Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Midnighter: 43 Years old. A decade ago he publicly revealed his identity along with his address, announcing that if any villain was stupid enough to come looking for him, he would consider what happened next a suicide.
Post Human Solder, broken down to component systems and rebuilt as a murder addicted killing machine with an utterly black and white sense of morality
Does not understand the fact that many younger heroes look to him as an example, his take on the matter is “Love who you love, and violently murder anyone who gives you shit”
Even into middle age, he goes on edge lord rants about how dangerous and deadly he is, those around him have decided that they will deal with this, mostly because he’s right.
Friends with Lois Lane due to her endless pursuit of the truth, no matter who it pisses off, and Salina Kyle for their shared love of blood resistant rubber clothing.
He promises he will get around to enacting vengeance on her some day, but there are more pressing targets around.
Drinking buddies with Cole Cash, the Grifter
He is the Husband of Apollo who sees through the edge lord persona and the father of Jenny Quark, who is the only person he allows himself to drop his persona around, as proven by a video file circulating the internet of him reenacting Frozen with her.

Apollo: 45 Years Old. Golden Warrior of Good. at his peak his potential rivals Superman. Understands that he is a role model for several different demographics, and tries to live up to it. Feels compassion for every living thing.
Spends his time with Clark Kent, who’s example he wants to live up to, but he still considered murder to be a valid, if last, result.

Jenny Mei Quark (Quantum): The Spirit of the 21st Century. Is aware of all the retcons and universe changes that have happened around her. Chronically insecure and lives in the shadow of Jenny Sparks. Feels the need to constantly point out that as things go, the 21st century is going better than the start of the 20th.
Lives in the guest bedroom of Aunt Angela Spica (the Engineer). Is depressed that her middle aged Aunt has a better sex life than she does.
Spends her time following around the alien bounty hunter Lobo, and using him as discount therapy, because what the hell is he going to do about it.

Cole Cash: Nearing the age of 70, although perpetually in his early 20s. Just wants to play first person shooters, make love to his ageless warrior wife, and collect his military pension. Finds himself endlessly dragged off his sofa to be a mouthpiece for Midnighter. "Did the Midnighter reduce the over all population of Blüdhaven by 30%.... yes, yes he did, but come on... its Bludhaven..."

Lobo: Does Not get paid enough for this shit

Chapter Text

I saunter into the living room, a smile of pure joy on my face. Brian May's guitar in my hand, I let loose a killer riff. I break three strings and the sound that comes out sounds like a tortured cat. My brain was rewired to make me the perfect killing machine. Not the perfect guitarist. I should be more careful, it was a gift for me from Jenny, left to me in her will, a reminder of one of her numberless conquests.

I tighten the fasteners on my boots, and hike up my gloves, where I'm going there will be no place for hesitation, no quarter for the slightest mistake… Not that I would ever make any.

I pat my thighs, a nightstick in each one. Standard, firm plastic. I have no need for a gimmick, no special weapons required. I only need the baton to give those I'm coming for half a second to realize I'm the threat that the deep, dark part of their brain already knows I am.

That trusting the flight part of their flight or flight response is their only chance. Watching them run away, a puddle running down their leg may make me take pity on them and let them run away.

It won’t, but you have to give the bastards some hope

My husband sits on the sofa, reading the newspaper as casually as a 7 foot tall man, permanently covered by a halo of the purest light, can casually do anything.

“'Nighter, you know I never trust that smile, where exactly are you going off to?” He asks lowering the paper just the tiniest degree.

I can feel the smile stretching across my face, pulling my mouth into a bestial grin. “Oh lm of to England, to murder a bastard covered bastard, stuffed with bastard filling, who was dipped in bastard sauce”

His eyes move back down to the paper. He licks a finger, steam immediately comes off of it, and he turns the page.

“Ok, don’t forget dinner Sunday with Bruce and Selena”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. She’s on the list. Somewhere, a low priority. But I’ll get there eventually. But even telling myself that I can hear a growl raise on the back of my throat…

“She will taste vengeance soon enough.”

With that he puts down the paper, and looks me in the eye.

“No. She’s turned over a new leaf, and you will let her be.”

“Never” I say, trying to keep my voice level. One man in the multiverse, in the entirety of the bleed who can make me blink ,and he sleeps next to me at night. “I am justice. When Hammurabi first chiselled law onto stone., he saw me nodding in agreement. If a man has stolen goods from a house, he shall be put to death.”

My husband casually turns the page of his paper. Cinders flaking away at his touch. “A: Selena is quite clearly a woman, the outfit makes that rather clear. B: I have a video of you singing “Let it Go” at Jennys birthday party, In full Elsa gear and I am more than happy to put it on YouTube if you embarrass me.”

A targeting overlay flashes in front of my eyes. My mind has detected a threat, and automatically assesses the situation.

His heart rate is constant. No change in his voice, the madman isn't lying..

“You wouldn’t …”

”Yes, I would Mr ‘I'm gonna go public with our identities. Worst case scenario, if anyone comes to the house to attack us, it will save me a trip.’”

“I stand by it.” My muscles grow taunt. I pull myself to my full height. Even sitting down his eyes are level with mine.

“Anyways do you really wanna fight Bruce?”

“I’ve already fought that battle in my head a million times”

“And how often do you win?”

“I hate you”

He looks up from the paper once again, his eyes locking with mine. “No you don’t.

“No... I don’t”

I take a step back. The guitar in one hand I give a theatrical bow.

“Door” I say in a dramatic voice. A gaping hole rips its self open in reality and I dramatically take a step. "The Midnighter has left the Building!"

Chapter Text

The Magic Circle Theater in London, England.

I sit with my feet up on the chair in front of me as I watch Zatanna practice her act. Part of me is reluctant to do this, but perhaps Constantine's most impressive power is his ability to manipulate others, and rally them to his cause.

There are those who will tell you that he is his own worst enemy, that he barely survives by staying one step ahead of those more powerful than him. However stupid, self destructive choices aren't a matter that I get involved with.

The man has sold people to demons, children to serial killers, and frankly I will not be attending another Christmas party with him, no matter how much he seems to have endeared himself to others.

I stare down at Zatanna. One of his more powerful allies. Apparently they are ex’s despite Zatanna being in her 30s and Constantine being in his 60s. Like I said, stupid choices don’t concern me.

I focus on her and the targeting system bound to my nervous system activates.
Zatanna Zatara: Homo Magus

Due to otherworldly origin able to spontaneously use mystical energies with fewer limits than those imposed upon Homo sapiens
Choses to focus by speaking backwards, but this is not necessary

Kill Solution: Target needs focus, as well as time to speak backwards, more focus required for truly spontaneous casting.

I tune the computer out.. This will actually be fun. I stand in my chair, clapping my hands together vigorously.

“Encore! Encore! Author! Author!”

She looks up at me, annoyed for a moment, I see her eyes widen twice, first as she realizes who I am, and then realizing that this likely isn't a social call.

I see her lips begin to move, and I throw a nightstick at her diaphragm. I follow after it just slightly slower. The throw isn’t hard enough to kill her, but more than enough to knock the air out of her lungs.

She starts to fall forwards, and even as she does Im there to drive a fist upwards to her throat, making sure she needs to recover from both attacks.

I would say that her weakness is ridiculous, but to her credit, not letting someone breathe takes most people out of the fight.

As she's on the ground, I walk across the stage to the top hat that has fallen off of her in our melee. I put it in front of the forehead and turn towards the seats.
“For my next trick, I'm going to pull a brain out of my hat”