#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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Congratulations it’s a meta weapon for wip we’d!

Match should kill him. He’s supposed to kill him. He’s . . . he should . . . 

“It’s painful,” he says, still uneven. “Why–why does–” 

“We are really tactile,” Superboy says apologetically, squeezing his hand. 

Match should absolutely kill him.

[suzukiblu]

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]

its a metaweapon for wip

He doesn’t figure out how to make Superboy to let go of him or himself to get Superboy off him, and Superboy just–leaves. Flies full-speed past whatever staff and security’s still up here and disassembles every set of security doors in his way and–

Leaves. 

And Match doesn’t figure out why he can’t figure anything out, or how to let go of his grip on Superboy’s suit. It’s not–it doesn’t feel–

He doesn’t understand.

[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.

[suzukiblu]

👀👀 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–

[suzukiblu]

"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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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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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.

[suzukiblu]

congratulations, it's a metaweapon! Is very cute!

“Though I kinda feel like an asshole when I do it,” Superboy says, making a face. “Like, it kinda seems like cheating? It’s not really the kinda thing most people can, you know, stop or whatever.” 

Never mind, Match amends. The idiot is still an idiot.

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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]

OMG! i love congratulations, it's a metaweapon 😍 And I'm so excited its on the WIP list this week!! Can we get another snippet please?

“Yeah?” he asks. “‘Cuz you said you don’t have free will, and those assholes aren't in any condition to be giving you orders right now. So you're coming with me, because I say so.” 

"You also said you'd rip their nerves out," Match retorts, narrowing his own eyes at him. Superboy winces, then looks briefly sheepish. 

"Got the idea from Nightmare on Elm Street," he admits. “Very freaky movie.”

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It might be too late due to time zone issues but can i ask for more congratulations, it's a metaweapon!

“I was fine until you touched me,” Match bites off, and still can’t keep his voice even. That’s–that’s not–he knows how to keep his voice even. 

But he can’t keep his voice even. 

“Yeah,” Superboy says. “Kinda broke the dam, right? I didn’t even know how bad I wanted touched ‘til the first time I got it. And it took me, like, forever to figure out how much I could get away with touching people without it being, like, weird or anything. Actually, uh, still not really sure on that one all the time, gonna be honest. But you can touch me whenever, alright? Like, whenever you need to.”

[suzukiblu]

Congratulations it’s a metaweapon please and thank you!

Technically, his last standing orders are Alpha’s orders to report to his cell and Beta’s orders to go with Superboy, and Alpha’s orders were given under the assumption that Spence would be doing . . . whatever, exactly, they were intending to do to Superboy. Contain or kill, Alpha had said, but that was to Spence, not him. And also Alpha is currently unconscious and therefore not available to be provide further orders, as is Gamma, and Beta is no longer physically present to provide any either, and even Spence isn’t available, and he–he’s not– 

He doesn’t know what to prioritize. He doesn’t know–what to do, technically. His standing orders are conflicting and Superboy is insane and–and he– 

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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–