Evan "Buck" Buckley Core

I'm telling my therapist on you :(

Today’s sad thoughts: A Peter Parker/Spiderman variation who’s run into a ton of alternate universe versions of themselves when they were young and barely starting out as Spidey

And because even tho they’re alt dimensions/universes and stuff, there’s still some things that stay the same, like being friends with Harry even if in most universes the friendship falls apart before they reconcile, being close with MJ and Gwen whether they end up dating or not, Aunt May getting to see them grow up till at least they’re in the middle of college, usually she lives longer than that though

So this Spidey has expectations for what their future looks like, both the good things and the bad things, they’ve Prepared™️, they got anti-goblin weapons and plans before Norman even becomes sick, they’ve prepared out how to divide up their time so they can be a good friend while balancing Spidey duties, they have plans for how to include their friends if they find out that they’re Spidey, etc etc etc

Except…a ton of those things don’t end up happening, like thankfully a ton of the worst stuff doesn’t happen, but neither does the good stuff

Poor old Aunt May who was heartbroken after Ben’s death holds out long enough to see them be accepted into universe on a full ride scholarship, and, knowing that they’ll be prepared for adulthood, she peacefully passes away in her sleep

They don’t ever have a falling out with Harry or MJ, but they also don’t have that incredibly close friendship/romance with them that other Spidey’s have, they never end up clicking with Gwen either so there’s no friendship/romance there either

Maybe they’re even prepared for the symbiotes, learning how to control their anger so that when the venom symbiote finds them, they can stand having it while they study it to find an alternative to it needing to eat people and maybe helping it find Brock under healthier circumstances, but instead their universe turns out more like the venom movies where the symbiote finds Brock immediately and it works out without needing Spidey at all

They never really become besties with the Human Torch, with Johnny off constantly fighting aliens and universe ending stuff while Spidey helps out the average civilian, they just don’t end up clicking and helping each other out

Maybe also they’re excited for Miles, hoping that their universe is one where they can mentor him but if not they made a ton of stuff to leave behind for him so the transition is easier, but he doesn’t exist, whether it’s yet or he’ll never exist in that universe, etc etc etc

Just,, A Spidey sitting in a base that they actually made so that they could have a hero group with their friends and leave it behind for Miles, full of possible hero suits for the people they know that are never going to be used, mourning possibilities that were never going to happen for them, and feeling ignored by their universe

Literally in love with this sm. God is a woman, and she is Starfire

wanted 2 play around w outfit designs again :)

gnawing at the bars of my enclosure until hulu lets me watch the new episode of 9-1-1

This tiktok I just saw making me want to write a fic inspired by it and having it cross over with Ghost Whisperer.

Making Maddie of course Melinda, being able to see ghosts. And Buck being able to sense death/danger. My brain can't stop thinking about this now ugh

Bisexual disaster with mommy AND daddy issues who are also in love with their best friend???

Am I talking about Evan Buckley?? Dean Winchester?? Me???? Arthur Pendragon??

wait a minute-

thoughts on this image

That's fucking hilarious.

Me, writing out medical procedures/protocols in my Batman fic based off my old job in a SNF/Rehab

I love, love, LOVE it when I can tell a fic author has integrated their specialized knowledge in a fic. I was reading a fic that at some point included the character going to visit an art therapist, and it's so clear that the author is an art therapist themself, and the details included are just immaculate and I love it. I've previously read about a character doing fencing for no other reason than the author clearly wanting to write a sport they understood. A character being given a hyperfixation on bugs just so the author can infodump themselves.

I eat it up every time, it brings such a smile to my face

He'd be right, Edmundo.

Buck: 11-year-old me would think the current me is insane.

Eddie: He'd be right.

Eddie: 11-year-old me would call the current me a slur.

(x)

Screaming and crying in the middle of a parking lot, thanks for that

Hello, requesting "sleeping in" thank you 🙏

Hello. I’m here, months later. Here’s something.

Buck sleeps in. Eddie’s not sure if that’s a surprise or not. He's long had the somewhat infuriating habit of not plugging his phone in overnight on his days off — theoretically to discourage scrolling on it all night and wasting the battery, but half the time it results in him sheepishly charging it up from fully dead on a page about deep sea ethernet cables or something around noon the next day. So, yeah, his phone is an expensive brick on the nightstand, alarm not even an option, and it's not like they haven't had an extremely eventful last couple of days, almost 24 hours of which Buck had spent in a car headed one way or another. Eddie understands the exhaustion. But, well- he's awake. He kind of feels like his limbs are vibrating with the feeling of- relief, or terror, or joy, or- the feeling of being home. Home, here. Los Angeles, South Bedford, the home he — and Chris — had spent years building, a home of course neither of them could leave behind for long. He lays here, in his own bed, Buck snoring next to him and Chris down the hall, and he wonders why he ever thought he’d belong anywhere else.

