winterbuckwild

[winterbuckwild]

Hi! I’m Tara and I’ve been writing in fandoms for almost a decade now. Over the years, I’ve created hundreds of stories about characters that I love, have shared many of them with the world, and tried my best to engage in fandom spaces where that love for those characters is shared.

Recently, I joined a friend’s community that celebrates her as an author and has become a small sanctuary for people who like to talk about her stories, the characters they love, and general story ideas and such. So many of them have started writing now and are workshopping ideas and bonding over different fandoms and it’s generally a delight to be around.

So I thought what the hell? Why not create my own community? In the past, people have been interested in getting help with writing and discussing fics and such. I’ve made a small little discord for the major fandoms I am in and everyone is welcome! And if you like Thiam but you’re a Buddie truther? You’re still welcome! There’s no ship bashing allowed and there are multiple different fandoms present. No matter who you ship, for any fandom, you’re welcome to join the server and make some new friends.

It’s a place where I can share exclusive stuff about my fics, request feedback, answer questions, and more! You guys can see the Pinterest boards I’ve made, get the playlists I’ve created, and so on and so forth!

Simple request: Contact me for the discord link! You can DM me and I’ll shoot you the link. This way, I know who is joining the community and can try to limit the amount of bots and such. You can also find me on discord at xTarmanderx and send me a friend request and get an invite that way, too! Let me know if you have any questions or concerns! Otherwise, I look forward to seeing you soon! ❤️

[winterbuckwild]

Now Complete!

The Wrong Target, The Right Heart ( Bound by Mistake, Freed by Love)

This fic is now complete! It was my baby and I'm so happy with the way it turned out! Rated E Read the tag warnings in the chapters. Read here.

🥃🥃🥃🥃🥃

When Buck is mistakenly kidnapped by Tommy Kinard, the ruthless boss of the Scottish mob, he finds himself trapped in a dangerous world he was never meant to enter. Originally a pawn in a botched plan to abduct his father, Buck becomes Tommy’s reluctant prisoner. As the days stretch on, the brutal edges of captivity begin to soften. What begins as resentment turns into a fragile connection—and eventually, something deeper. In this dark, twisted romance, love blooms in the shadows of crime and captivity.

Or the Mob AU you didn't know you wanted.

Snippet below!

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A low groan cut through the air. Tommy stilled, watching as Buck stirred. His eyelids fluttered, a sharp inhale filling his lungs. Then, in an instant, his body tensed. Awareness snapped into place.

“What the hell?” Buck rasped. His blue eyes locked onto Tommy’s, sharp and defiant. “Who the hell are you? Where am I?”

Tommy held up his hands, feigning calm. “Easy, hotshot. No need to get worked up. There’s been a… misunderstanding.”

Buck’s gaze flicked to the restraints biting into his wrists. He gave a bitter laugh. “Misunderstanding? You tied me to a chair. Not much room for confusion there.”

Tommy smirked. “Fair point. Let’s just say we were expecting someone else, and you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Buck’s expression darkened. “My father,” he said flatly. “You’re after my father.”

Tommy stepped closer. “Smart boy. Yeah, I’ve got unfinished business with Philip Buckley.” He paused before continuing. “I’m Tommy Kinard. You don’t know me, but your dad does. And right now, that’s all that matters.”

Buck scoffed. “If you think kidnapping me is going to get you anywhere with my old man, you don’t know much about my family.”

Tommy threaded his fingers through Buck’s hair, gripping it firmly. His breath was warm against Buck’s face as he whispered, “Oh, I know more than you think. Your daddy might pretend not to care, but—he’ll come running when he hears we’ve got his precious boy.”

Buck turned his head away, jaw clenched. “You’re wasting your time,” he said coldly. “He won’t come.”

Tommy studied Buck for a long moment, trying to gauge if he was bluffing. He had dealt with men who talked tough before—ones who swore up and down that their families wouldn’t care, only to break the moment their loved ones proved them wrong.

But something about the way Buck said it, the certainty in his voice, gave Tommy pause.

"You really believe that don't you?" Tommy mused, tilting his head. "That your old man wouldn’t give a damn if we put a bullet between your eyes?"

Buck swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He didn’t answer, but the flicker in his gaze told Tommy everything he needed to know.

So, there was history there.

Tommy smirked. "Well, see, that just makes things interesting. Either you're lying, and he will come for you... or you're telling the truth, and you're just another disposable piece in his game."

Buck’s nostrils flared. "Go to hell."

Tommy chuckled, straightening. "Ah, there it is. The famous Buckley temper. Guess it runs in the family." He turned to his men. "Get a message to Philip Buckley. Tell him we have his son, and if he wants him back in one piece, he better start talking."

Alexander hesitated. "Boss, if what he says is true, what if Buckley doesn't care?"

Tommy's smirk widened. "Then we’ll have to find other ways to make him care."

Buck's stomach turned at the implication, but he schooled his expression into something unreadable. He had no doubt that Tommy and his men were dangerous, but he also knew his father. Philip Buckley was a lot of things—ruthless, cunning, and entirely self-serving. The only thing Philip cared about was himself.

Buck knew that if Tommy was waiting for a desperate father to come to the rescue… he'd be waiting a long time. The real question was: how long did he have before they realized that? Tommy watched Buck closely, looking for cracks in his resolve. The man was good—too good. There was no begging, no panicked pleas, no desperate attempts to strike a deal. Just that cold, almost resigned look in his eyes. That alone told Tommy that Buck wasn’t bluffing.

That was a problem.

If Philip Buckley didn’t care, then their leverage was worthless.

Tommy sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You know, Evan," he mused, "I was hoping this would be easy. Grab you, make a few calls, get what we need. But it looks like your daddy’s more heartless than even I gave him credit for."

