#DC Match

[suzukiblu]

excerpt from in-progress Superfam fic (aka the one where Clark panic-adopts his teenage clones, yes including the supervillain one):

Match hears a heartbeat in the air, high overhead. He doesn't look towards it. 

He recognizes it. 

He doubts its owner would recognize his, though. 

"Superboy?" Superman asks as he drifts down into Match's peripheral vision. "Are you alright, kid?" 

Match thinks about lying. He sat through the briefing this morning, after all. He knows the Agenda's plan. He knows what he's supposed to do for it. 

"Superboy's in France," he says instead. 

". . . what?" Superman says. Match doesn't look at him. Watches the lab burn down a little more in front of them, but nothing else. 

"Superboy's in France," he repeats. "Outside Lyon, probably. That's where the new lab is." 

"You're–ah," Superman realizes. "Match?" 

"Yes." Match keeps watching the lab burn. He's honestly surprised Superman remembers his name. Or even remembers him at all. 

Well, eidetic memory and all. 

"If Superboy's in Lyon, then what happened here?" Superman asks, glancing towards the flames. Match thinks about lying again, but there's just not really a point. 

"I did it," he says. 

"Why?" Superman asks. 

"They want me to kill Robin," Match says, and Superman . . . pauses. "And Wonder Girl, if I get a shot. But mostly Robin. He's the priority target." 

"Why?" Superman asks again, very carefully. Some burning debris falls down. Match watches it go. 

"To destabilize Batman," he says, because there's still no point in lying. It doesn't matter. When has it ever, really? Lying has never gotten him anything he wanted. "So the Justice League will be weakened." 

"But you're not supposed to kill Superboy?" Superman says. 

"There's no point in killing Superboy," Match says reasonably. "It's not like you'd care if he died." 

"The Agenda thinks I wouldn't care if Superboy died?" Superman asks incredulously, just staring at him. "Why, because he's a clone?" 

"Because I reported back my interactions with you when I was pretending to be him," Match corrects, puzzled by the vehemence of the response. "And also the lack thereof." 

"What?" Superman says, still just staring. 

"Batman loves Robin," Match reminds him, really not understanding the look on the man's face–like he's surprised or something, somehow? Like he somehow doesn't know how he interacts with Thirteen? "You don't even like Superboy. So killing him isn’t currently productive to the Agenda's goals. He's more useful as a live sample." 

"You're telling me that Superboy is only alive right now because the Agenda doesn't think that someone murdering him would bother me," Superman says, his voice very careful again. 

"Yes," Match confirms. More burning debris falls down. 

Match watches it go. 

"Take me to the lab in Lyon," Superman says. Match looks over at him, mostly because his voice sounds very odd all of a sudden, and frowns. Superman's eyes are burning red. 

Heat vision. Okay. 

"No," Match says. Superman's eyes burn visibly hotter, but he doesn't actually activate his heat vision. It's not an attack. 

Then Superman exhales, and it's an icy fog. 

But it's still not an attack. 

"Why not?" Superman asks. 

"Why would I bother?" Match says. "You can destroy it after Superboy escapes." 

Thirteen will escape, Match knows. He can't escape, but Thirteen always does. 

"I'm going to go get him, Match," Superman says, and Match frowns in confusion at the statement. "I don't care about the lab or the Agenda. I just want to get Superboy." 

"That isn't consistent with your previous behavior," Match notes, his frown deepening. He'd be suspicious, maybe, but . . . well, Superman does save people. 

Just not usually Thirteen, in Match's experience of him. 

Or . . . any clone, really. 

In Match's experience of him. 

Not that he ever expected Superman to bother with . . . 

Thirteen called them brothers, the first time they met. Meanwhile, Match is pretty sure that this is at best the second time that Superman's ever even spoken to him without thinking he was Thirteen, and technically he still started off the conversation on that assumption. 

It's just very obvious that he doesn't care about any shared DNA they have or . . . anything like that. 

"Please take me to the lab in Lyon, Match," Superman says. 

"So you can go get Superboy," Match says. 

"Yes," Superman says. 

You never came to get ME, Match doesn't say. 

