#this will never not make my blood boil...

[weblena-for-life]

Amazing analysis & I completely agree. I grew up with the franchise,one of the earliest ones since it first came out when I was 8,& it's always one of my absolute favorites to go back to. I never really realized these parallels between the characters but it makes perfect sense. And I completely agree,every time I see any mention of the garbage "remake" & that of course it's doing good & people like it,it just makes my blood boil. Like,I get it,it's fun for the kids,but unfortunately now that they've seen this,they'll think this is the real,better version if they ever happen to stumble across the original,& it just makes me sad that so many,including people I know,are willingly going to see it. I recently got a Stitch shirt finally after all these years & the number of people,especially friends that asked me if I was going to go see the new movie & how surprised they were when I said absolutely not & that it was garbage was surprising & kinda sad. I mean I get it,they probably don't know that much about it but the point still stands.

Fuck it, I didn't want to make a post on this but it's bugging the hell out of me so let's exorcize the thought.

Lilo and Stitch is an extremely good children's movie. I've been working at a daycare for over five years now, and out of all the children's movies I've shown to an auidence of twenty or so school-age kids (i.e. between the ages of 5 and 12), the only movie that's held their attention as well as Lilo and Stitch is The Emperor's New Groove, and the only one that's held it better is An American Tail. Of those three, Lilo and Stitch has won the vote of "what movie we will watch" the most. It not only entertains kids, but emotionally captivates them from start to finish, because it very thoroughly understands how to engage children on their level. It's a smart, tightly written children's movie.

The feat of story-telling genius it pulls of lies in its ability to reach both where children's imaginations want to go and where their lived real-world experiences lie - most children's movies focus on one or the other, but Lilo and Stitch dives deep into both. On the imagination side, there's Stitch's whole plotline of being a little alien monster being chased by other weirdo aliens onto earth because they want to stop him from running amok and causing havoc (which, of course, happens anyway in fun cartoony comedy/action spectacle). On the real-world side, you have Lilo's plotline of being a troubled little girl who has an abundance of very real problems that, like an actual child, she struggles to comprehend and deal with, as well as the many adults in her life that care about her to some degree but all struggle to fully understand her. Kids want to be Stitch and run amok and cause cartoony havoc. Kids, even the least-troubled kids, relate to Lilo, because all of them have been in a similar situation as her at least once in their lives.

Balancing these two very different stories, with very different tones and scopes to their respective conflicts, is a hard writing task, but Lilo and Stitch manages to do it in a way that seems effortless with one very powerful trick. The two plots are direct mirrors to each other, complete with the characters involved in each having foils in the respective plot. To break it down:

Stitch, the wild and destructive alien gremlin who everyone has labeled as a crime against existence, is Lilo, the troubled young girl who's viewed as a "problem child" by all the adults in her life. In both plotlines, Stitch and Lilo are facing the threat of being "taken away" from the life they know because they act out, and in both plotlines, we see that this is an unfathomably cruel thing to do to them and will not actually solve the problems they have.

Dr. Jumbaa, the mad scientist who made Stitch because making monsters is what mad scientists do, and who had no intentions of ever being nurturing or parental to anything or anyone in his life, is Nani, Lilo's older sister whose parents died when she was young and now is forced to act as a parental substitute despite not being mentally or emotionally prepared for that responsibility yet. Both Dr. Jumbaa and Nani are trying to get their respective wild children in line with what society wants them to be, and both are struggling hard with it because they in turn have a lot of growing to do before they can actually accomplish that.

Pleakley, the nebbish alien bureaucrat who ends up being assigned to help Dr. Jumbaa despite being mostly uninvolved in creating the whole Stitch situation, is David, the nice but mostly ineffectual guy who's crushing on Nani and wants to help her but doesn't really have much he can provide except emotional support. Ultimately Pleakley and David prove that said emotional support is a lot more helpful than it seems on the surface, as they give Jumbaa and Nani respectively a lot of the pushes they need to become better in their parental roles.

The Grand Councilwoman, who runs the society of aliens that is trying to banish Stitch forever for his crime of existing, is Cobra Bubbles, the Child Protective Services agent who is in charge of deciding whether or not Lilo needs to be taken away from her home forever for, ostensibly, her own good. Both are well-intentioned and stern, with a desire to follow the rules of society and do what procedure says is the most humane thing to do in this situation, but both lack the understanding of Stitch/Lilo's situation to actually help until the end of the movie.

