#wip: congratulations it's a metaweapon!

[suzukiblu]

Thank-you sentences for tigerliliesandcherryblossoms behind the cut; "congratulations, it's a metaweapon!" (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Match finds out the sky is brighter than his uploads said it would be. The sun is much brighter. He knows what things look like, but–but it’s different, somehow. 

The colors don’t look like the colors the Agenda showed him. 

He still–he doesn’t– 

He hasn’t figured out how to let go of his grip on Superboy’s suit, or why he can’t figure anything out. It’s–it’s some kind of–

He doesn’t know what it is. 

.

.

.

They fly a long time, Match thinks, but he only really registers that fact once Superboy’s landing on some sunny little street, empty except for the scattered little stores on either side of it and a cafe and . . . ice cream place, it looks like, of all the damn things. He’s still–he hasn’t let go of him. Or–

Match doesn’t know which of them hasn’t let go of which. 

“Sorry,” Superboy says apologetically as he settles down fully on the sidewalk. “Just really wanted to get the fuck out of there, like, yesterday, and then I felt bad about letting go of you while you were, you know, all . . . I dunno what to call it, honestly, it’s weird? First person I ever actually picked up was this jogger in the park I was getting out of the way of a car and like, it felt so good to actually touch somebody that I kinda kissed her about it? Literally don’t even know what her name was, so in retrospect maybe that was kinda rude, but y’know, was kinda jacked-up on, uh, literally everything about actually being alive, so . . . well, hopefully she didn’t think I was a jackass for–anyway, not the point. Smoothie time? How’s a smoothie sound? Are you hungry?” 

“Put me down,” Match manages, and it comes out–wrong. 

Comes out uneven. 

“Oh, sure, yeah,” Superboy says, shifting his grip on him. “Just be careful, don’t let go all at–” 

The moment his feet touch the ground, Match yanks away from Superboy, and he immediately feels an icy rush of actual physical nausea in his gut and has to lock his knees to keep from staggering. Superboy winces sympathetically, his hands still half-raised. 

“–once,” he finishes lamely. “Yeah, uh, I think maybe you kinda get born touch-starved, when you get born like us. Also I think we’re more tactile than, like, literally everyone else I have ever met ever. Like, literally. I have never met anyone more tactile than me. Us.” 

“‘Tactile’,” Match manages to repeat, and still feels that cold pit of nausea in his stomach. His head feels–dizzy, almost. Like–just dizzy. Like there’s something wrong with him. 

“Yeah, I think maybe Cadmus didn’t think through that particular, uh, design flaw. Or maybe just didn’t know it was gonna be a thing, I guess,” Superboy says with a wince as he reaches out to grab his hand. Match reflexively tenses to yank it out of his grip, but–

But the icy nausea settles at the feeling of that grip, a little, and the dizziness stops feeling so urgent, and . . . and he doesn’t . . . 

“Like I said,” Superboy says, squeezing his hand and watching his face with attentive concern, looking worried. Match wants to punch the idiot in his. “Way, way more tactile.”

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Oh, you know I Have to ask for more "congratulations, it's a metaweapon" for WIP Wednesday

“Oh, yeah, it’s way different feeling stuff for real, right?” Superboy asks, glancing at him. Match–doesn’t know what he means. Doesn’t know why he–how he–“There’s like, physical stuff to it? It’s super-weird the first few times. Neurochemistry is totally off the wall, I got real overwhelmed when I met, like, actual dopamine for the first time. And adrenaline is fuckin’ crazy.” 

“I’m not overwhelmed,” Match says stiffly, and isn’t–isn’t sure what–isn’t sure why–his heart rate is accelerated past authorized levels for a non-combat scenario and Superboy is–he’s– 

“It’s okay,” Superboy says, and says it like he thinks he’s trying to be comforting, the stupid fucking–“It’s a lot gettin’ touched for the first time. ‘Specially gettin’ held for the first time. I shoulda given you a heads up about it, sorry.”

[suzukiblu]

Congratulations, it's a metaweapon for WIP Wednesday, please! It's such a fun one

“Is this like the ‘no’ phase with toddlers? Is that what this is?” he asks. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s cool you feel safe enough to tell me ‘no’ and know I won't fuck you up for it or whatever, just it’s maybe gonna be an issue right now.” 