"Alright," he says instead, and gets to his feet.

[peacerisendove]

Selectively Accepting || Valentines Day Kissing Prompts @ftl-faster-than-life-archived

Clones, cuddling, and kisses! \o/

There were a lot of ups and downs with this piece, but I am really so happy at how it came out. Especially Match's expression. They both deserve to smile a lot more.

[Thad's hair reference]

[theofficialdailyplanet]

tell me they don't deserve a solo series together

like dc c'mon man look at the potential

[mockstarling]

*DC Comic clones’ reaction to being told “I love you”*

Kon, crying and going in for a hug*: I love you too. Thaddeus: Ah, yeah. Who doesn’t!? Match: Oh, no. Damian: No, you don’t. Respawn, a flustered mess: Lionel “Lin” Luthor (that one superboy clone): Can I get a refund?

[sleepyspeedster]

Temp Title: Shooting the Breeze and the Heart

Thad/Match WIP

[fyeahmatch]

Suicide Squad Vol 7 #14 (2021-2022) Variant Cover

[gatorbites-imagines]

i think about Match, so much. Theres just something about the idea of Conner Kent and his own imperfect clone. I should write smth about that...

[sunnyscript]

Fuck it. Match (Kon's clone from the Superboy 93 solo) is albino (white skin and hair + pale blue is all i need). I'm giving him nystagmus too.

And honestly, thinking of him as albino made me think of Kryptonian biology.

Like, they take their powers from the yellow sun. And tanning is your body increasing the production of melanin in an attempt to protect the skin from further damage.

Since the bodies of kryptonians living on earth aren't pastry white worryingly pale, it means UV lights affects them to some degree (tho less so than humans)

It would also mean, Match would be able to get sunburnt or have photophobia (not sure if i'm going to write him with that in mind. Just saying he could have it)

Anyway, I'll start drawing and posting fanart of him. Once i'm done with Superboy's 93 comic. Once, i'm done with it and Impulse's comic (which I'm still not done with😅). I'll make the drawing than go read "Superboy and the ravers".

I'm also not done reading young justice 98 but i think i'll continue reading it after i'm done with superboy and the ravers95

Also will write a bunch of fics. It just takes me time. I already started drafting some impulse fics. They will closely follow canon but there will be canon divergences.

[dementedspeedster]

[ PLAY ]:          while sitting together, the sender absently lifts the receiver’s hand, idly running their fingertips across the lines of their palms, mapping out every inch of their hand with slow, lazy touches. -- from match?

Accepting || 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐆𝐎 👀 @supraxstcllas (Match)

There was just something relaxing about laying down by Match's side as they sat on his couch, idle noise of the television filled the cabin as it played and floating by their ears. Neither seemingly listening to it He liked feeling lost in the privacy of the Alaskan wilderness where Match's cabin was located. It was far away from where his problem laid.

Relaxing here with Match it felt safe.

He felt like he could breath by his side.

He felt safe, that everything was sound as he laid his head against his shoulder. There was none of that anxious white noise that buzzed around his head here as leaned into Match's side as his cooler hand traced the edges of his warm hand, that traced the clear heart line that ran across the flesh of his palm, then the head line, and lastly the life line before they traveled elsewhere on his hands. There was a comfort Thad felt with the other clone that was different than anyone else. He knew him. He understood him unlike anyone else could and vice versa.

Thad's heart beat steady like a drum. He could have let Match explore him like for this hours as he melted into his side.

Match's hand slides over his own, tracing the skin, drawing lines, touching these calloused, damaged, and once bloodied hands with such a gentle touch, and Thad exhales content and closes his eyes content.

As time marches on and Match passes over his hands once more, palm to palm, Thad clasps his hand in his, stopping him without a word and turns Match's own hand in his own.

"My turn." Is all he says before taking his finger and tracing out the lines of Match's own hand, his fingers feeling out the cool skin, his callouses, the dips and rises of his hands slowly as if they were mountains to explore. He traced the valleys between his fingers and climbed to the tips, touching and tracing the pads of his fingers, pressing them with his own. He mapped Match's hands out with the same intrigue and curiosity and reverence before holding his hand in his own and interweaving his fingers with Match's own.