Finally, we have Captain Gantu, the enforcer of the Galactic Council who is a mean, aggressive, sadistic brute but is viewed as a "good guy" by society because he plays by its rules (well, when he knows can't get away with breaking them, anyway), who is the counterpart of Myrtle, the mean, aggressive, sadistic schoolyard bully who is viewed as a "good kid" by other adults because she plays by the rules they established (well, when she knows she can't get away with breaking them, anyway). Both Gantu and Myrtle are, in truth, much nastier in temperament than Stitch and Lilo, but are better at hiding it in front of others and so get away with it, and often make Stitch and Lilo look worse in the eyes of others by provoking them to violence and then playing the victim about it - in fact, both even have the same line, "Does this look infected to you?", which they say after goading their respective wild-child victims into biting them.

The symmetry of these two plotlines allows them to actually feed into each other and build each other up instead of fighting each other for screentime. The fantastical nature of Stitch's plot adds whimsy to the far more realistic problems that Lilo faces so they don't get too heavy for the children in the audience, while the very real struggles of Lilo in her plotline bleed over into Stitch's plot and make both very emotionally poignant. When both plotlines hit their shared climax, they reach children on a emotional level few other movies can match - the terror of Lilo being taken away from her family, and the emotional complexity of that problem (Cobra Bubbles pointing to Lilo's ruined house and shouting at Nani, "IS THIS WHAT LILO NEEDS?" is so starkly real and heart-breaking), is matched and echoed in the visual splendor and mania of the spectacular no-way-this-is-going-to-work chase scene where Stitch, Nani, Jumbaa, and Pleakley all team up to rescue Lilo from Gantu.

The arcs of the characters all more or less line up. Nani confronts her own failures to be a guardian and parent to Lilo and resolves to do better and learn from her mistakes. Jumbaa, who through most of the movie protests to be evil and uncaring, nonetheless comes to not only care for Pleakley, but more importantly for Stitch too, and ends up assuming the role he never wanted but nonetheless forced himself into from the start: he is Stitch's family. Hell, the moment that reveals this is really clever - Stitch goes out into the wilderness to try and re-enact a scene from a storybook of The Ugly Duckling, hoping, in a very childish way, that his family will show up and love him. Jumbaa arrives and, coldly but not particularly cruelly, tells Stitch that he has no family - that Stitch wasn't born, but created in a lab by Jumbaa himself. But in that moment Jumbaa is proving himself wrong - because Stitch's creator, his parent, DID show up, and did exactly what happens in the story by telling Stitch the truth of what he is. It can't be a surprise, then, that later in the movie Jumbaa ends up deciding to side with Stitch, to help him save Lilo, and to stay on Earth with his child.

David and Pleakley go from being pushed away by Nani and Jumbaa respectively to essentially becoming their partners in the family. The Grand Councilwoman and Cobra Bubbles finally see how cruel their initial solution of isolating Stitch and Lilo from their family would be, and bend the rules they are supposed to enforce to protect and support this weird found family instead of breaking it apart. Gantu and Myrtle are recognized for the assholes they are and face comeuppance in the form of comedic slapstick pratfalls. And most importantly, Stitch and Lilo both get the emotional support and understanding they need to thrive and live happy lives as children should be allowed to do. It's like poetry, it rhymes.

It's a very precise, smartly written movie. It's a delicate balancing act of tone and emotions, with a very strong theme about the need for family and understanding that hits children in their hearts and imaginations. It's extremely well structured.

...

So it'd be kind of colossally fucking stupid to remake it and start fucking around with the core structure of it, chopping out pieces and completely altering others, with no real purpose beyond "Well, the executives thought it might be better if we did this."

[emptinessitself]

It's 3 am and I should be going to sleep but bro my blood is boiling and I just need to get this off of my chest

That older sister in new Lilo and Stitch remake? This isn't Nani.

Nani wanted to be pro surfer sure, hell she had trophies and shit for it, but it never was more important to her than HER ONLY LITTLE SISTER. THAT'S FUCKING WHY HER SURFER STUFF IN BACKGROUND AND NEVER MENTIONED, BECAUSE SHE CARES ABOUT LILO MORE! I'm not saying she should abandon her passion, no! But leaving Lilo behind goes against the very CORE of her character!