Buck shuffles a little and Eddie thinks for a moment maybe- but he just snorts a little and keeps dreaming. Eddie tries to tamp down on the kind of sleepover giddiness bubbling up in his chest — wake up wake up wake up — and takes the opportunity to watch his best friend. His- whatever. Whatever they are now that Eddie knows what kissing him is like, quickly and quietly in his parent’s backyard, now that Eddie has stumbled his way through a question — “Why are you- why did you- all of this- do you- do you-“ — and Buck had frowned a little, not in an unhappy way but in his serious way, and had heard the real thing Eddie had wanted to know, and said “Eddie- of course I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Eddie whispers now, because he hadn’t the other night. He thinks Buck knows, though. He hopes he does. He’ll figure out how to say it to him when he’s awake, he’ll make sure he can never forget it.

His best friend. Whatever else they are or will be, Eddie thinks this first thing will always be true. They’ll always know each other and like each other and want to hang out. With the dubious wisdom of time and age Eddie can admit the few times they’ve fought have mostly been because something had been frustrating one of those wants. Someone should make fun of him for this, probably. Maybe Chris will, Eddie thinks, smiling at the idea that they’re in a place where they can harmlessly tease each other again. “You can’t see Buck for like three days and you go crazy,” he’ll laugh. “I thought I was supposed to be the dramatic teenager here.”

He idly wonders if he really can somehow figure out how to never go more than three days without seeing Buck ever again, and then stifles his own laughter — you’re right, imaginary Chris — because the man is still sleeping — still! — and despite his internal complaining he doesn’t actually want to disturb the guy. He looks so peaceful, passed out hard and melted into his pillow. His pillow, in Eddie’s bed. In Buck’s bed? Who is legally attached to what leases where is a little up in the air at the moment. Maybe it could be their bed. Maybe it's not too soon to say Don’t look for someplace else to live. Just stay here with me, with us. Maybe he just doesn’t care if other people think he’s moving too fast. He doesn’t even think he is, really. The will was years ago. He’s thought more about this relationship, worked harder on it and for longer, than any other in his life. Seven years is long enough to know.

Stay with me, he thinks at Buck, looking at his curls that are flattened in some places and sticking out weird in others. Tonight and every other night we get. He thinks Buck will say yes. He’s pretty certain Buck will say yes. He moved in so Eddie could leave, he’s pretty certain Buck will stay for him, too.

“Do you have a secret kid somewhere I can do something financially irresponsible for to prove my devotion to you?” Eddie asks in a whisper. Buck snorts again, but doesn’t otherwise stir. “Okay. Well, I’ll figure something else out.”

Buck’s eyelashes are pale against his cheek. His skin is rougher than when they first met, older, aging. His birthmark isn't visible, pressed into the pillow, because Buck is turned towards Eddie in his sleep. He’s all stubbly — it had itched against his face, Eddie remembers — and Eddie will kind of miss it when he has to shave before work tomorrow. He can grow it back, though, and Eddie will be around to see it in this new life where they never spend more than three days apart. Two days, maybe. 48 hours in a row and they have to say sorry, gotta go, my-

Husband? My husband is waiting for me? Bobby will probably have a harder time arguing for them to stay on the same shift if they get married, and that will make the whole never-apart-for-long thing harder. So, not yet. Not yet. But Eddie watches Buck’s chest rise and fall and thinks: someday.

He gets so caught up in that thought, the two of them in suits and nice food and pretty lights and dancing and making promises, that he doesn’t register for a moment the blue eyes blinking back at him.

“Oh,” he says, sounding stupidly surprised.

“Hi,” Buck says, the word tripping out on a little huff of laughter. Eddie wants to- to taste it. He stays where he is.

“Good morning.”

Buck smiles, so big it seems to take him a moment to catch his breath. “Morning.” He yawns, stretching out like a cat for all his puppy-like tendencies. “Time is it?”

Eddie doesn’t actually know, having better things to look at than an alarm clock or phone screen, so he rolls slightly to check. “9:15.” When he rolls back Buck is right there, slinging an arm over Eddie all casual like they’ve done this a million times instead of never before, but Eddie thinks he’s right, it doesn’t feel new at all. He grabs a handful of Buck’s shirt and just holds on, feeling his body heat.

“Slept in,” Buck says, and he doesn't seem surprised or not surprised about it either. He leans forward and kisses Eddie’s cheek, quick, quiet. They have time for- for something else, now. Something longer. There’s no rush. But first, Eddie has to make sure, he has to make it clear, he has to ask:

“Will you sleep in tomorrow? Here? And- and every other day, if you want. Forever, Buck, if you want.”

Buck smiles, again so wide it takes a moment for him to speak. “We still gotta get up on work days, Eddie.”

Eddie laughs. It makes his body lean forward under Buck’s arm, closer to him. Their knees bump together. “Well- okay. I can compromise on that. I’m very reasonable. Every other day.”

“Every other day,” Buck agrees, easily, and leans in again for something else, something longer.