He felt safe by his side.

[arunneronthird]

and whether his eyes stay shut or he just stops caring enough

it feels the same

[suzukiblu]

more of the one where Clark panic-adopts his teenage clones, yes including the supervillain one:

"I don't know why people keep doing this," Superman sighs as they stop in the air high above the cloud cover between them and the Lyon lab. 

"Stealing your DNA?" Match asks. 

"Kidnapping a sixteen year-old," Superman says like he thinks it's some kind of correction. Match frowns. 

"Superboy is two," he says. And closer to physiologically eighteen at this point, even accounting for the temporary stall in his aging process. Definitely not sixteen by either count, though. 

"I–well, yes," Superman says uncomfortably. "But you know what I mean." 

Match doesn't, actually. 

"It won't be difficult to crack the lab," he says instead of admitting that. "Security won't be prepared for an external assault from your full powerset." 

"Because they think I wouldn't come," Superman says, sounding resigned. 

"Yes," Match confirms. 

"Because of your reports?" Superman says. 

"Yes," Match says. "And you never did before, either." 

Superman frowns, sparing him a confused glance. 

"Why would I have come before Superboy was even here?" he asks. 

"I was here," Match says. 

Superman's frown deepens. He looks over at him again. Match isn't sure why; the lab is the current concern. 

Maybe he assumes that he's lying about the security. Or that he's going to tell the Agenda that he's here. Those would both be fair assumptions. 

"The Agenda thought I might come for you?" Superman says. 

"The theory was presented, initially," Match says. "But you didn't, so external security in the newer labs is less intensive." 

"Why did they think I'd do that?" Superman asks. 

"Superboy and I only exist because of you," Match says. "And the Agenda knew he'd reported my existence to you." 

"I wasn't actually involved in either of your creations, though," Superman says, still frowning. "My DNA was stolen." 

"Yes," Match agrees, tilting his head. Did Superman think he didn't know that? "Because you made your DNA valuable." 

"What?" Superman frowns at him again. 

"Your DNA was stolen because it was valuable," Match clarifies. "Because you demonstrated it was valuable. You don't use science or tricks or magic or owe any gods or countries or labs any kind of allegiance. You just exist on this planet and you're the most powerful thing on it just because you're here. You can do anything you want, whenever you want, and no one else can stop you. Not even if they kill you." 

Superman doesn't say anything. 

"And you told everyone that," Match continues. "You told everyone that you were the most powerful thing on this planet just because of your very valuable DNA and the fact that we happen to be revolving around a yellow sun. That you can't even die. That you'll always do whatever you think needs done, no matter what anyone else thinks or who tries to stop you from doing it." 

Superman still doesn't say anything. 

"So Superboy and I only exist because of you," Match finishes, and then looks back down at the lab below through the cloud cover. Thirteen is down there right now. Or he should be, at least. 

Maybe he's already escaped. 

That's a very Thirteen kind of thing to do, after all. 

"That's how you feel?" Superman asks, all careful-voiced again. 

"That's what I know," Match corrects. "Would you prefer to go straight in or should I provide a distraction first?" 

". . . I'll be the distraction," Superman says, still watching him with an absolutely indecipherable expression that Match doesn't understand the purpose of. "Find Superboy and say my name when you do. Then I'll get you both out." 

"The Agenda will want me back, though," Match says with a frown, not understanding. 

"Do you want to stay with them?" Superman asks. 

Match has absolutely no idea how Superman can even ask him that. It's not a choice if he stays with the Agenda. 

It's never been a choice. 

"They made me," he says. "They own me." 

"That isn't true," Superman says. "You don't have to stay with them just because they made you. Not if you don't want to. Superboy didn't stay with the people who made him, did he?" 

". . . Superboy lives at Cadmus," Match says, more than a little confused by that statement. "He works for Cadmus. He's a field agent." 

"He–what?" Superman blinks. 

"Did you not know that?" Match asks. That really seems like something Superman should've known. Especially since it's something the Agenda knows. "They're under new management. But it's still Cadmus." 