. . . that is definitely not why Match has been telling this idiot “no”. Like–yes, obviously if he said “no” to anyone from the Agenda he’d get much worse than just “fucked up”, but he isn’t telling Superboy ‘no’ because he thinks it’s safe to. 

. . . . . . though technically it is, comparatively. Arguably. Even if Superboy wanted to damage him, he’s an obsolete model. He couldn’t do irreparable damage to him if he tried.

[suzukiblu]

Congrats it's a metaweapon!

“I’m leaving,” Match says. He’ll figure out the cell issue. They put the lab’s layout in his uploads; he’ll just find a guard in the containment wing to identify the specific cell he’s been assigned to. Or is going to be assigned to; whichever. “Stop inconveniencing the directors and let the guards scrap you.” 

“I am absolutely not gonna do that,” Superboy says, shooting him a glare. “And you’re not gonna do that.” 

“You are in no way capable of actually stopping me,” Match retorts dubiously, because again, he’s the upgrade, and Superboy is the obsolete model. Superboy just scowls mulishly.

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"congratulations, it's a metaweapon!" pls! this one is rlly fun too... you've made me fall in love with kon, match and the diff ways you write their dynamic lol

He opens his mouth to say that, but Alpha cuts him off with an irritated snap, “Subject Match. You have your orders.” 

Match–understands what he was made for. And what allows him to exist. 

“Yes, sir,” he says as he steps back from Superboy, keeping his voice toneless and face blank, and Superboy–

The sound that Superboy makes is not a human sound. 

Not even close to one.

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I would love some congratulations, it's a metaweapon! Love the concept of Kon and his son who looks the same age <3

“Would you rather die?” he asks dubiously. 

“Obviously not, no, that’s why I have done it,” Superboy says in exasperation, then scowls at him. “You’re such a brat, geez.” 

“. . . a ‘brat’,” Match repeats incredulously, and Superboy starts to open his mouth, then–pauses, and frowns at himself. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I mean you’re acting bratty. I don’t think you are a brat, though I guess I’d deserve it if you were ‘cuz of that whole thing people always say about how you deserve a kid who’s as bad as you were. Uh–shit, wait, I don’t mean you’re bad–wow this must be so much easier for people whose kids aren’t big enough to sass them from day one, huh.” 

Match stares at him. Superboy looks embarrassed, then visibly steels himself and puts his hands on his hips, looking determined. Match continues staring at him.

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I will always ask for some Match Brainrot~ congratulations, it’s a metaweapon flavored this time~

“So we can’t actually do that,” Match says, unimpressed. He should’ve known. 

“Huh?” Superboy wrinkles his nose at him. “No, we can, it’s just super fucked-up. Actually it’s kinda better to just, like, twist or squeeze ‘em instead of actually ripping 'em out, ‘cuz it hurts like crazy but also you don’t, like, maim anybody or get blood everywhere? People don’t really like the blood thing. Or, uh, property damage. But especially the blood thing.” 

. . . . . . Match is less certain of some of his assessments, now.

[suzukiblu]

Congratulations it’s a metaweapon please! It’s always fun to see match utterly baffled

That’s not why Match is saying “no” to him, though. He has orders, and he understands what he was made for and that he only exists for that purpose, and won’t be allowed to exist if he doesn’t fulfill it. 

Obviously, because he’s not as stupid as Superboy.

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May I please have a snippet of congratulations, it's a metaweapon?? Thank you!!

“I don’t want anything to do with you,” he says, feeling–off, for some reason he can’t place–and Superboy frowns deeper at him, then just rolls his eyes. 

“Whatever, I’ve got TTK,” he mutters to himself, and then does something infinitely more ridiculous than just grabbing his hand by just grabbing him and picking him up.

Match is actually incapable of processing the fact that actually just happened. 

“What,” he says blankly, and Superboy flies straight up through the collapsed ceiling with him and zips down the hall of the floor above without a single apparent care in the world. “I–you–I know how to fly, you idiot!” 

“You do? That’s great, buddy, we can go play later,” Superboy says, looking–proud, for lack of literally an better descriptor, what the fuck. Match seriously considers breaking his nose. Or his teeth. 

