'd take care of him, and this reality's Clark hasn't shown up to take said kid in himself, and none of them know what the fuck is even going on here yet anyway.
So he has to be fine, because that's his fucking job here.
WIP excerpt for LadyKarma behind the cut, who requested "shenanigans with any version of Kon" and is getting "Superpup".
Listen, yes this is technically the start of a "new" WIP but ALSO-technically this WIP tag already existed sooooo . . .
(( chrono || non-chrono ))
So apparently Kon is a dog right now.
Worse: Kon is a puppy right now. Couldn't even be a cool badass junkyard bruiser, no; he's all fluffy curly black fur and soft floppy ears and huge blue eyes and tiny clumsy everything.
It is literally fucking mortifying, yes. It is fully fucking mortifying.
Also, it's fully fucking alarming, because it's really, really hard to figure shit out right now. He knows he's not a dog. He knows his name–his names. He's just having a little bit of trouble figuring out much else.
He's having trouble thinking, is what he means. And he's not usually all that great at thinking as it is.
Kon honestly should probably be having a total goddamn freakout, actually, but is mostly still stuck at the “how does having four legs work” stage, because that one is really, really being an issue at the moment. Mostly it’s an issue because, uh, there is absolutely a cackling asshole magic-user tossing fucking fireballs at his stupid fluffy curly ass while he tries very hard to dodge them. He really does not think the asshole magic-user turned him into a Kryptonian-invulnerable puppy, he cannot imagine why they would have, so he definitely, definitely does not wanna get hit by any of those.
Why a fucking puppy, seriously. Who the fuck turns a dude who’s just trying to do his superhero super-duties into a fucking puppy for it? Over a fucking basic-bitch midnight jewelry store robbery, even? Kon was literally just flying back to Smallville from his latest off-planet escapade when he'd randomly caught the sound of shattering glass and screaming just outside Kansas and obviously gone to check it out and make sure nobody was getting murdered, and this is what he gets for that? Turned into a fucking puppy and getting fucking fireballs chucked at him?
Magic is such goddamn bullshit, seriously.
At least the jewelry store clerk got away, he guesses. Like–that’s good. Just it’s less good how bad his fucking brain is working, and he does actually feel pretty damn close to freaking the fuck out, because like–because it’s–
Kon, to his disgust, is pretty sure he’s actually scared right now. Like–the tiny puppy-brain hardware that is currently running his personal software is scared, anyway, because everything’s loud and messy and all smashed-up and broken and whoever the fuck this asshole magic-user is is like–is mean!
Kon is actually even more disgusted over the tiny puppy-brain hardware making him think a wannabe-supervillain doing some barely-above-petty theft is being “mean”. Like seriously, that is just . . . what. What even is that?
Goddamn bullshit, again.
“Fetch!” the asshole magic-user gloats, lobbing another lazy fireball across the scorched-up jewelry store that Kon barely skids to a stop in time to avoid running into the path of, tiny paws scrabbling desperately on the linoleum floor. Which is absolutely just cheap-ass linoleum, because this isn’t even a nice jewelry store, just some shitty chain one in an outdoor mall. How the fuck is a shitty chain jewelry store supposed to be worth traumatizing a clerk and turning a superhero into a fucking dog and trying to fry them? That is way too damn much investment for a shitty chain jewelry store!
“What’s wrong, Superboy, don’t wanna play?!” the asshole magic-user crows, summoning up another pair of wickedly-bright fireballs as Kon dives beneath one of the shelves in stupid puppy-brained panic. Very, very big fireballs. Way bigger than a stupid fluffy floppy-eared puppy, for fucking goddamn sure.
What a fucking prick, Jesus.
“Heeeeere, Superboy,” the asshole calls mockingly, strolling forward across the cheap-ass linoleum and tossing both fireballs up and down in his hands as he does. Kon would like to at least growl at the asshole or, like, bare his teeth or something, but the only damn thing the stupid puppy body and stupid puppy brain manage is to fucking cower under the damn shelf, stomach flat against the floor and tail tucked between his legs.
Maybe he is, actually, having that total goddamn freakout right now.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He needs to think. He needs to think. He’s already bad enough at thinking as it is, though, and this asshole’s so big and scary and being so mean and–a-and–!
