thataroacenecromancer
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Summary
Buck: im officially moved into my house who cheered
Ravi: you moved in months ago what
Buck: just unpacked the last box
Ravi: you're weird as fuck
Bobby: replied to 'im officially mov…' Congrats Buck! - Bobby Nash
Buck: thank you bobby 😁
Buck: would anyone like to come over for a house warming party of sorts
Series
- Part 1 of gold and rainbows
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When Eddie meets Kim, he thinks he's found a candle to light the way out of the dark. He can be stable again, he can have purpose again. Little does he realise that the candle is actually a stick of dynamite.
Bookmarked by thataroacenecromancer
16 Mar 2026
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Evan Buckley starts writing to himself before he knows why.
At first, the letters are small. Apologies. Explanations. Rules for how to be good, how to be quiet, how to make things easier for everyone else. As he grows, the letters change — darker, flatter, more tired — following him through years of numb survival, reckless choices, and a life lived on the edge of disappearing.
The timeline stretches from childhood to adulthood, from a house that never quite wanted him to a firehouse that teaches him what staying might mean. And somewhere along the way, Buck has to confront the most frightening possibility of all:
that he was never meant to be easy to lose.
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Running to the frontlines from a childhood he never had. Taking a bat to the wall with his son in the next room. Having an affair with the spitting image of his dead wife.
Eddie knows he’s never been good at grieving, knows he’s never been good at losing what little he allows for himself in the first place. This is why he also knows his coping mechanisms can’t possibly get any worse.
Buck, as he so often does, makes him reevaluate his assumptions.
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Evan Buckley dies behind a wall of glass. It’s a shame that when he’s revived not three minutes later, no one is informed. -
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Summary
He realizes it right before everything goes to shit. He’s just standing there in the loft and Eddie’s handing him Christopher’s backpack and talking about “he’s not that fast” and “order pizza” and Buck sort of stares at him—partly in shock, partly in reverence—and he thinks "I love you." He shoves it down immediately, of course, as far down as it’ll go, but the fact of the matter is, it’s there somewhere, floating around inside of him. He can’t get rid of it now.
Not that it matters all that much, though, because there’s the whole quitting thing and the lawsuit thing and the argument in the grocery store and by the time he’s given his (re)start date he know; he well and truly fucked up.
or: another classic post-lawsuit fic. Angst, hurt, some comfort, more angst, more comfort.