Or his neck. 

He never actually got the kill order, though, so he’s not sure if the Agenda actually has intentions for the idiot or not, and while he can always kill him later, he can’t un-kill him later if they do, so now he’s–now he isn’t–

[suzukiblu]

Congratulations, its a metaweapon! for wip wednesday if im not too late!!!

“It’s fine. Even if you were a brat, I wouldn’t care. You’re still my kid,” Superboy says firmly. “So we’re going home now. I’ll get you a smoothie on the way, you can get whatever flavor you want. I’ll help you narrow it down if you wanna know what tastes good to us.” 

Match thinks his gene donor is insane, maybe. Hopefully it’s trauma-based and not exclusively genetic, because the former he’s likelier to be able to avoid. He wasn’t designed to be something capable of being traumatized. 

“C’mon,” Superboy says, and reaches over and grabs his hand. Match only lets him do it because it genuinely does not occur to him that that’s what the idiot is trying to do until he has done it. 

Definitely insane, yes. 

“No,” he says flatly, yanking his hand back. It feels–strange. Something about it feels strange, he means. Superboy frowns. 

“We could maybe do froyo or something,” he suggests. “Or like a fruit whip thing. Gelato? God, this would be so much easier if you were baby-sized, yeah.” 

Match doesn’t even know what gelato is, and at this point he refuses to ask.

[suzukiblu]

CONGRATS ITS A METAWEAPON PLEASE

“What is wrong with you?” Match demands incredulously, and Superboy just glowers at the pile of debris he just buried everyone else in the room under, ignoring the concrete dust in his tangled hair and gravel on his shoulders and rubble around his calves. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says shortly. “C’mon. We’re leaving.” 

“I am not going anywhere with–” Match starts, and Superboy’s eyes flick to him and don’t narrow, but widen angrily.

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"Congrats It's A Metaweapon", please! Kon trying to Dad a Literally Newborn Match is delightful and also hilarious. He is doing A Good Job so far, tbh.

Spence half-staggers back to her feet, opening her mouth with an ugly glare and again reflexively going for a gun she’s not wearing anymore, and Superboy brings down the ceiling on top of everyone in the room, himself included. 

Not Match, though. 

Match finds that patronizing and annoying and a stupid allotment of concentration that Superboy didn’t need to bother with, given that Superboy himself doesn’t even flinch when the ceiling hits him, but it’s what the idiot does all the same.

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“congratulations, it's a metaweapon!” for wip wed please? tysm <33

The guards all go down yelling, and Gamma and Alpha try to dive for cover, and Match–

Match looks down on some odd, nonsensical reflex, and the floor underneath his own feet is completely undisturbed. 

It didn’t even crack when Superboy first broke the rest of it, he realizes for the first time. 

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congratulations, it's a metaweapon! for thr WIP Wednesday please I gotta know if Kon's really gonna hurt them or not

“I am fucking done,” Superboy snarls, his furious voice reverberating in strange ways and eyes wide and burning. Match feels his hackles rise and his skin prickle right before every single piece of the cracked floor all throws itself at Alpha and Gamma and Spence and the guards all at once. 

All of the floor, all the way down to the broken concrete and twisted rebar underneath it.

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👀👀 congratulations it’s a meta weapon !!!👀👀

“That’s not–it,” Match manages, except he doesn’t know what it is. 

He’s–his hand is gripping the front of Superboy’s suit, he realizes. Fisted in the “S” on his chest. He didn’t–that wasn’t–intentional. 

What is–what’s–

“There we go,” Superboy says, and throws a hand out in front of them just in time to slap against the security doors he’s flown them straight at and disassemble them. 

He doesn’t even slow down–doesn’t even pause–and Match feels–Match is–

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congratulations, it's a metaweapon! please Match is so confused and I really love angry father Kon

But also, Alpha and Gamma really need to stop pissing off Superboy, because he is clearly not going to be reasonable about this situation and setting him off is not going to make him easier to subdue. 

Not that Match, apparently, is going to be doing said subduing, because he’s supposed to go to his cell, so that’s not actually his problem. But still, it’s not efficient problem-solving.