Kon thinks, maybe, he’s getting worse at the thinking. The thinking isn’t . . . isn’t working that great, he thinks. He . . . he thinks it’s . . . it’s all . . . s’all slow and weird and stupid and . . . and . . .
“Aw, don’t like strangers, boy?” the asshole magic-user taunts, dropping into a crouch a few feet back and down just low enough to grin viciously under the shelf at him, and the creepy magic fire in his hands lights up his eyes all glowy and sparking and lightning-bright, and his smile is too wide and his teeth are all bared and the jewelry store’s dark and it’s dark outside and dark everywhere and he’s so big and it’s so scary and–!
The fire flares up brighter, and Kon shrieks in terror.
Or–no: Kon howls in terror. Howls high-pitched and panicked and shrill, a noise he didn’t know a dog’s throat could even make. The asshole laughs, because he’s a fucking asshole, and then reaches forward with a hand wrapped in fiery flame-y burny scary scary scaryscaryscary–!
Kon shrieks/howls again, and his stupid stupid stupid dog-sized brain is all fritzed-out with terror and the useless useless useless dog-sized body fucking cowers and flattens completely against the floor and hides its face behind its paws and everything’s burny-bright and hot and he’s so fucking scared and–!
“Jesus FUCK!” the asshole magic-user yells as the light goes out with a crashing sound, and suddenly the whole store is full of booming, echoing snarling.
It’s so scary.
There’s more crashing and snarling and yelling and then–
Then there’s barking.
The stupid puppy-brain Kon’s brain is currently trying to use hears barking, and what’s working of Kon’s brain hears–recognizes–
Kon hears Krypto barking, and the puppy-brain hears another dog–hears a species that can pass for another dog, anyway–and Kon doesn’t know if it’s him or the puppy-sized brain doing it, but one of them wails. The aggressive barking gets a lot more aggressive, and glass shatters and fabric rips, and the magic-user shrieks “Fuck this!”, and magic light spills everywhere as the air makes a tearing sound, and then his voice cuts off and all the light vanishes in a blink, and Krypto stops barking.
“Wuff?” Krypto says into the empty echoing store.
The puppy curls up into a tiny, trembling little ball underneath the shelf and sobs.
WIP excerpt for LadyKarma behind the cut, who asked for any Super(s) with cuteness aggression and is getting “Superpup”.
content notes: anxiety, negative self-talk/self-blame, forced magical transformation.
(( chrono || non-chrono ))
"Pretty sure, kiddo," Clark replies wryly, giving the puppy's back another reassuring pat. Kon—Kon's distracted, and trying to get his head around—get his concentration around—
He can feel Jon’s expression. He can feel Clark’s expression, and the lay of the other’s shoulders, and . . .
He does still have his TTK, Kon realizes. He–like, it’s way harder than it should be to wrap his head around it, with the puppy’s brain being the only hardware he’s got to run it on, but–but he does still have it.
He doesn’t even know how the hell that’s a thing, but if he can just–if he can just focus just a little bit–Clark’ll at least realize something’s not normal about the "puppy” he’s holding if he realizes “she’s” got goddamn superpowers, right? Like, that is neither normal nor subtle. So all he has to do is–just, if he can just–
“She might be, you don’t know!” Jon protests indignantly, puffing out his cheeks in a pout. Kon guesses that would be cute, if he weren’t trying not to have a total fucking freakout while he’s a literal friggin’ puppy and has no idea how to fix it except for maybe figuring out how to use enough TTK to do something an actual dog couldn’t, or at least wouldn’t, or just, like–just something. Just–
“Krypto isn’t actually a dog, Jon, he just looks like one,” Clark reminds him patiently. “It’s, well–convergent evolution, essentially. Galactically-speaking, I mean.”
“‘Conver’–what?” Jon wrinkles his nose. Kon just tries to focus. The puppy is a little less afraid, or at least not scared out of its goddamn mind anymore, but it’s still anxious and nervous and doesn’t know where it is or what’s going on, because–because this isn’t home, they’re not supposed to be here, they’re not welcome here, not–they’re a problem if they’re here, they don’t fit here, don’t belong here, don’t fit in Clark’s life here, don’t–
“It basically means unrelated species evolving to share similar features,” Clark says. “Which is why Krypto looks like a dog, but isn’t a dog.”