"I–he's still there? I thought that was just . . . why would he still be there?" Superman asks, looking troubled. 

Match really, really doesn't understand Superman as a person. 

"Because he requires food, shelter, and financial support," he ticks off on his fingers. "Also presumably other resources. And he has no legal identity or legal guardian to either obtain or provide said resources. Therefore: Cadmus." 

Therefore: the Agenda. 

It really doesn't seem like something that should need explained, to him. 

Superman looks at him for a very long moment. 

"Find Superboy," he says, finally. "Then say my name." 

"Understood," Match says.

[peacerisendove]

Selectively Accepting || Valentines Day Kissing Prompts @supraxstcllas

They're my favorite ship, so of course I am always feeling up to them. >:3c

(Also just a little surprise for BartKon shippers that I got out of this.)

[theofficialdailyplanet]

hate how dc has diff characters w similar names like theres jon lane kent then theres johnathan samuel kent

but they expect us to believe match been this same nigga the whole time

[mockstarling]

Kon: You bought a taco? Match: Yes. Kon: From the same truck that hit Jon?! Match, with a mouthful of taco: Well, me starving ain't gonna help him.

[sleepyspeedster]

Pairing: Match/Thad Thawne

Rating: Teen

Words: 1957

Summary:

A short domestic fic that surrounding Thad, Match, affectionate nicknames, washing dishes, and their relationship. This is an expansion of the ficlet surround affectionate nicknames I posted here on tumblr.

Excerpt:

  Water runs from the kitchen sink, dish ware and utensils clink and clatter as they are scrubbed and placed to dry on a nearby dish rack. Thad continues this pattern, slowly, as the evening sun shines in through a nearby window. The whole world seems sleepy, even time seems to be taking longer to pass as gold rays shift to oranges and reds and dusty pinks. He takes things slow because he wants them to last.

           The peace, the calm, the distinct lack of urgency…it was so different than his youth.

           As he sets the first of the dishes on the rack and grabs for a nearby dish towel he hears Match’s bare footsteps against the tiles and soon enough he feels his solid warmth as he presses up against his back. His arms circle around his waist. His larger body encompasses his own so fully that he’s like a blanket. Match’s lips press against the back of his head, kissing him, and groggily mumbles, “Babe” as he buries his face against his blond hair and holds him close.

           Water continues to run, but the speedster is stopped by that one simple word, and with no response, Match nuzzles against Thad’s head, mussing up his hair, breathing in deep the scent of shampoo and sandalwood cologne, before he ducks down, his lips brushing against the side of his forehead, “Darling.” He murmurs with a kiss to his temple and hears how Thad’s heart begins to race beneath his chest.

           “Hon.” He speaks against his cheek and drags his lips lower peppering him with kisses on the way down.

           “Love.” He mouths at the point of his throat beneath his ear, “My love,” he nips at the point lightly with his teeth. Earning a squeak from Thad that breaks his silence and his stoicism and nearly causes him to drop one of the plates in the process.

           Thad’s ears burn, they always burn in moments like these as the blood rushes throughout his body and a deep warmth rises from his core and washes over him. Despite their years together the intimacy of it all still makes Thad melt. It felt new and surprising each time, but he didn’t shy away from it in the least. At least he didn’t now.

[Continue on AO3]

[faeriekit]

I'm not going to lie, there's some sweet, sweet allure in a premise based on "Johnny 13 ends up in Gotham just for shits and giggles only to accidentally settle down there."

This dude just happens to be Haunted as Fuck™️. His vibes are rank and he's rude as shit. Negative rizz. You literally can't pay him to do your goonery for you, but if you phrase it as a bad enough idea he'll do it for free...? But then like the whole building will explode for no reason or something else as equally as catastrophic and improbable?? What the fuck man

Just. This dead dude and his supernatural manifestation of bad luck is completely indecipherable from Gotham's natural toxicity to the point where he just...makes friends. Is a shitty upstairs neighbor. Shops at the corner store. Despite the odds, he's just Some Guy™️. He gets signed up for the Goonion. He reasonably could be any age between 19 and sixty. Two-Face kicked him out of his gang twice.