Buck scoffed. "Congratulations, you figured it out. Now what? You gonna kill me because I’m a bad hostage?" His voice was laced with mockery, but Tommy didn't miss the way Buck's fingers curled into fists against the restraints.

Tommy leaned in, his voice dropping low. "Kill you? No, no, no. Not yet anyway." He slid his hand up Buck’s chest slowly to his face. He caressed it, his touch deceptively gentle. "You see, Evan, you might not be valuable to your father, but that doesn't mean you're not valuable to me."

Buck jerked away from Tommy's touch, his eyes narrowing. "What are you talking about?"

"See, there are other ways to make a man valuable," Tommy murmured, watching the flicker of tension in Buck’s expression. "And something tells me you’re worth more than just your last name."

Buck refused to react, but the weight of Tommy’s words settled heavily in his chest. His entire life had been shaped by what he was worth to others—his father’s legacy, his name, his connections. But Tommy was hinting at something different, something that made the fine hairs at the back of Buck’s neck stand on end.

"I don’t know what you think you’ll get from me," Buck said, his voice measured, controlled. "But if you expect me to beg, you’ll be disappointed."

Tommy chuckled, leaning back slightly. "Oh, I like you.” he mused. "You’re not like your father. He’s all about money, power, control. But you? You’ve got fight in you. A different kind of power." His eyes dragged over Evan’s restrained form, considering. "Maybe you’re more useful than I thought."

Buck’s stomach coiled in unease. "And what exactly does that mean?"

🥃🥃🥃🥃🥃

@xtarmanderx @winterbuckwild @fand0mfancies @loulou-land

[winterbuckwild]

some people just need a little love

[winterbuckwild]

"Advice"

Tommy & May (fluff/teasing/fun); based on nothing except for the fact that corinne is now a main (YAY!) and lou followed her recently on insta.

[wc: 1147]

Sunlight drifts between pockets of clouds, warm as it settles over Tommy’s shoulders. Midday light, sparkling and golden, shines as he works through his post-flight checklist.

They’d gotten back about thirty minutes ago, the patient a nervous, mud-covered teenager who played hooky from class only to sink chest-deep on Mount Lee's broad slope, forty feet from the Hollywood sign.

He’d been apologetic and teary, pleading with Teddy and Eve – Harbor’s aero medics – to ‘please not tell my mom.’ Teddy had grinned, offered a conspiratorial wink, promising to embellish his injuries for sympathy over scolding.

Tommy’s nearly through his first pass, topping off the coolant when footsteps approach from behind.

“How’d the mom take it?” he asks without turning, a half-smile curving his mouth as he waits for Teddy’s reply. He’d hung around the ER and planned to snag a ride back to Harbor with the 217’s ambulance. “She gonna forgive the poor kid?”

“I doubt it,” comes a familiar voice, but it’s definitely not Teddy. Tommy spins, catches himself mid-step. His brow furrows, pulse ticking upward, mind racing with all the reasons she’d be here.

“M-May?” Tommy stammers, wiping his palms down his thighs, shoving a rag into his back pocket as he steps out to meet her.

He and Evan have been quietly dating again, keeping it close until they figure out exactly what they are – building trust in the protection of a small, private bubble, avoiding eager eyes prodding at each relationship misstep. But if May’s here…maybe she knows more than he thought.

“Sorry,” she offers with a sheepish smile. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I’m just…do you have a minute?”

“Everything okay?” Tommy asks as he gestures toward the kitchen, leading her in where the table offers a quieter corner. She looks around and, despite her usually confident nature, seems hesitant.

She slides into a chair, waving off his concern. “Oh, yeah. Yes. I’m sorry. Everyone’s fine...I’m here with a personal question.”

That throws him for an even bigger loop. Out of everyone in her world – the 118, Dispatch, her mother – why him? He laces his fingers together, takes a steady breath, and leans forward.

“Shoot.”

May takes a shaky inhale and pauses, fiddling with the rings on her long fingers before tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “Did you always want to be a…uh,” her eyes flick to the hangar, “a firefighter pilot?”

He chuckles, warmth filling his chest at the life that steadily found its way here.

“Not exactly, no.” He tilts his head, thinking. “My dad and grandpa were Air Force, so it was kind of a family thing. I joined the Army after high school, learned to fly there. Not exactly a straight line.”

She hums, nods slowly.

“After the military, the fire academy seemed like a good fit. Still physical, still helping people, but…less violence.”

“And you just–” she presses her palms together, “–smushed those together?”

He laughs again, the sound bouncing gently off the quiet walls. The 217’s scattered, ships passing in the hangar, coffee brewing in the background, just him and May in the soft, still air of the quiet kitchen.

“Pretty much.” Memories fill his mind – Bobby, Chim and Hen pushing him to apply for the rare opening at Harbor when the opportunity arose, knowing how much he loved to fly, encouraging him back to the skies. “I was at the 118 when Harbor opened up a pilot spot. Re-certified, took the leap, got lucky.”

She’s still turning her rings, gaze dipping.

“Is that something you’re interested in?” Tommy asks gently. “Firefighting?”

Maybe Bobby left a legacy she hopes to chase, maybe the connection is something she’s craving. Tommy’s a safe person outside of her family, maybe her showing up here is less for Tommy and more for the opportunity to ask questions safely and without threat of her mom finding out.

Tommy’s okay being that buffer.

“Oh, god no,” she says with a small frown that blooms into a tentative smile. “I get why you love it, but… no. Too stressful. I did the whole Dispatch thing and I’m fine without it.”

“Alright,” he says, catching Teddy’s curious face peering through the kitchen window. He gives a brief shake of his head and Teddy disappears. “The flying, then?”