“Well, you look human!” Jon protests, planting his hands on his hips.
“. . . technically, but really only to other–er, I mean, only to humans,” Clark amends, which is a really distracting thing to say and really does not help Kon concentrate on his TTK, because what the hell does that mean? “But that’s not the same–”
“MOMMMMM, TELL DAD HE LOOKS HUMAN!!” Jon yells back into the apartment. Clark huffs out a wry laugh, and Kon hears Lois laugh too from somewhere in the living room. It’s hard to pin down exactly where, through different ears and with the echo of it across the balcony and held cupped against Clark’s chest.
“I don’t know, why am I telling him that?” she calls back.
“He said Krypto can’t have a puppy!” Jon exlaims, darting back inside. Kon has no idea why the kid is so invested in the idea of Krypto having had a puppy or not, but like–whatever, it’s not important right now, it’s just–he just–he needs to think, he needs to concentrate, and the puppy’s stupid little brain is making it so hard to, making it–
He hears Lois laugh again and Clark sigh wryly, and Clark strokes down the puppy’s back again, and Kon–Kon just–
( he focuses on the point of contact, on the touch, on something TACTILE, and it’s not his to feel, but–
but– )
The puppy whines anxiously and Krypto lets out a loud, excited “WOOF” and wags his tail hard enough to dent the railing behind him, and the puppy startles at the sound of the impact and Kon’s grip on his TTK almost, almost–
He’s too busy focusing on his stupid stubborn-ass TTK to track what they’re really saying with the puppy’s brain, because it’s a really goddamn one-track kind of brain and he just needs to make his stupid stubborn-ass TTK work already, he needs to get Clark to realize he’s not a stupid fucking puppy so Clark can fix him!
So–so that. That’s all. He just–he just concentrates, and just tries to . . . just fly a little, or at least float a little, because that’s the easiest thing he knows he can do right now. His TTK is always around his entire body, no matter what, so–so that’s the easiest thing he can do.
If it’s even working like usual. If it’s even really working at all, and isn’t just glitching in and out, or he’s not too stupid to use it right now, or–o-or–
Fucking–fuck, he tells himself, and squeezes his eyes shut and tries to just–just focus. He can focus. He can concentrate. He can.
He thinks he can.
( except he’s so shit at thinking already, he’s so SHIT at thinking, he’s so STUPID and he NEVER fucking THINKS, he–
shutupshutupshutUP he can DO THIS )
Krypto barks proudly and wags his tail even harder as he starts jumping from side to side, which is probably not great for the balcony’s structural integrity, and the puppy’s eyes snap open as it finds itself half-floating above Clark’s cupped hands. And, like–Kon appreciates the whole “man’s best hype-man” vibes there but he really doesn’t know how long he can managed to float for right now and he really needs Clark to be the one noticing that right now, dammit, except Clark’s still looking back over his shoulder into the apartment and saying–
“All else aside, we’d know if Krypto’d had any puppies, Jon.”
“. . . you sure about that, Smallville?” Lois asks as Kon just tries to float up a little higher to catch Clark’s eye and yips in frustration in an attempt to get his damn attention already!
“Huh?” Clark says.
“Honey,” Lois says pityingly. “Look.”
Clark finally turns his head back towards Kon, and Kon yips louder and kinda accidentally flies up into his face and also-accidentally smacks him with his paws, but dammit, he just needs Clark to fucking fix this already! He’s not–this isn’t where he’s supposed to be and he knows he’s a problem but Clark’s the only one who he always knows can–can fix things, when he doesn’t make them worse, and–and–
“. . . uh,” Clark says, staring blankly at Kon as Jon’s face lights up with absolute glee, which is weird enough a sight to startle Kon into losing control of his TTK and dropping out of the air. Krypto darts forward and catches him in his mouth, because Krypto is a bro like that, though it’s goddamn embarrassing enough that Kon might have rather just faceplanted into the concrete. Still, like–that’s enough, right? Clark’s gotta know he’s not an actual dog now, right? So that’s fine, then, that’s gotta have worked. “. . . how.”
“YES,” Jon crows, throwing his hands up in the air.