Original Nani was so great because she was so loving, selfless and brave despite everything. Never does she ever act like Lilo's weirdness is a problem that needs to be fixed.

I need to emphasize this for people defending live action Nani, as eldest with two younger sisters, NANI'S LOVE FOR LILO WAS NEVER A BURDEN TO HER.

Sure, she sacrificed a lot for Lilo! But does she ever complain, blame Lilo, or take it out on her? No! She truly loved her little sister and would rather fucking die, than even CONSIDER Lilo being a burden, HELL THERE'S SEVERAL SCENES WHERE SHE MAKES SURE LILO DOESN'T FEEL LIKE AN OUTCAST.

"B-but she never wanted any of this, and it's unrealistic if she keeps Lilo."

Bitch it's a story about found family with aliens, who gives a shit about realism?!

And while we're at it the "this ending is so realistic is good" can go fuck itself bc fictional world DOES NOT ABIDE BY REALISM RULES, it's existence is to defy those!

People who cheer Nani for abandoning her sister to pursue a career never had siblings. Nani didn't take care of Lilo out of obligation, she did it because she fucking loves her little sister, as simple as that! If I was in Nani's situation I'd do the same! CPS could try to pry my little shits of siblings from my cold dead fingers, I ain't giving them up, and idc IF they're lucky enough to be placed in a good home, they're my fucking family.

Nani was my role model after I rewatched Lilo and Stitch several times with my sisters who adored the movie. Nani was the only female character I can remember that resonated so much with me. I didn't think about her all the time, but the moments I remembered her were filled with thoughts "I wish I was as good a sister as Nani was".

So yeah. Movie never happened.

There's no Lilo and Stitch remake in Ba Sing Se.

P.s. the idea they had for "Older sibling has a dream but can't pursue it due to having to take care of younger sibling" could work, it's kinda interesting but NOT WITH NANI. She's just everything opposite about this plotline.

[sslytherinslut]

Ghost of You ; MR

this is so random i'm sorry

Summary: The common room becomes a silent witness to your lingering spirit and Mattheo’s aching devotion, weeks after you’ve been lost to him

The dungeons never warmed after you died.

The fire’s sputtering light barely touched the heavy stones of the Slytherin common room, casting weak, trembling shadows. Among them, one lingered longest—a haunting silhouette that seemed to stretch and shrink with the flames, a silent reminder that you were here… and yet, not.

You didn’t walk anymore, not really. You drifted. Quiet. Cold. Trapped.

Mattheo still came every night.

He’d sink into the emerald-stitched couch like the grief had gravity, elbows braced on his knees, eyes locked on the fire—as if staring hard enough could make the flames spit out a different ending.

Sometimes, he talked to you.

Sometimes, he just listened to the silence where your voice used to be.

Tonight, the firelight bent around you, as if trying to hold you together. Your figure shimmered softly—almost real. Almost her. The same girl who once tangled her fingers in his under starless skies, who ran barefoot across the pitch to kiss him like it was the only truth that ever mattered. Now, all he could do was stare forward and pretend he didn’t ache for a version of you he could hold.

He didn’t flinch when you appeared anymore.

He never did.

“Mattheo…” your voice was soft, lighter than air, like wind through old curtains. “You can’t keep doing this.”

His jaw clenched, throat bobbing as he swallowed back whatever was clawing its way up.

His eyes didn’t leave the fire.

“I have to,” he murmured. “It’s the only place I still see you.”

You reached for him on instinct—your hand passing through his, a familiar ache now. You didn’t cry anymore. Ghosts didn’t get to cry.

But he did.

“I’m not really here,” you whispered.

“I know.” His voice cracked.

“You’re not living,” you said. “You’re just… waiting.”

He finally turned toward you. His eyes were red-rimmed, tired. Older than they should have been. His hands were shaking.

“You think I don’t know that?” he rasped, his chest rose and fell like he couldn’t quite catch the air, like grief had punched the wind out of him long ago. "You think I don’t realize every second of every day that you’re gone? I couldn’t protect you. You died here. In the place I was supposed to keep you safe.” He said, staring at the stones beneath his feet like they were stained with your blood.

His hands shook—rage, sorrow, shame, all boiling just beneath his skin.

“So don’t stand there and ask me if I know. I live it. I breathe it. I sleep beside the memory of it every night.”