May bites her lip, looks up, nods. “I just…it seems like…I don’t know. My degree’s in engineering. This feels like a cool way to use it.” She shrugs with a smile, “And flying’s pretty badass, right?”

His laugh comes easy, arms crossing as he leans back. He thinks of Evan, that first tour of Harbor, the twinkle in his eyes when he asked about flying.

Badass or not, he’s pretty sure it’s what got him Evan, and he’d take any leg up when it came to impressing the guy. “It definitely is,” he admits.

“I do private lessons,” Tommy offers. “Could take you up sometime if you wanna try, no pressure.”

May perks up, her smile widening, younger somehow despite the grown-up life she’s already built. “You’d do that?”

“Of course. Won’t even tell your mom.” He winks, freeing his phone from his pocket and sliding it over. “Pick a time that works.”

“That...that would be awesome. Thanks, Tommy.” She keys in her number, spinning it back to him with a perky grin.

“Any chance to get another person behind the controls, I’ll take.”

He presses his palms to the table as May stands, following her out of the kitchen. They wind their way back to the hangar where her eyes drift around in fascination.

“Thanks again,” she says when they finally make it back to the lot. She looks more relaxed, at ease, smile beaming on her cheeks.

“How’d you even know I’d be here today?” Tommy asks as he leans against the building, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Wild guess?”

She smirks, pulling her keys from her pocket. “Buck told me. Something about you mentioning it after dinner the other night?” She tosses him a wink over her shoulder. “See ya, Tommy!”

He watches her go, jaw slack. Figures. Pulling out his phone, he fires off a text to Evan, ‘If May knows, the rest of the world’s about five minutes behind.’

The reply comes before he’s halfway back to his bird, the soft buzz of his phone humming against his chest. ‘Chim already found out. It was bound to happen.’

Tommy huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he pockets the device. The checklist can wait a minute. Sunlight glints off the rotor blades, the hangar quiet but for his own small grin. News travels fast in their world, but for once, he’s not bracing for it.

Let them talk. He’s ready. And if the 118 comes armed with teasing, he’ll make sure they regret it. One heated kiss to Evan’s lips at a time.

[winterbuckwild]

[winterbuckwild]

SEBASTIAN STAN as BUCKY BARNES THUNDERBOLTS*

[winterbuckwild]

Genuine question and it’s fine if the answer is no.

I’ve recently joined a discord server that a friend of mine created based around one of her fics and she’s built a little community where people talk about her fic, but also encourage each other in writing their own fics (regardless of pairing) and talk ideas and hype each other up 24/7 and it’s the most lovely little place to be.

Here’s the thing: I write for several different fandoms. In the past, some people have expressed interest in joining this type of server and I’ve resisted making one. (I mod too many servers and I genuinely hate being a moderator these days because all it does is put you in the line of fire, but I digress.)

So. If I were to make a discord server, but section it off to different fandoms I am in where people could discuss my fics, as well as their own ideas and encourage each other, and we could build communities while also having an area where everyone could interact…would anyone be interested in joining it?

Going to leave this open for a week and decide based on results, so interact with the poll if you’re interested!

[winterbuckwild]

New BuckTommy fic!

Ever Fallen In Love With Someone ( You Shouldn’t Have Fallen In Love With)

Rated M.

Read here.

Happy Birthday to the beautiful @loulou-land! 🩷

🤵‍♂️🤵‍♂️🤵‍♂️🤵‍♂️🤵‍♂️

When Evan Buckley is saved by Tommy Kinard, the connection is instant—warm, easy, and impossible to ignore. It’s only later that Buck learns the charming stranger is his client.

Buck prides himself on keeping things professional, but between cake tastings and venue tours, their connection grows into something neither expected — and with the wedding looming, Tommy has to choose between the life he planned and the love he never saw coming.

Or The WeddingPlanner!Buck x Firefighter!Tommy AU, you always wanted!

Snippet below!

🤵‍♂️🤵‍♂️🤵‍♂️🤵‍♂️🤵‍♂️

Buck stared at the closed door for a moment, his heart racing. Seeing Tommy again had stirred up a whirlwind of emotions. He had never imagined that the man he had been obsessing over since the rescue would walk into his office as a client — let alone reveal that he was getting married.

Buck’s mind was a chaotic mess of thoughts. His professional demeanor had barely held up during the meeting, and now that Tommy was gone, he felt the weight of his feelings crashing down on him. The memory of their encounter during the rescue was still vivid in his mind — the adrenaline, the raw intensity of the moment, and the connection he had felt with Tommy.

He sank back into his chair, rubbing his temples. How could he possibly manage this? Tommy was getting married, and here he was, stuck with unresolved feelings and the professional responsibility of planning the wedding. Buck couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy toward James. He knew it was irrational, but he couldn’t deny the envy that gnawed at him.

As the day went on, Buck tried to focus on his work, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Tommy. He replayed their conversations, searching for any signs that Tommy might feel the same way — but he knew it was a futile endeavor. Tommy was clearly in love with James, and Buck was just a professional helping them plan their special day.

When he got home that evening, Buck felt exhausted. He poured himself a glass of wine and sank into his couch, staring at the ceiling. The thought of Tommy marrying someone else was almost too much to bear, but he knew he had to keep his feelings in check. He couldn’t let his personal emotions interfere with his work.

He resolved to put on a brave face and give Tommy and James the wedding of their dreams. As painful as it was, he couldn’t let his own feelings ruin their happiness. It was going to be a challenging journey, but Buck was determined to see it through — no matter how much it hurt.