“Well, we did have Jon, so . . .” Lois trails off meaningfully as she leans out of the sliding glass door, resting her own hands on either side of the frame as she does and arching an eyebrow down at them.
“Oh my god, how did this never occur to me as a thing that might be a thing,” Clark says, looking horrified. “Oh my god.”
–huh? What’re they talking abo–?
“Oh my god,” Clark repeats, sounding kind of shellshocked or something, and Jon jumps back out onto the balcony and dives forward around Clark to hit his knees in front of Krypto and beam at–Kon?
Kon, again, can’t get over the unending weirdness of the kid looking at him like that, but also, like, why is the kid looking at him like–?
“Kryptooooo, she’s so cute!” Jon enthuses delightedly, clenching his fists in excitement and shaking them almost as hard as Krypto’s been wagging his tail, and with almost as many tiny sonic booms. “Where’s her mom did you guys have like a litter or is it just her she’s so cute can I hold her please?!”
“Wuff,” Krypto says around his mouthful of puppy-scruff–his mouthful of Kon–and then proudly plops the puppy/Kon right into Jon’s outstretched hands and pants happily.
. . . what.
“Hiiiii oh my gosh,” Jon coos at him, holding him under the front legs and up over his head to grin gleefully up at him. “You’re so cute, hi, you’re the cutest baby ever!”
Oh no, the stupid puppy brain finally processes enough for Kon to realize. Oh, fuck no.
“I dunno, I can think of at least one other baby that was pretty cute,” Lois muses jokingly, leaning against one side of the doorframe and folding her arms. “She really is kinda cute, though.”
“She’s so cute I wanna slam-dunk her,” Jon gushes giddily, half-”flying” Kon in the air over his head. Kon is too busy cursing the stupid stupid stupid puppy brain to attempt to preserve his dignity right now, because the stupid puppy brain might’ve just let him fucking convince them he’s–fuck! “She’s so cute I wanna dribble her like a basketball and fight her in a cage match and suplex her about it!”
“. . . she’s still a puppy, Jonno, let’s be a little more careful than that before we figure out how, uh . . . invulnerable she might be,” Clark says, sounding a little faint. “Just to be, er . . . safe, and all. You know.”
Kon makes another valiant attempt at freedom-wriggling. Krypto rolls over and squishes him; he yelps indignantly and scrabbles at the sheets. Krypto slobbers all over him lovingly in reply, the bastard.
Gross. Ew and yuck and gross.
“Alright, alright,” Clark says, coming over to the bed and leaning over to rub Krypto’s ears, then glances back towards the bedroom door before fishing his phone out and sneaking a pic. Kon makes an offended sound. Krypto wags his tail with extreme predjudice. “You are pretty cute, bud. Very stressful, but very cute. Kinda wish you’d given me more of a heads up before bringing home a puppy, though; you’re setting a terrible example for Jon.”
Kon whines in frustration and attempts another freedom-wriggle. It is resoundingly unsuccessful. Clark muffles a snicker into his fist and rubs Krypto’s ears again. Kon, again, is fucking offended.
Admittedly he would probably also find this behavior pretty cute if it weren’t him Krypto was currently squishing into the mattress and slobbering all over, but it is him and Clark doesn’t know it’s him and Jon keeps cooing over him and trying to hug him and it’s just really, really upsetting! It’s really upsetting, actually!
Krypto slobbers some more of his gross, drooly affection on him. Kon suffers.
“At least you seem to be an involved parent, so that makes me a little more optimistic about how many half-Kryptonian puppies might be out there,” Clark muses. “If you were keeping track you would’ve brought them over, right?”
Krypto pants adoringly, then headbutts Clark’s palm hard enough that the thwack sounds like a medicine ball hitting concrete.
“I really hope you would’ve brought them over, anyway,” Clark mutters under his breath. “Especially since I don’t actually know if I even could get you fixed, considering your biology.”
Kon winces. Man, he’s gonna feel real bad if Krypto loses his balls over this.
Thank-you sentences for LadyKarma; “interdimensional kidnapping via Robin”.
