#tisfan

You were my soulmate for thirty years.

You're the only friend I've ever had who deliberately chose me. We betrayed each other multiple times, had so many disagreements and arguments and fights, and still came back together eventually, because we couldn't stand to not be in each other's lives. We could've written a fanfic based on our relationship, except it might have been just a little too true.

You were my inspiration and my encouragement and my partner and my idol and my biggest fan. You were kind and generous and loving in ways that I've never achieved. You were sarcastic and witty and wicked in ways that always made me laugh. You had so much determination, so much fire, so much life, and it is a crime against the universe that you died when you did. It hurts every day that I have to live without you now.

You continue to inspire me, even now. Not a day has gone by that I haven't thought about you and felt the wound in my heart that your death caused.

It kind of kills me that the last photo that I have of you was from early in the COVID quarantine, when we were both crying because I couldn't open my door and hug you, but were still nerdy enough to do the Spirk hands:

But it's kind of fitting, isn't it? We're separated still, or again, or never.

I don't know if there's an afterlife. If souls exist, or consciousness, or anything like that. It doesn't matter. If there is, or if there isn't, I'll see you again one day, in one form or another.

TSB Advent Event Countdown - Day 7!

WinterIron 3 - Bows - @tisfan

Summary:

Bucky wraps a present for everyone.

Except Tony.

“No, no, far too many ruffles.”

The rejected garment comes flying over the screen and lands in Geralt’s lap. Geralt has absolutely no idea what he’s supposed to do with it. The whole experience of being in a clothes shop, much less a fancy tailoring store like this one, is not something he’s comfortable with.

Still, the experience has its perks. Jaskier pops his head out from behind the screen, and Geralt is treated to the sight of his thick shoulders, scandalously uncovered, showing off hard cords of muscle and the elegant line of his neck.

“... don’t you think, Geralt?”

Geralt blinks. He’s missed something, apparently. But Jaskier merely rolls his eyes and ducks back behind the screen. There’s the rustling of fabric and Geralt can only imagine what’s going on behind there, his heart picking up imagining Jaskier in a state of undress so nearby.

“How about this?” Jaskier appears from behind the screen clad in a pair of elegantly decorated blue silk trousers and nothing else, and Geralt’s heart does something funny as he takes in Jaskier’s broad chest, dusted with dark hair. “I think the color brings out my eyes, don’t you agree?”

“Hnnngg,” Geralt says.

Jaskier pouts. “No need to be rude.” He disappears again.

The next time he appears, he is, fortunately for Geralt’s sanity, wearing a shirt of soft loose linen. But he’s wearing it with a pair of cropped trousers, cut so short that when Jaskier strolls out Geralt can see not only his ankles, but also his calves.

Geralt’s mouth is dry. His head is spinning. Going shirtless is one thing, but to show off an ankle? This is surely scandalous even by Jaskier’s libertine standards.

Jaskier does a little turn, examining his reflection in the polished metal mirror. As he turns, Geralt watches, entranced, as the muscles of his calves slide and contract. It might be the most sensual thing he’s ever clapped eyes on.

Jaskier eyes his outfit, oblivious to the effect it’s having on Geralt. “Maybe it’ll be good for parties in Toussaint. What do you reckon?”

“Hebleugh,” Geralt manages.

Bucky: Hey, don’t be mean to the pen, how would you feel if I banged you on the table?

Tony: I-

For @tisfan and their wonderful donation

Thanks so much! I'm also a fan of your WinterIron fics :)))

(This is a Jonathan Creek AU, but I realized that RDJ also has a windmill house after I’d already planned it out! Funny coincidence :D )

Bucky stopped and stared up at the building in front of him. Huh. It really was a windmill. If someone were to say, "he's a mad genius who lives in a windmill," your first thought would be that they were overreacting, but at least part of it seemed to be very true in this case. Bucky checked his notebook again. Stark was the name. Tony Stark.

He walked up the winding path that cut through overgrown grasses and hedges to the front door. The paint was faded, and the whole windmill had the distinct impression of it not having been touched in many years. Nevertheless, he needed help. He knocked on the door.

"What?" shouted a voice. "One minute. Come in, but wait a second." A violent crash sounded from somewhere above the door. 

Bucky counted to sixty in his head, wondering if it was a literal minute or if he was actually supposed to wait for someone to open the door. At fifty-six seconds, the door wrenched open to reveal a man holding a taxidermied fox. 