🤵‍♂️🤵‍♂️🤵‍♂️🤵‍♂️🤵‍♂️

@xtarmanderx @winterbuckwild @fand0mfancies

[winterbuckwild]

Clint Barton has NOTHING on file. I mean he has no shield files, no avenger files, no nothing. Idc if we’re talking comics or mcu, this man refuses to have a paper trail either physically or electronically, there is nothing on him.

People know about him, like Hydra and other enemies but they don’t know anything substantial about him. He’s the bow and arrow guy nobody can catch.

Fury tried once, Clint shot it with a fire arrow.

The big data leak at the end of CA:TWS? Clint was not affected. When he got arrested in CA:CW? They had to create a criminal record for him, which mysteriously disappeared when his house arrest was over.

They have NOTHING on him. Nobody tell me what canon says I’m telling you nobody knows Clint Barton except Clint Barton, nobody knows the full story ever.

[winterbuckwild]

i'm so tired of people trying to police how we respond to this ao3 stuff! do you personally know who's doing it and what will or will not affect them? doubt it

So. Again, I'm not trying to police anyone. You do you, I'm not your mother.

I will say, though, that I am possibly old enough to be your mother. And I have been in fandom spaces for longer than a not insignificant chunk of the people that seem to populate this corner of the fandom have been alive. I'm not trying to tell anyone what to do, but I AM asking that you consider why I, someone who has experienced a metric fuckton of ship wars (admittedly, few this vicious, Jesus Christ) that have their own dedicated section of fanlore, someone who has been in online fandom since the birth of the internet as we know it, would be advising people to "just ignore it."

Because that is the only strategy that ever, ever works against this type of online behavior. I'll wade into The Discourse in 911 up to neck if I feel like it, for a myriad of reasons, but this isn't discourse. It's not a debate, or an argument, or even just an old-fashioned flame war. This person or persons has no goal other than to upset as many people as possible, no motivation beyond their own amusement, and therefore, as I said earlier--the only response that will carry any weight with them is NONE. This type of trolling never changes. You're not going to score any points against them with just the right witty rejoinder or just the right level of vicious insult. They want our attention and our emotional investment, in whatever capacity they can achieve that. Unless we find out who they are, the only course of action that EVER works with this type of trolling is to bore them.

The most effective way to bore them is to deprive them of the engagement they want.

Do with that information as you like. Believe it or don't. Accept thirty years of fandom experience or don't. Listen or don't. Completely up to you.

But trust me on the sunscreen ;)

[winterbuckwild]

happy pride to these homosexuals

print link

[winterbuckwild]

Bucktommy alternate meeting where Buck is at a bar and while waiting for a drink he just happens to overhear the guy next to him have an awkward run-in with an ex, and the ex is being such a jerk to this guy who seems to be just taking it and sipping sadly on his fancy beer that Buck jumps in like “Hey asshole I don’t appreciate you talking like that to my boyfriend”

(Tommy rolls with it. Buck still thinks he’s straight. He gets kind of into his performance as disgruntled new boyfriend and kisses Tommy and learns maybe he’s not as straight as he thought)

[winterbuckwild]

Flattery REALLY works on you, huh Eddie?

Fanart for my Steddie fic, Rock My World! The link is below :)

[winterbuckwild]

“I’m literally taller than you.”

“Hair doesn’t count, Farrah.”

As much as I like taller Steve, taller Eddie just hits different—

[winterbuckwild]

DTIYS for @wobblyart_ on IG :))

This was a blast to redraw, although the lighting was extremely hard and I suffered :,)

(Also Robin took the pic bc I said so)

[winterbuckwild]

recipe(s) for disaster - chapter one

Buck had always had a nebulous relationship with food. A post-Season 8 9-1-1 fic where Buck grapples with grief and his place via his love of cooking and baking.

A/N: listen I got encouraged to cross-post so here's chapter 1 and then chapter 2 will be up. suffer my fandoms. This is BuckTommy and I will not deal with ship wars in the tags, that shit will be blocked immediately. I do not care.

Next | Read on AO3

Buck had always had a nebulous relationship with food. Growing up, it didn’t have any special meaning. His parents fed him out of an obligation rather than anything else, and he never had a choice in what he was eating. Maddie would bring him treats when she could, which was always the highlight of his days.

He’d started needing to eat more as he had grown, especially after joining the football team. His parents had started making comments about how much he ate, which he’d tried really hard to ignore, but it’d been difficult, considering everything else they threw his way. But he’d constantly been hungry, so he’d eaten to make the hunger pangs go away.

After he left home, it’d been harder to get enough food. Half of the jobs he’d gotten he’d only stopped for a real meal and had been enticed to stay. The ranch job in Montana had happened that way. He stopped at a diner, been drawn in by the atmosphere, and by the end of the meal, had a job offer.

Something about those meals had made the part of him that was constantly hoping for a home a little quieter. Maybe it was a full belly, maybe it was because the food was warm and soothing. Maybe it was the fact that he had a choice for what he ate, or that for a bit, he felt like he belonged somewhere. It didn’t matter. He just soaked it up when he could.

Meals at the sharehouse were never together, and while that helped with his schedule, it often sucked, especially considering people would often steal his leftovers. It didn’t matter much, because he was usually eating take out. He’d never learned to cook and never spent enough time somewhere to get actual lessons, though they’d been offered before. He’d turned them down, feeling weirdly embarrassed and uncomfortable.

Once at the 118, that had changed. The family meals that had been a part of every shift were often the highlight of his days, especially on the bad days. For the first time, he started to see how food wasn’t just a means to an end.

Bobby had done that. With every meal, even when he was actively trying to keep them all at arms’ length, Bobby filled that need in Buck. And when he’d started teaching Buck? Trusting him with cooking, sharing his recipes? It’d felt more important than any approval he’d ever gotten from his parents.