You shook your head, glowing softly in the firelight like something holy. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“But I told you I’d never let anything happen to you,” he choked. “I promised.”

You reached out again, just to pretend. He leaned into the cold as if it could bring you back.

“I never wanted this for you,” you whispered. “You deserve to move on. Love again. Live again.”

But he looked at you like grief had just taught him a new kind of pain—one even he couldn’t swallow down.

“I told you,” he said, barely more than a breath. “That night, when the moonlight hit your face and you said you loved me like it was the simplest truth in the world. I told you then—if I lost you, I’d never find my way back. Not to love. Not to anything.”

You opened your mouth, but he kept going.

“And I meant it. Every word. I still mean it.”

The room went quiet again, save for the soft crackle of fire and the gentle hum of old magic—the kind that lingered long after it was cast, thick in the air like smoke you couldn’t breathe past. The shadows danced across the stone walls, flickering with the flames, but they couldn’t chase away the cold. It wasn’t the kind that sank into your bones. It was the kind that gripped your soul—sharp, ancient, and aching.

And between the living and the dead, something pulsed. Something heavy. Unseen, but felt. A ripple of magic, soft as breath and just as fragile, stretched like a thread between you. Fading. Fraying.

It smelled like ash and memory.

Time seemed to slow in that suspended space—where grief had made its home, where love clung to whatever pieces were left, even if one of them wasn’t breathing anymore.

Finally, you spoke.

“But Mattheo… I’m not coming back.”

His fists trembled at his sides like his body still hadn’t figured out how to live without your touch.

“I know.” His voice was raw. “Doesn’t mean I’ll ever stop loving you.”

His jaw clenched. His eyes—red-rimmed, tired—scanned over what little was left of you. You looked the same. Soft smile. Kind eyes. But there was no warmth now. No heartbeat. No breath fogging up the space between you.

Only silence.

Only the echo of everything you could’ve been.

The fire crackled behind him, casting shadows on stone walls that would never forget your laughter. And he stood there, broken and loyal, staring into the eyes of the girl he couldn’t save — the only one he’d ever truly loved.

He rose on unsteady legs, dragging the frayed blanket you used to curl beneath—the one he hadn’t washed in weeks because it still held your scent. Carefully, reverently, he spread it over the empty cushion like a shrine, like covering your ghost might somehow keep you here just a little longer. As if warmth could matter to the dead.

You stood too, fading slightly as the hour pulled you away like the tide.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

You hesitated.

And then you said the only thing you could say when love outlasts life:

“I’ll always find you.”

His eyes shimmered.

“So will I.”

[glitteringdust]

The way Anders eyes Hawke up and down between each hand of Wicked Grace makes his blood boil.

Glowering across the table, he hated every second of it, in fact— it was clear to him and anyone else watching just what the mage's intentions were, and the more he drank the less subtle about it he was. Fenris wanted to scruff the mage by his collar and tell him to keep his hands to himself.

He would even say as much, if it weren't for the fact that he didn't have any more of a claim to Hawke than Anders did, perhaps even less so since he was the one to flee that night they'd spent together. Hawke's gaze had softened when he saw the red favor wrapped around Fenris's wrist the following day, but had never said anything more about that night, giving Fenris more kindness and space than he deserved.

There were things hidden behind that softness, though. Hurt and confusion and pain— Fenris had caused that, too. He had done very little to explain, fear from his past heavy hands around his throat. It had been too much, too fast, he had said. And it was, when you added missing memories, and reminders of the worst time of your life.

So why had he thought of nothing but that night everyday for years? Every touch that had left him shivering and wanting, soft and gentle against his skin, each kiss sweeter than honey. Over and over he found his thoughts wandering back to that night, of Hawke, of his taste…

Hawke's booming laugh snaps him out of his thoughts, and Fenris stiffens as he watches Anders places his hand on Hawke's shoulder, rubs his thumb back and forth. Caressing. Fenris grits his teeth; it's not his place, after all, to decide whom Hawke spends his time with. Who should touch him, make him laugh… he should pursue the mage if it makes him happy. All Fenris had done was break his heart, and only continued to do so.

He swallows back vitriol. One more second in the Hanged Man just might kill him.

He leaves early, sneaking away when no one was looking. Fresh air will clear his mind, he thinks, and makes his way through the shadows of Lowtown. He hopes to shake off the discontent clinging to his limbs, or at least walk until he's numb enough to forget about the whole thing.

