#scrapbullet

[gruntsandpoetry]

scrapbullet replied to your photoset: So, what’d you do to Bennett? I pulled a gun on...

…is it odd that I look at this gifset and just think ‘oh hey, threesome!’

I mean I’m not saying that Marcus went from sleeping in their nook to sleeping in their bed but like... that’s exactly what i’m saying.

[tsuki-chibi]

“What are you doing?” Tony asked in surprise.

“Peter said it’s customary to clink these glasses together at midnight and wish each other a good year,” Gamora said. She held seven glasses in her hands, each one half-full of wine. Her eyes narrowed. “He said that the more glasses you clink, the better your luck will be. Was he lying?”

Tony swallowed a laugh, relying on years of experience to keep a straight face. Normally he would’ve told Gamora the truth, but he wanted to be able to kiss his boyfriend at midnight. And it was pretty hard to kiss someone who was nursing a fat lip.

“I think your luck will be better than anyone’s,” he settled for saying. “Where is Peter anyway?”

“He’s out on the balcony trying to stop Rocket from shooting at the blasts of colored light.”

Good god. Tony hastily walked to the balcony, relieved that he reached the door just as Peter was firmly guiding Rocket inside with one hand, Rocket’s favorite gun held in the other. Rocket was plainly sulking, but considering that Tony really did not want to start the new year off with a complaint from the police department, that was too bad.

“There you are,” Peter said brightly, eyes lighting up.

“I was just talking to Gamora,” Tony said.

Peter grinned. “I told Nebula the same thing. Five credits says they get into a fight over who can hold more glasses before midnight.”

“You’re awful,” Tony said, but he was smiling.

“Hey, Gamora’s pulled a bunch of shit on me over the years. Turnabout is fair play.” Peter set Rocket’s gun down and reached for Tony, pulling him out onto the balcony. Tony went willingly, jumping a little at the renewed crack of fireworks. They were much louder outside.

“Too much?” Peter asked.

“No. It’s okay.” Tony’s eyes tracked the fireworks. He’d always liked them.

“My mom liked them too,” Peter said, following his gaze. He stepped behind Tony and hugged him from behind, setting his chin on Tony’s head. “I remember when I was a kid, she always promised she’d take me to see the ball drop.”

“There it goes,” Tony said softly. They watched the ball drop. When it hit, even more fireworks went off, lighting up the clear sky. Peter kissed Tony’s cheek.

“Happy New Year’s, angel.”

[brassfannibal]

ellelan replied to your photo “I posted this on twitter/Discord but I figured I’d post it on here...”

hi dawn! you're beautiful and here be lots of love <3

scrapbullet replied to your photo “I posted this on twitter/Discord but I figured I’d post it on here...”

i second elle, you're beautiful and v. brave ��

flintsjohn replied to your photo “I posted this on twitter/Discord but I figured I’d post it on here...”

I’m so happy for you hon, congrats!!! ������

Thank you so much!! This means the world to me ❤️

[reluming]

3, 12 and 14 for the fanfic asks mdear! and happy new year! ❤

thank you scrap!! happy new year! 💕

3. favorite line/scene you wrote this year

He sits there on the hard, grey rock and cries, thinking of Flint’s eyes, the subtle shade of them always shifting and always beautiful: forest-green, grass-green, sea-green. Always there, all around Silver, in the colour of everything living and tame, growing and wild. He could live inland, get the fuck away from the sea forever and he would never escape it. He could sail for the rest of his life and he would be surrounded by it.

from truth is heavier than fiction. the fact that i even wrote this fic haunts me still.

12. favorite character to write about this year

in 2016 i used to find silver really difficult to write, but in 2017 i became more and more fond of writing him. i had a lot of conflicted feelings about him to work through and i worked through those feelings by writing his POV a lot. i really do enjoy exploring his insecurities and the deep loneliness that lives within him, something that shrinks from and yearns for love at the same time; the shadows in him that he will not allow to be brought into the light. i sure do love writing him, even if i’m not always 100% able to say that i love him. anyway he’s very relatable in some ways and i don’t like to think about it too much!!!!

14. a fic you didn’t expect to write

i absolutely never expected to write a fic about werewolf!flint and vampire!silver but @samhound​’s art is just too good!!! 

ask me some questions to wrap up my 2017 in fanfic!

[brightbluedot]

I just had this horrible thought and just needed to share it with someone; what if Eleanor was further along, and, when Flint is holding her in his arms, she asks him to save her baby? D:

THAT IS, IN FACT, HORRIBLE. DEAR GOD. YIKES. WOW. OKAY.

[lurkerdelima]

19; vanerackham pretty please? ;3

19: kisses meant to distract the other person from whatever they were intently doing 

Thank you, my dear scrap! This ended up maybe a little more angsty than I intended, I’m sorry! I hope you like it anyway. ❤️

Sometimes, Jack finds he can organize his thoughts better if he puts them to paper before he speaks them aloud. This is how he finds himself sitting at his desk on a weekday evening, in his room at the brothel, writing a list of things he needs to say to Anne. Things about himself and about her, about Max, about how they’re all going to somehow make this thing work together, because he’s determined to make it so. He’s got a lantern lit as the room grows dark, and he’s writing quickly, quill pen rapidly scratching over the page as his thoughts flow freely.