He’d grown to love cooking. Making food for the people he loved and seeing them eat it had a soothing effect on him. A rush of pride, especially when they complimented it. It was a way he could take care of people that was appreciated more often than not.

His affair with baking hadn’t been for the most healthy of reasons, but the longer he went on baking, the more he grew to love it. He liked making treats for his family that were healthy but didn’t seem like it. He liked the really complicated stuff, that he usually failed at a few times before pulling it off. He loved doing it to bond with Jee, or helping Denny and Mara surprise their moms.

He especially loved the day he brought a chocolate and raspberry pie to Bobby and Athena’s and for the first time, had Bobby asking for his recipe. Athena had laughed for five minutes at the look that Buck had had on his face, but he hadn’t cared one bit. He’d spent a week riding that high.

Two weeks later, they’d lost Bobby. He hadn’t even had a chance to try Buck’s recipe.

Buck didn’t think he’d ever make it again.

The thing was, he still wanted to cook for people. He still wanted to bake. Bobby had instilled the idea of cooking to take care of people, and everyone needed to eat. He could do that for everyone. Even though it hurt, even though each time he pulled out a cutting board or even put on an apron it felt raw. He could do it.

Except no one wanted him to. Hen and Karen politely let him down, which was fair, they were both decent cooks. Chimney and Maddie had been nice about it, but they’d clearly been sick of it. Ravi took some of what Buck brought him, but he was just one person. Eddie seemed determined to prove to himself and Chris (and God) that he could cook and wouldn’t accept Buck’s help. He couldn’t work up the nerve to ask Tommy if he wanted any.

He did cook a few times for Athena. She could cook, she was amazing at it, he knew. But he had a feeling she knew as well as he did what cooking actually meant for Bobby, and by extension, both of them.

The fourth time he’d come over with a casserole for her, Athena pulled him into a hug and thanked him. It’d been a quiet meal; they both knew that day had taken something from both of them. But it’d been a comfortable silence, instead of suffocating. Buck almost felt like he could actually breathe, for once.

And as Buck stood to leave, Athena stopped him. She left for another room, then came back holding a binder and pressed it into Buck’s hands.

It was Bobby’s recipe collection. Buck stopped breathing for a moment, staring at the familiar handwriting, before looking up at Athena.

“I - I can’t take this,” he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Buck,” Athena said, firm, kind, with only the tiniest tremble in her voice. “Bobby loved you. He’d want you to have this. That’s not speculation.”

Buck blinked at her, trying not to let the tears flow over, because he knew if he cried now he’d fall apart and he didn’t want to do that here. He didn’t need to put that on Athena. He could keep it together. Fuck knew he’d had plenty of practice over the past couple months.

“What do you mean?” he asked. He was not as good as Athena at keeping his voice even.

Athena didn’t hesitate, reaching a hand forward to put it on his cheek. “What he actually wanted was to get you to start your own recipe book. But I know he’d love it if you took his and added to it.”

She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye.

“People who didn’t know him will remember the fire captain, or the hero, or whatever perception they had of him,” she said. “But you and I both know one of the best ways to keep him with us.”

She tapped the binder. “The 118 is his legacy, but not his only legacy. Firefighting is not the only way to honor his memory.”

Buck flinched at that. The speech Chimney had given still echoed in the back of his head, stopping him from considering any transfer.

He stared at the binder. At all of the post-it notes sticking out, and the tabs that were well-used and fading. Athena was right; Bobby loved cooking. He’d shared that love with all of them.

Buck could keep it alive.

His hands tightened on the binder. He had to clear his throat before he could say anything, but managed, “Thanks, Athena.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Athena said. “This was always going to be yours. I’m just the messenger.”

Buck managed a laugh. “Still. I, uh, I really appreciate it. I’ll take care of it.”

Athena smiled at him. It was a lighter smile than he’d seen from her in weeks, like something had eased behind her eyes. “I know. That’s why he trusted you with it.”

For once, the past tense didn’t hurt. It didn’t feel like goodbye.

It almost felt like a promise.

First thing was first. Make sure he had scans of every page and recipe in the book, so that he never lost anything.

It was harder than Buck had originally anticipated, but he’d always been stubborn. Two weeks after Athena had given him the binder, Buck had scanned every single page, with a scanner/printer he’d bought on a whim after asking an extremely confused Ravi where to get one.

He made sure he had all of Bobby’s annotations and at least six other handwritings that he could make out. The pages of all different types, they were well used, and several had food stains on them. One had an entire section of ingredients scribbled out from what looked like a fit of rage, and a different ingredient list next to it.

(There’d been a post-it note with Bobby’s handwriting on it that just read, “Note to self: find original recipe.” Buck didn’t think he had, considering it wasn’t anywhere in the binder, but part of him wondered if it was worth it, or if the angry chef with three different writing utensils had a good reason for their redacting.)

It had been a pretty emotional process, but the hardest part had been when Buck had reached the end. The last recipe was titled, ‘Buck’s Chocolate Raspberry Pie,’ and there was a post-it note that said, “Buck’s first recipe, to try!”

Buck had to close the book before his tears ruined the pages and sit in his kitchen for a bit to calm down. He’d almost called Maddie, but she’d been busy with a newborn, and he didn’t know how to word the ache in him to anyone else. He’d put it his head down on the counter; there was no withstanding this wave.

Bobby had put his recipe in his book. He’d labeled it the first one from him. He’d expected to put more from Buck in there.

There’d been recipes from Athena and Michael in the collection. A few that were labeled as Marcy’s.

He’d included Buck.

It was a long time before the wave receded enough that Buck could peel himself away from the counter, head throbbing and stomach heavy. He stared at the binder, the physical proof of how much he’d meant to Bobby, and for a long moment, wanted to hug it.