Varric's words still ring in his head.

Sounds like you're jealous, Broody. That tends to happen when you love someone.

That's not… what this is.

Really, you're not at all jealous?

Varric had meant to reassure him, yet it sat bitterly along his tongue. He was no stranger to jealousy; he had a long history of coveting the lives of those who were free, of those who could have desires of their own. He was not used to this form of it, the kind grown from wanting someone instead of something.

Because who would love someone like him? Bound even now by the chains of the past, to a master he would see dead if he wasn't a coward. Resentful, wary, hiding behind anything he could. And Hawke was…

Hawke was kind. Had been since the moment they met, even with the initial deception. He'd shown that same kindness time and time again to others around him, the same people who would turn him into the Templars if they had to. He gave coin to the needy, food to the orphans of Darktown, and accepted nothing in return.

The more he watched Hawke, the harder he fell for him. A feeling he'd much rather avoid, instead of dealing with.

It was no surprise Fenris found himself taking the long way home, avoiding the main square and a certain mansion. He didn't mind Hightown late at night, when the nobles were long asleep and he felt no need to hide from their gaze. Not to mention it meant fewer questions about why an elf was living there.

He turns the corner and nearly jumps out of his skin. Hawke had somehow beaten him here, sitting outside the doorway to his home.

"Hawke? What are you…?"

“You left early,” Hawke stands, looking sheepish, “I suppose I… worried about you getting home.”

"I don't usually have trouble finding my way, you know."

"I know, it's just…" Hawke sighs, "You seemed upset. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Fenris says nothing, unsure of what to even say. He was upset, but only at himself. He wasn't okay but he wasn't sure he'd ever be.

He settles for pointing out the obvious, “You looked happy, with him. You deserve to be happy.”

Hawke only gives him a quizzical look, “With who… oh with Anders? He and I are just friends, Fenris.”

“Doesn’t seem like he knows that.”

“He may want more, but he’s not who I want.” Hawke hesitates only for a moment before reaching for the elf’s hand.

“Ah,” Fenris doesn’t meet his gaze, instead looking at the hand holding his. The grip is light, Fenris could easily pull away should he want to, and yet the warmth that spreads through him keeps him there, “I can’t imagine why, even now, you'd still...” Choose me.

“I meant it, when I said I would wait for you.”

A pang in his chest. He didn’t deserve this.

"You're worth everything to me, Fenris. I just want you to know that I won't give up on you. You deserve happiness. In whatever form you find that in." He goes to release the elf's hand, "Even if it's not with me."

Fenris meets Hawke's honey brown gaze and the night they shared pops into his head again, breaking him. He leans in and kisses him; once, twice, a third time before he pulls back. It felt just as good as he remembered, a soft buzzing in the back of his mind as he steps back.

“I… hope I'm worth the wait.”

Hawke chuckles, the sound more soothing to Fenris than anything else.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Hawke asks.

Fenris nods, “If you have need of me.”

Hawke squeezes his hand before he turns to leave, “Sleep well, Fenris.”

Fenris heads inside, trying his best not to think about turning around and calling for Hawke to stay, of what they would do if he did.

Instead, he goes to bed, the feeling of Hawke's lips on his following straight into his dreams.

[bbycake2]

hi hi i BEG of you to write about tutor! armin and reader being academic rivals (he’s also obsessed with reader) and they make a bet to see who can get the highest score on a test and he gets it and idk smth ensues (this probably makes no sense haha) anyways nsfw perchance

Where is my reward? Get on your knees .ᐟ Nerdmin, tutor. Armin Arlert

Loud screams, lots of parties, alcohol, sex — that was the world waiting for those who went to the academy. It was the daily routine, but not yours. You had different priorities. You studied hard, ranked among the top with your results, you were the best. And that feeling was something wonderful.

One day a blond guy joined your school — skinny, with a funny little fringe and fogged-up glasses, like he stepped right out of a cartoon. Sometimes he’d glance your way, but whenever your eyes met, he’d quickly blush and look away. You often caught sight of him in the same places you were — in the café eating cake, accidentally grabbing the same slice as you, or in the library. Do you both like the same kind of literature?

Strange coincidences, but you never thought much deeper about them. You didn’t care — he wasn’t someone worth your attention.

