jack o' lantern

“you again.”

oh, dear. he doesn’t sound too terribly happy about that, does he?

“if you’re here to arrest me, i’m afraid to say i’m not actually doing anything wrong. this is an entirely legal venture.”

INSTRUCTIONS: you can tell a lot about a person by the music they listen to. put your mp3 player, itunes, spotify, etc. on shuffle and list the first 10 songs and then tag 10 people, no skipping!

run to you-ptx

hellbent-mystery skulls

got that fire-royal tailor

haunted-shirk

green lights-temposhark

supermassive black hole-muse

the greatest show unearthed-creature feature

contagious- II night riots II

river below-billy talent

take on me-nsp cover

“Twenty should be a couple months’ worth, so that works. You’ve got all the contacts?” He assumed Ghoul was well connected. How else could one scrawny kid barely old enough to have clawed his way out of high school have taken the Gotham drug world by storm without getting himself shot? But Garfield– well, he had some special connections. There wasn’t a drug baron or chemical conglomerate in Gotham that didn’t owe him a favor, or a lot of money that was past due. That was one of the benefits of having a flexible morality determined by the size of your paycheck.

He could have made the stuff himself– in fact, he usually made it himself– if not for the fact that the heat was on at the moment. The moment he started throwing his name around to get the materials he needed, the Bat would be on him.

“There’s a cell number on there, too. That’s the number you’ll need to call if you run into any snags, or when it’s time for the drop.”

well... ghoul was well-connected, about fifty years into the future. all his contacts were still in diapers right now. he’s been dumped into the past with no connections, a hastily scraped-up hideout, and if the legends are to be believed-- a genuinely ruthless vigilante that’s less likely to talk and more likely to move on right to breaking things.

ghoul does not want to cross him. it sends an icy shiver up his back to think of having to deal with him.

--the number. he reads it off to himself.

“I’ve got something even better in mind, actually.”

As he spoke, Garfield hit a couple of the clasps on his suit, the breastplate popping away from the back mount. He carefully disconnected the fuel lines for his laser gauntlets, too– as a show of good will. It was a complicated process, but after a couple of minutes the top half of his suit was sitting against the wall, his mask and gauntlets perched jauntily on top of the breast plate, leaving him in his undersuit– a skin tight basic black number that kept the hot metal and rough edges from doing serious damage to him.

He retrieved the storage compartment from the back of his suit and popped it open, holding it out for Ghoul’s inspection like an illicit suitcase. It certainly had the same contents– cash. Quite a lot of it, as well as a handwritten note penned in his own loose scrawl– a very complicated looking formula and prep instructions for a nitrogen-based coolant.

“It’s not exactly speedballs, granted, but my boss is willing to pay big bucks for a big drop of this stuff. Half up front.”

ghoul leaned against his desk as garfield busied himself with the process of becoming more man than machine and weapon. not that he wasn’t interested-- rather, the carefully gauged disinterest masked how adeptly he studied the way it came off. each clasp, fuel line, and minuscule movement needed to detach them.

he’s quite fit. what ghoul originally guessed to be padding ended up actually being muscle. garfield presents the storage compartment for ghoul to examine (and it’s certainly impressive).

that’s pizza and chemicals for a month. mostly chemicals.

send me an au and i’ll give you 5+ headcanons about it  

son of a courtesan and a duke, ended up being raised as a bastard.

killed his own father by getting work in his house as a servant. around twelve at this time.

gets in league with magic-users, and proves himself useful as an informant for the scummy side of cities.

acts as a recruiter for them too, hangs out at a roadside tavern and tells stories to the merchants and soldiers who stop by... and hears stories of his own, so when they tell of magic it gets investigated.

send me an au and i’ll give you 5+ headcanons about it  

yall might think slytherin but NO this boy’s a ravenclaw to the bone-- a lot of his friends are in slytherin, though.

makes friendly with the potions professor, pores through the books; he’s studious and takes his work seriously, and never turns in anything under e quality.

his patronus is a red tailed hawk; he has a hard time summoning it but when he can? it’s extremely strong.

his wand is ash, 10 1/2 inches, dragon heartstring, unyielding.

Firefly walked with a confident swagger that was only slightly– slightly– hindered by the fact that the giant glowing tank on his back threw off his center of gravity something fierce.

“Relaaax, kiddo.” He popped his mask off, tucking it into the crook of his arm. “It’s not my first time at the rodeo; I’ve been in a drug lab before. I know not to touch anything.” He even put his hands up as best he could, to show his good intentions– or the closest things someone like him could have to good intentions.

“Can’t a guy just pop in for a nice friendly chat? I mean, we’re practically neighbors.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of his own current place to crash, definitely not naming any names.

“kiddo. right.” he shuts the folder he’s been searching in; sometimes, peptide bonds just didn’t cooperate. (artificial steroids, for those assholes who got a kick out of swollen muscles) luckily, garfield isn’t like that. too much bulk and he’d drop right out of the air... ghoul thinks.

not that he’s scrawny.

whatever.

send me an au and i’ll give you 5+ headcanons about it  

classy mob hitman. poisons people, per usual.

he’s younger here. his parents are both into the mob, firmly entrenched, and both hold respectable positions. he learned how to play dumb early.

he learned how to kill early, too. he first killed a man when he was ten; he put bleach in his drink once he was totally plastered, because he saw a gun in his pocket and knew he was there to target ghoul’s parents; if he told them, it would cause a fuss. so he took care of it.

his parents did get the muzzle end of a gun in a police raid. ghoul, thirteen at the time, hid under a table until the police left, and then he fled.