He had to call out from work the next day, unable to sleep or go more than five minutes without crying again. He almost never called out, but he didn’t even think he could drive in this state. The binder had broken something in him, a seal of some sort, and he couldn’t patch it back up.

He’d tried to sound as nonchalant as he could on the call, but he’d known it was a lost cause the second the B shift captain had answered. No one was going to believe that he was okay, which in the past might have been a comfort. It probably would still be, if he hadn’t spent months drowning with no one noticing. It almost felt like he was dealing with his parents again.

He didn’t think it was a fair thought to the others, but he couldn’t help thinking it. It was lucky he was too exhausted to feel anything about it, or he might have gotten himself in further trouble. Hard to make things about yourself when you don’t have anything in you to give, anyway.

It was only a half hour past when their shift would start that there was a knock on his door. It was faster than he’d expected. Buck, knowing he looked like shit, slowly made his way over to the door and opened it without checking who it was. It didn’t really matter.

It was Karen, who looked him up and down and went, “Huh.”

“What?” Buck asked. A distant part of him was aware that it was almost rude, and that was bound to just make her more concerned, but he really did not care. His head was still pounding.

“Hen said you called out,” Karen said. “She also said you’ve been doing well.”

“Okay,” Buck said, having no idea how to respond to any of that. He didn’t need to hear how well he was fooling everyone. That just made him more tired.

“This doesn’t look like doing well,” Karen said.

“That feels like a trick question,” Buck said.

“It wasn’t a question at all,” Karen said, raising an eyebrow. “But here’s one: can I come in? If you say no, I’m calling Athena.”

Buck stared at her for a moment, then stepped back, letting her into the apartment. It wasn’t big, but it had a decent kitchen. Ravi had taken pity on him after Eddie had unintentionally kicked him out in the middle of the month. Buck didn’t love it, but he didn’t hate it, and at least he could afford it, unlike everything else in the entire county. Possibly state.

It was also still pretty bare. Unpacking and decorating took more energy than Buck currently had, since he was hanging onto his peace of mind by a fucking thread. The only part that really looked lived in was the kitchen.

Karen didn’t comment, though. She just moved in and turned to him.

“Are you actually sick?” she asked. “I won’t snitch.”

Buck shrugged. “Depends on your definition of sick.”

Karen narrowed her eyes for a moment, clearly not buying it. “Do you need a hospital?”

Buck raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“Okay,” Karen said. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look terrible.”

“There’s a right way to take that?” Buck asked.

“You tell me,” Karen said.

Buck sighed. “Karen. I haven’t slept and I’m pretty sure I’m like two wrong words from melting on the floor. Why are you here?”

“I told you, Hen said you called out,” Karen said. “It made everyone nervous, especially since no one’s heard from you since your last shift.”

Buck frowned. “Wait, really?”

He hadn’t meant to do that. Then again, he’d only known he’d had a shift starting this morning because of his alarm, so maybe it was less surprising than it felt. He’d been a little hyper-focused.

Part of him was glad someone had noticed. The rest of him wondered why they’d waited until shift to bother checking on him.

“Oops,” he said.

“Oops?” Karen repeated.

Buck shrugged a little helplessly. “Yeah. Oops.”

“Okay, sit down,” Karen said, pointing at the couch in a way that reminded Buck of Hen. It made it hard to disobey, so he didn’t bother, just sat down. Karen came and sat next to him, moving to face him.

“Okay,” she said. “I’m sure you’re fed up with this question, because God knows I am, but how are you?”

Buck stared at her again. If he’d been asked that two weeks ago, before being given the binder, he might have flown off the handle. He’d been waiting for weeks for someone other than Athena, who he couldn’t bury under all his bullshit, or Maddie, who had a newborn now, to ask him. Someone he could actually fucking talk to.

But that was two weeks ago. And now he just felt empty. Like his insides had been scrapped out. Going through the binder at first had felt cathartic, like a new leaf turning over. Like maybe he could actually deal with the situation and pull himself together, instead of just faking it. But it’d just broke him.

Maybe this was a good thing. Maybe he needed to be empty in order to start filling up with things that weren’t grief, or guilt, or terror. He didn’t know yet.

“Buck,” Karen said, her voice soft. Like he was a stray animal she was trying to lure so she could capture him. She moved her hand to touch his arm, moving slowly enough that he could pull away if he wanted to.

He didn’t. He just stared at her hand on his arm. He knew if he didn’t start talking, he was going to have more than just Karen on his doorstep. He really did not think he could handle that.

“DId you know my parents didn’t teach me to cook?” he said before he could think better of it.

Karen didn’t miss a beat. “No, but having met them, that doesn’t surprise me. Did Maddie teach you?”

“No, I was too young,” Buck said. “I remember she did cook for me a few times when we were kids, but our parents barely trusted me with butter knives.”

Karen scoffed. “That’s bullshit.”

Buck shrugged, because that wasn’t the point and he didn’t care anymore. “When I left home I could make ramen, and that was about it. Even that was questionable if I was using a new stove. I was hopeless.”

“I’ve messed up ramen,” Karen admitted. “Don’t tell anyone this, but I once forgot about the noodles so long they caught on fire.”

Buck blinked, distantly amused. “Wow.”

“That’s our secret, if you tell anyone I’ll -,” Karen paused, then grimaced. “I don’t know, I’ll figure something out. Understood?”

“Is that why you married a firefighter?” Buck asked. This was good. This was banter. He could do that.

“I married Hen, the firefighter part wasn’t the part I cared about,” Karen said. “Why are we talking about you not knowing how to cook ramen?”

Buck sobered, though his emotions still felt distant. “Traveling didn’t give me time to learn, and I didn’t work in food service. At least not until bartending. There was a point where I could make elaborate cocktails, but also burnt toast.”