Then the door creaks slowly open. He pauses, lifts pen from paper. Waits.

“Good evening, Chaz,” he says, because he doesn’t have to look up to know who’s just walked into his bedroom uninvited. Who else?

“Jackie,” Charles says as he shuts the door behind himself, voice gruff and low as always, with something of a slip-slide edge to it. Rum, Jack suspects. Perhaps opium. Maybe even both.

Whatever it is, whatever substance or concoction is coursing through Charles’s veins, Jack chooses to feign ignorance to it. He puts pen to paper again, and resolutely pays no mind to the other man in the room, focusing instead on what he needs to say to Anne.

Then a familiar presence insinuates itself on his desk. A thick thigh right next to the page on which he’s writing; a tanned, rough hand grabbing for the quill pen, taking it from him.

“I’m attempting to do something rather important, here,” Jack says, finally looking up at Charles. It’s dark outside but he shines blindingly, not unlike the sun, all gleaming skin and bright eyes with a feral grin on his face.

“More important than whatever else you could be doing with me?” Charles asks, leaning down close to Jack. He licks his cheek, a long, hot stripe up the side of his face that makes Jack shiver. “Hmm? Talk, Jackie.”

“Charles,” he says, his voice a supplication, a murmur of assent, whether he means for it to be or not.

Charles seems to take that as permission and slides fluid as water down into Jack’s lap. He slips his arms around his neck and leans in, and all Jack tastes is the burn of alcohol and the sickly sweet, floral lingering essence of something stronger.

“Charles,” he says again when he pulls away, resting his forehead lightly against his companion’s, holding him close and trying not to get too distracted by the sensation of Charles sitting in his lap - hard thighs and the warm, familiar juncture in between, the way his belly rises and falls against Jack’s as he breathes.

“Come to bed,” Charles slurs. “Let me- let me-” he says, pushing Jack’s coat off his shoulders.

Jack lets him, of course. Gives in more than willingly - enthusiastically, even - and wakes the next morning with bruises on his thighs, his chest, his throat. He looks at Charles, sleeping deeply still in the bright light of dawn, and rolls over to curl wordlessly into him. He rests his head on his scarred bare chest and listens to the steady beating of his heart, then drifts off that way, comforted, lulled back to sleep.

He doesn’t finish the letter to Anne.

[lurkerdelima]

silverflint if you please! (or if someones already asked, flintlow 💕)

You get Silverflint, my lovely scrap! Thank you. 💕

falls asleep on the couch

Flint does first, and Silver makes fun of him for it but also sometimes puts his head in Flint’s lap or on his belly and dozes off there. Then they both wake up in the middle of the night, sore and disoriented and each blaming the other for falling asleep. 

makes friends with the neighbors

Silver! He likes to invite them over, go to their houses, etc. He’d be the one planning the block parties. Flint is more of a hermit.

is the adventurous eater

Both! But maybe Silver a tiny bit moreso. He tried scorpion on a stick while traveling in Thailand, for example (Flint politely refused when offered a bite).

hogs the covers at night

Silver. He is the WORST to sleep next to, poor Flint. He steals covers and pillows and talks in his sleep, and burrows down and can’t be moved.

forgets to do the dishes

No one! Okay, Flint does if he’s distracted by a book or a new project. But mostly, Flint cooks and Silver cleans, and they’re both happy with that arrangement.

tries to surprise their partner more often

Silver. Some of his surprises are expected and reasonable (a new book, a sweet handwritten note) and some are, uh, unusual. Ever wonder how Flint got that skull in his office that he calls Yorick? Present from Silver, who’s worryingly cagey about where it came from.

leaves dirty laundry on the floor

Silver, he’s a lovable mess.

stays up til 2 AM reading

I mean, Flint, clearly! But he also likes to read to Silver, so sometimes they both stay up late.

sings in the shower

Silver. He has an excellent voice but is sort of shy about it, so he only ever sings in the shower or when Flint asks him very nicely.

takes the selfies

They both do - Silver’s tend to be goofy and sweet, and Flint’s are a bit more moody and like, Blue Steel-ish.

plans date night

It depends on what kind of night they’re looking to have. Flint is good at planning nice dinners out (or at home!), while Silver plans fun things like going out to drink and play arcade games.

[lurkerdelima]

2, 9 & 10 for Hope Springs Eternal, please? 😘💕

Thank you scrap!  ❤️

2. Which scene was your favorite to write in [title of fic]?

Oh that’s so hard to choose! I do love when Hope takes her first few steps and Silver is really excited about it. I also like when she’s sick and he falls asleep with her on his chest, and when he wakes up Flint has her and is reading to her.

9. Which idea came to you first in [title]?

Hmm. I don’t remember how I thought of them having a baby - I think it was some kind of ask meme you sent me. ;) Anyway, the mental image of Hope came to me almost before anything else. I could just see her in my mind’s eye.

10. What are some facts readers may not know about [title]?

In terms of personality, at least, Hope is based off of a little girl I used to watch in daycare. I ended up leaving that job when said girl was only about a year old, so it’s like she’s perpetually a baby to me.