He was quite cute yeah, but absolutely not your type…. one day, when the school administration posted the test results, you were stunned. You stared at the paper, unable to believe what was happening. You didn’t have first place — for the first time in two years, you weren’t the best. Gritting your teeth, you read the name: “Armin… Armin Arlert” And there, next to his name, was a perfect score — a 100%. Armin Arlert. You stared at it.

Suddenly, you felt his presence beside you. He read the posted results and gave a dumb little smile as he adjusted his glasses.

“I really worked hard for that score. Feels a bit painful being second, doesn’t it?”

His audacity got under your skin.

A fucker with that stupid bowl-cut fringe.

Your blood was boiling as you made your way to your room. You threw yourself onto the bed like something had possessed you. That feeling of losing, of being second place, tore you apart from the inside. The next morning, the alarm clock dragged you awake. You forced yourself up, went through the motions to get ready, threw on a skirt and a shirt, slung your bag full of books over your shoulder, and stormed out toward the school. You were dead set on confronting that asshole.

You spotted him down the hallway, pulling something from his locker. Without thinking, you marched straight toward him.

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, locked in a silent exchange of glances.

Your eyes were sharp, burning with anger and the sting of wounded pride. His, wide and unsure — cheeks flushed, gaze dropping every few seconds in a mixture of guilt and shyness. You don’t remember what drove you, probably jealousy and wounded pride, but you do remember that you made a bet with that idiot about who would get a higher score on the test next week. He had smiled when you said it, that annoying, calm smile, you started to hate it.

For the past few days, you’ve been seeing his blond hair everywhere. At the library, leaning against the shelf with that stupid, lazy posture. At the café, pretending not to notice you while ordering the exact same drink as you — again. Even in the hallway, always just a few steps ahead,

Is he doing it on purpose? Just to piss you off? To get in your head before the test?

On your way back from school, you dropped down on a bench outside, digging through your bag with growing panic. Where the hell were your chemistry notes?

“Shit, I’m gonna kill myself” you thought, flipping desperately through every page of every book, looking for those stupid notes.Chemistry had been a problem from the very beginning, the one subject that just wouldn’t click. No matter how hard you tried, how many hours you spent staring at reaction formulas and tables, it never made sense the way other things did.

You’d never even scored 80% on any test in that fucking subject.

A boy with glasses approached you slowly, his steps looking like he was about to fall or die or whatever.

He was wearing a green T-shirt and red Converse sneakers — like he’d gotten dressed without ever looking in a mirror. You stared at the pages he was holding, heart pounding with something between relief and fury.

“Why do you even have those?” you asked, standing up, trying to sound more annoyed than embarrassed.

He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head just a little that same casual confidence that made you want to throw something at him.

“You left them in the study room. I was going to give them back, but you seemed so determined to panic first.” He cleared his throat softly.

“Thanks” you said, surprised at your own softness.

“Listen, I don’t want to come off as rude. I think you misunderstood me last time. I really do believe you’re talented and that you work hard. He paused, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly unsure if he should keep going. But reading what you’ve written here… I can see you’re having some trouble with chemistry. And well… I’m actually really good at it. I’d like to make up for how I acted before and help you with chemistry, if you’ll let me.” He looked up for a second just long enough to meet your eyes before quickly looking away again.

“Um… maybe I overreacted too. You know, wounded pride and all that” You said it quietly as your fingers nervously twisted the paper you were holding

“ You know what? I’ll take that offer, when would you like to start?”

The boy with the glasses gave you a shy smile

“Even now!” he said with an unexpected spark in his voice just like a child

You couldn’t help it and you laughed, at his enthusiasm

You went to his house.

His room was clean, surprisingly clean. His parents were kind, genuine way that made you feel instantly welcome. And the room? Full of books, mangas, and games stacked in neat, almost obsessive rows.

It was… nice.

Actually, it was really nice.

The kind of place you could accidentally spend hours in — and you did. Time slipped by faster than you expected. Somewhere between balancing chemical equations and arguing about which video game soundtracks were overrated, you started to realize something

Armin wasn’t so bad.

In fact… he could be kind of funny. Not in the loud, attentionseeking way. More like in the dry, unexpected, catchyouoff guard kind of way that made you laugh even when you didn’t mean to.

And maybe he wasn’t the annoying knowitall you thought he was.

“Remember our bet?” he said, flipping the page over.