Karen nodded, obviously encouraging him to continue.

“It wasn’t until -,” Buck swallowed, “until I became a firefighter than I learned anything about cooking.”

“Until Bobby?” Karen said.

Buck flinched, but nodded.

“Is that what’s tripping you up?” Karen asked.

Buck shook his head and reached for the binder, sitting on the coffee table. He pushed it towards Karen, who carefully reached for it and opened it.

From the way she stiffened, Buck could tell she knew what it was, too.

“Oh,” she breathed. “This -.”

“Athena said he wanted me to have it,” Buck said, because he was hitting his limit and needed to get this out before he broke down for the eighteenth time. “She gave it to me. I’ve been scanning everything. He left a lot of annotations in it.”

Karen carefully flipped through the pages. “There’s more in here than I realized.”

Buck snorted, even though it wasn’t funny. “It’s taken me two weeks to scan it all. I was on the last recipe.”

He carefully took the binder and flipped to the end for Karen. It only took a moment for Karen to read it before her face crumpled into understanding and grief.

“Oh,” she said.

“He said he loved me,” Buck said. Karen looked up, obviously confused. “Through the door. He said, he said he loved me and I’d be okay.”

He hadn’t told anyone that yet. He couldn’t, until now, because he didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to relive it. It still didn’t feel real.

Karen’s eyes, already teary, were widening. “Buck -.”

“I didn’t say it back,” Buck said.

“You didn’t have to,” Karen said. “Everyone knows how much you love all of us.”

Buck shook his head, because it wasn’t enough. It’d never be enough; experience had taught him that. He hadn’t said it, and now he never could.

“Buck,” Karen said, putting the binder down carefully and reaching for both of his hands. “You don’t need to regret that. You don’t, okay? Bobby knew how much you loved him. He told you so that you wouldn’t doubt it. He wouldn’t have said it if he didn’t mean it.”

“He also said you all needed me and he was wrong about that,” Buck said, unable to help himself.

Karen actually flinched back at that. She looked around, and her expression changed, like she was having an epiphany.

“Oh,” she said. “Buck, that’s not true.”

“None of you will let me cook for you,” Buck said. He felt like a child whining about something being unfair, but the dam was broken. “No one talks to me. You said I was probably sick of being asked how I’m doing, but did you know you’re the only one other than Athena to actually ask?”

Karen’s eyes widened. “That can’t be true, Buck.”

Buck shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not about me. The point is you all have people.”

“You do, too,” Karen said, squeezing his hands.

Buck didn’t respond. Them being around wasn’t the same as having them. He knew that intimately. And him needing them didn’t mean that they needed him. No one needed him. It was fine. He could deal.

“Buck,” Karen said, and oh, no. He’d made her worried. He’d made it about himself. He was going to fuck up the equilibrium everyone had found.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“No, you’re not,” Karen said. Her tone was gentle, no pity, no scolding. Just a simple sentence. Like it was permission.

It hurt. It felt like his feet had been swept out from under him and he was falling. Like a balloon inside of him had been popped and every emotion he’d been ruthlessly suppressing came rushing out.

He didn’t make a sound, but it was a close thing. It was hard to breathe. It didn’t feel like he was taking in oxygen at all. His vision was darkening on the edges. He was going to throw up. He wanted to scream. He wanted it to stop.

He wanted Bobby.

He didn’t know how long it took him to calm down, only that Karen gripped his hands the entire time, anchoring him even though he didn’t want it. He was lightheaded; his hands and feet were tingling, almost numb. His face was sticky and hot, and his head hurt even worse than before. His stomach was roiling. The room was almost spinning, like he was tipsy.

He slumped against the couch. He’d thought he’d been exhausted before, but now it felt like gravity had increased tenfold, and he couldn’t hold his head up. Moving was beyond him.

“That’s been building up, huh?” Karen said softly. Buck didn’t look at her. He felt embarrassed and frustrated. She didn’t need his bullshit on top of everything else that was going on.

Karen didn’t push him. Instead, she said, “I’m going to get you some water. I think you need some.”

Buck forced his hands to let go of hers, feeling absolutely pathetic. Karen patted his arm before standing. Buck didn’t watch her go, just stared at his coffee table. He kind of hated it. He hadn’t bought it himself, which before now hadn’t really bothered him. But now he wanted to throw it away. He didn’t know why, but he wanted it gone.

A glass of water entered his vision, startling him enough that he stopped feeling floaty for a brief moment. It didn’t last long, but it was enough to make him distantly wonder what the fuck was wrong with him.

“Sorry,” Karen said. “I didn’t mean to startle you, I thought you saw me coming.”

Buck just took the glass of water. He stared at it, trying to work up the energy or motivation to drink it. Part of him knew his headache stemmed from the fact that he was definitely dehydrated, and he needed water. He just didn’t care.

“Buck,” Karen’s voice was firm. “If you don’t start drinking that, I will call Hen and tell her you’re one strong breeze from passing out.”

Buck grimaced. He really did not want that. Even Karen’s concern felt like too much right now. He picked his head up, which was far more difficult than it should’ve been, and managed to lift the glass to his mouth. He took a sip, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t just throw it right back up. He was genuinely unsure if he was going to keep it down.

“Good,” Karen said. “Keep drinking that. Have you eaten? What am I saying, of course you haven’t. That kitchen is spotless and your trash is empty.”

Buck side-eyed her, suddenly remembering Hen’s story about the two of them deciding to track down a thief who had stolen Hen’s credit card (bank card? He couldn’t remember). Remembered looking at crime scene photos in her kitchen, trying to ignore mounting terror in the back of his head.

“We did everything we could, right?”