(( chrono || non-chrono ))
“Well, legally,” Tim says, a little wry. Technically “Conner Kent” exists on paper and in Smallville, but he’s much less of a person than, well . . . literally just about every other superhero that Tim can think of’s secret identity. At least so far as the ones born on-planet, anyway. “He just didn’t originally have the option.”
“Oh,” Kon says, and still looks uneasy. Tim . . . debates, and then . . .
“Would you like one someday?” he asks, keeping his tone mildly curious and nothing else. Kon startles a little at the question–or maybe flinches a little, but Tim’s hoping for just the startling.
“I, uh–I don’t–I dunno h-how that–” Kon stutters, and then cringes and ducks his head lower. “I don’t have–information. Or resources.”
“I know,” Tim says, and gives the other’s hand a careful little squeeze in an attempt at reassurance. “I could get you those things if you’re interested, though.”
Kon . . . blinks, slowly. Doesn’t take his eyes off his feet; doesn’t reply. Then he blinks a little faster, and looks a lot overwhelmed in multiple ways.
“You can think about it for a little while. No rush either way,” Tim tells him with a light little shrug, because he doesn’t want to overwhelm the kid, and then gestures towards the upcoming intersection. “Left here. My place is . . . well, we’re going to have to get a little more subtle to get in without selling out my secret identity to the neighbors, but that’s SOP.”
“. . . you really wanna let me see your house?” Kon asks quietly. “I could–I dunno, tell somebody where you live or something.”
“You could,” Tim agrees. “I don’t think you would, though. And honestly even if I did, I’m more concerned with getting you somewhere safe than I am about possibly having to move later.”
“Oh,” Kon says, then sniffles a little and scrubs his cuffed wrist across his eyes; holds it pressed tight against them for a moment and tightens his grip on Tim’s hand a little too–just for a moment, before very quickly loosening it again. Tim hates Lex Luthor, which is probably just going to be the default state of the entire rest of his life. “Um–are you . . . am I . . .”
“Are we what?” Tim asks, and Kon sniffles again at the “we”.
Thank-you sentences for LadyKarma; Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it.
(( chrono || non-chrono ))
“Promise?” Kon asks, sliding another flat point of pressure back behind Bernard’s balls and along his taint, pressing and rubbing up against it. He thinks–that’ll get his prostate a little warmed up, right? Bernard’ll still feel it like this, like–he doesn’t know, external stimulation, kinda?
“FUCK,” Bernard blurts loudly, his knees snapping in against Kon’s sides and face completely buried in his shoulder; shoulders shaking and nails trying to dig into his skin through his TTK. “Yeah, yeah, yup, that’s officially a promise, god god god–”
Kon is pretty sure that means the guy’s feeling it, yeah.
“Feels alright?” he asks anyway, the question coming out a little ragged as he rolls his hips down against Bernard’s again. “Not too heavy or–or whatever?”
“Definitely, definitely not,” Bernard gasps against his shoulder, and Kon half-reflexively tightens his arm around his back; leans his weight on his forearm and elbow and reaches up to cup his other hand over the back of Bernard’s head and feels–weird, sort of. Not like–he’s not sure how, exactly. Not sure why, exactly.
Something about Bernard is really . . .
Yeah, Kon doesn’t really know how to finish that thought, but there’s a lot of other things he wants to be concentrating on right now, so like–whatever, it’s not a big deal, he’ll worry about it later. Right now he just wants to think about making Bernard feel nice, and nothing else.
Like, what the hell else would he wanna think about right now?
“Okay,” he says, pressing a brief kiss against the other’s temple without thinking about it and then feeling a little stupid over it for no good reason, but also kinda not really caring if it was stupid. Just–nice things. Little touches and stuff like that–those make him feel nice, at least. “Just–tell me if it’s too much, yeah?”
“You’ll know it’s too much when my ribs crack and not a moment sooner,” Bernard mutters very feelingly, wrapping his arms around his back and trying to dig his fingers in along his spine. Kon laughs a little breathlessly, but feels a little rush of nerves at the same time–Bernard doesn’t actually mean he won’t tell him to stop if it’s too much, does he? Like–if he does fuck it up–
The camera goes off, and any drop of tension that’s ever been in Kon’s body evaporates all at once. Just–right, yeah. Tim’s here. Tim’ll make sure he doesn’t fuck anything up.