"Hello," he said. "I can't remember what I ordered."

"You didn't order me at all," Bucky replied. "You're Tony Stark, right? I'm an investigative reporter. Bucky Barnes."

"Oh! Even better. Come in."

Bucky stepped inside. The main floor was a small, round space with a kitchen and a dining table. There were papers and notebooks everywhere. Tony immediately made for the stairs and Bucky followed him. One floor up was something entirely different. A huge table in the middle of the room was covered with cardboard models, filled with tiny cardboard people and sets. Posters lined the walls, all famous magicians, and a shelf of binders, each with a year printed on it, stood by a small desk that was also covered in model sets, as well as dolls, some missing limbs or heads. 

"Can you hold this?" Tony asked, and he handed Bucky the fox.

"Um."

"And stand right here." Tony shuffled him into place. He eyed him up and down. "Yeah, you're about the right height." Tony took three steps back and snapped on a pair of lab goggles. "Okay, try not to breathe it in."

"Excuse m- ah!" A cloud of gas exploded from the fox and obscured everything in the room. It lined Bucky's throat and he coughed violently, waving his hand and trying to find clear air. There was a loud creak of a window and the gas started to float out of the room.

"Perfect," Tony said. "Couldn't see you at all. Now I just need solid numbers on dispersion time."

"Mr. Stark, I just -" Bucky eyed the fox, wondering if it was going to go off again. He set it down carefully on a table. Tony had started scribbling in a notebook. "I'm sorry, you are Mr. Stark, yes?"

"Yup."

"The man who designs all the tricks for Natasha Romanov's magic shows?"

"That's me."

"I was hoping I could get your help with something. I got your name from my publisher, Steve Rogers. He's friends with Natasha."

"Sure, sure," Tony said. He set his notebook down and peered in the fox’s mouth.

"Well, as I said, I'm an investigative reporter and I'm looking into a murder that happened five days ago. A man was shot and killed in his locked study with no witnesses except the gardener who was outside and saw a confrontation through the window. She swore up and down it was the man's son who killed him."

"Seems cut and dry." Tony picked up one of the cardboard sets and turned it upside down, sticking his head inside.

"Well, except that the man's son has been dead for fifteen years. The gardener swears the house has been haunted since the day he died, and he finally manifested and killed his father. There isn't a single other suspect and I've been working my ass off for the past four days, but I haven't been able to come up with a single thing. Steve said that Natasha said you had a knack for thinking outside the box and you might be able to give me another perspective. I’ll pay you."

Tony paused, his head still deeply inside the box, and hummed. "Haunted, you say?"

"That's what she claims."

"And the door was locked…"

"Interesting, no?"

"Maybe." Tony set the box down again and tapped a finger against his lips. "Maybe."

Bucky squared his shoulders. "So will you help me?" If Tony said no, he was running out of options.

So, today, I want to talk about your A03 PROFILE. (Or, more specifically, I want to talk about MY A03 Profile)

Let’s say you read a fic and you really like it, and you’ve left a kudo and a comment but you’re wondering about the author.

First, click on the person’s name at the author line of the fic...

You’ll get this screen for that person (some of the information won’t be there, because, for instance, you can’t see my Inbox or drafts)

BUT! If you go to that second entry on the side there, PROFILE....

And you can check on a bunch of things here! First, you have my standard disclaimer...

All fanfic is in fact, fiction and content creators are not experts, historians, doctors, veterinarians, politicians, engineers, teachers, or your parents. this is a blanket disclaimer for everything I write or contribute to. Do not jump off the roof expecting to fly.

How I feel about bookmark collections: I am BEGGING YOU, if you are trying to put together a collection of your favorite writers, stories, WHATEVER, PLEASE use the BOOKMARK feature and add your bookmarks to a collection. I have removed almost all of my stories from collections because ONE (1) person abused my trust and used the Collections as a way to censor material they found offensive by adding it to a collection and then making the whole collection “hidden.” 

This is not a bug in the way A03 handles their software, but an abuse of the system that’s meant for events. That said, if you add a bookmark to your collection, you can have the bookmark for the story!! In a Collection! and other people can see your collections!! all without having the author run the risk of you mislabeling their work. The author doesn’t even KNOW you’ve put the bookmark in the collection unless they happen to see your collection.  

And my thoughts and standards on translations, playing in my sandbox, where you can contact me with questions or prompts.

There’s a LOT of space there for you as a writer to add stuff to your profile! Use that space!!