It took him a long moment to realize he’d been the one to ask that. His voice sounded nothing like him, small and lost, hoarse the way it only got after inhaling smoke.

Karen had frozen the second he’d spoke, but to her credit, recovered remarkably quickly.

“Yes,” she said. “I’ve gone over that day in my head hundreds of times. Maybe thousands. There was nothing more we could’ve done. We saved Chimney. We didn’t even know we needed to worry about Bobby, because he didn’t tell us.”

“He should’ve,” Buck said.

“I agree,” Karen said. “But I also understand why he made that choice. I know you do, too.”

Buck looked away. He definitely understood it. He would’ve made the same choice. Which just made him feel worse. Bobby had a wife and step-children. He deserved to live.

“It sucks,” was all he said, because he didn’t know how to express that he kind of wished it was him instead of Bobby. It wasn’t about him. It was stupid to think that.

“It does,” Karen said. “Can I ask you a question?”

Buck shrugged. It wasn’t like it could get worse at this point.

“Have you spoken about this at all?” Karen asked.

Buck leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling. What a question. He could lie and say yes, that he’d had very mature conversations about this without turning it into a pity party. He could tell her that he’d gone back to therapy (lie) and that he’d had help processing (also a lie).

Or he could tell her the truth and hope she didn’t think badly of him. What did he really have to lose?

“I tried,” he said, still staring at the ceiling. It made it hard to swallow around the lump in his throat, but he didn’t move his head. “I don’t - it’s not just about me.”

“It’s a little about you,” Karen said. “It’s a little about all of us.”

Buck didn’t know what to do with that. “No one asked. I tried to get everyone to talk, and then when they wouldn’t, I did the grief assessments, because at least that gave me something. I just kept getting brushed off, like I was too much. And then -.”

He stopped. He hadn’t said anything about the moment with Eddie to anyone. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to admit that for a moment, he’d thought his best friend was going to hit him. He didn’t want to think about the fact that he’d been too focused on what Bobby had told him to think about what Eddie went through.

A small part of him still thought Eddie had been unfair. That Eddie had never asked him what he went through. What seeing Bobby through that glass was like. What calling Athena back to say goodbye was like. Looking at Bobby, blood coming out of his nose, knowing it meant a death sentence. Knowing he had to walk away, and leave Bobby there, against his very nature.

But he wasn’t the only one who lost Bobby.

“And then what?” Karen prompted.

“It doesn’t matter,” Buck said, his voice strangled. He wasn’t convincing in the slightest, he knew. “It’s not important.”

Karen was quiet for a moment, then said, “I’m letting that go for the moment, but only because you look like you’re going to throw up. We will be revisiting that.”

Annoyance bubbled up in him for a moment before dissipating. “No, thank you.”

“This is not a negotiation,” Karen said. “Drink more water.”

Buck made a face, but did so. He dropped his head back on the back of the couch after swallowing, staring at the ceiling. There was a weird spot on it, like someone had managed to get soda on the ceiling. Maybe with Mentos and Diet Coke. He really hoped that’s what it was.

“So you haven’t talked about it,” Karen said. “Does - did you tell anyone else about what Bobby told you?”

“No,” Buck whispered. He couldn’t. He was surprised he’d even managed to get it out to her. He hadn’t even told Athena. Partially because he didn’t want to know anything about what Bobby had said to her, but mostly because he just couldn’t.

“Okay,” Karen said. “What do you need?”

Buck blinked and turned his head. She was looking at him with a concerned and determined look.

“What?” he asked after a long moment.

“What do you need?” Karen repeated patiently. “Besides to drink the rest of that water. And probably three more cups. What can I do right now to make this easier?”

Buck stared blankly at her. He understood the question, but coming up with an answer was beyond him. Quite frankly, he’d been in survival mode for - fuck, he didn’t even know how long. Weeks? Months? Since the very first explosion that had separated him from his team?

He was just going moment by moment at this point. He didn’t have it in him to look further.

“Okay,” Karen said again after the silence stretched far too long. “I’m going to make soup. You’re going to drink the rest of that water. You’re going to lay down. You said you haven’t slept, and you look like you’re going to pass out. We’ll regroup after that. Deal?”

“Don’t -,” Buck said, then cut himself off. He couldn’t ask her to not tell the others. That put this entirely on her. That wasn’t fair. He was already being a burden, and she was being too nice.

Karen sighed. “I’m not saying anything to anyone yet, okay? We will be telling someone before the day ends, but they’re at work and you’re half-dissocating. It can wait a few hours.”

“Sorry,” Buck said.

“Don’t be,” Karen said, squeezing his arm again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even realize I hadn’t checked up on you. And honestly, even if I had realized, I would’ve thought someone else had. I should’ve reached out.”

“You had other things on your mind,” Buck mumbled.

“I did,” Karen agreed, “but you might be surprised to know this, but I’m an excellent multi-tasker.”

Buck huffed out what could almost be considered a laugh. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t, and we’ll talk about why later, when you’re feeling better,” Karen said. “Get some sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”

She pointed at the couch he was already sitting on. Buck wanted to laugh, or maybe be indignant at being told what to do. But he didn’t have it in him. He just laid down, pulling one of the couch pillows under his head. He closed his eyes, not expecting to actually sleep despite the exhaustion pulling at every cell in his body.

He laid there, letting his mind drift. He could hear Karen in the kitchen, the noise she was making as she started making soup. She started humming quietly, a song Buck didn’t recognize. It felt a little surreal.

Maybe he could sleep. A little bit. Maybe he could do this. Maybe Bobby was right.

Maybe he would be okay.

[winterbuckwild]

this was supposed to be a Pride Month post.... but forgot i had Tumblr🥀🥀 SORRY