Exactly the bet. You were having such a good time you completely forgot about it. When it was time to say goodbye, you felt a little sad. He helped you pack your things and walked you down the stairs.

“You’re leaving richer, with some chemistry knowledge and two Pokemon cards,” he laughed softly. Sweet. he was sweet.

A few days passed, and you didn’t talk much, both of you focused on studying. Then the time to announce those damn biology results, the ones you had bet on.

You walked up to the list, confident you had done perfectly. But when you read what was written there, that damn feeling of losing hit you again.

Armin Arlert 100%

(yn) 98%

The disappointment hit harder than you expected. Your chest tightened, and before you could stop it, a few tears slipped down your cheeks. The boy walked up to you, trying to pretend he wasn’t pleased but it was obvious he was bursting with satisfaction. He stood there for a second, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, rocking on his heels like he didn’t quite know what to do with all that smug energy.

“Hey,“Told you I was good at biology.”

You shot him a glare, still wiping at your cheeks. He hesitated, then reached into his backpack.

“Here,” he said, holding something out.

Two small, shiny Pokémon cards.

“I knew this would happen. I had to come up with something to cheer you up.” You took the cards from his hand, wiping away your tears.

“What about your prize?” you asked, voice still a little shaky. Do you have something in mind? Some secret dream?”

He smirked, eyes glinting with something you couldn’t quite read. After a short pause, he said quietly

“Yeah… there’s something I’ve got my eye on.”

He took your hand and, without a word, led you quickly down the hall…Until you stopped in front of the You raised an eyebrow, “boys bathroom”?

“What, am I supposed to hold your hand while you pee?” you joked, smirking.

“Come on, it’s classes right now, no one’s gonna be in there,” Then he gently pushed you forward, just enough to make you step inside.

Urinals, stalls, and a sink. What else could he possibly be looking for in here? The awful smell of the boys’ bathroom hit your nose immediately, making you wince. Disgusting.

He opened one of the stalls and motioned for you to go in. “A silly joke, but I’ll play along”, you thought as you stepped inside. Then he closed the door behind him, stepping in with you.

“What about my prize? Get on your knees, loser girl.” he said it confident, a bit mean. What had gotten into him? And what on earth was he talking about?

It was weird. But… kind of attractive? You did like Armin and technically, you owed him a prize. So why not make it something you’d both enjoy?

You looked up at him, raising an eyebrow.

“You’ve changed,” you said, half teasing, half cautious. “Did winning a bet unlock your fucked up side?”

Armin laughed, a short, nervous laugh. The cocky look cracked just a little. “Maybe,” he shrugged, pretending to look casual. “Or maybe I’ve just finally figured out what I want.”

You leaned back against the wall of the stall, arms crossed.

“Oh yeah? And what exactly is that?”

“You.”

Oh fuck, you haven't had a boyfriend for a long time and you were a bit horny, and your fingers and pink vibrator weren't enough for you anymore, a little cock won't hurt you. smiling, you got on your knees in front of Armin, looking into his eyes.

He was slightly nervous, his cheeks were red, he didn't know what to say.

“you wanted it yourself and now you're ashamed? idiot”

He just made a sound closing his eyes as you unzipped his pants taking out his cock, of course it was big nerds always have cocks like they came out of a porn. you spat on him and ran your tongue along his length, one hand playing with his balls. he himself couldn't believe what was happening, girl with his dick in her mouth and she was smiling! it was the best day of his life… You took him into your mouth, moving your tongue while looking at him as if it were the last day of your life. Desire took control of him, he moaned so loudly and so sweetly, and yet the one who enjoyed the moment even more was you.

You choke on his cock slightly, pulling back with a gasp, only to dive in again, hungry for more.

“You’re wonderful, I’m so lucky to have met you.” he moans, biting down on his bottom lip

Both of your hands wrap around his dick, jerking him off with a wicked smile on your face. You were enjoying it way too much. “Seems like luck is on our side today.” You gave his cock kitty licks, just to take it all the way up down your throat

You moved your head quickly, alternating between kissing, licking, and taking him all into your mouth to suck as best as you could.

“Ah, ah, yes, yes! Fuckkkkk!” His eyes are rolling back, that poor guy didn’t know what to do with his hands, sometimes he stroked your head, other times he covered his face.

“mhhhm please, let this moment never end.” A moan escapes while his teeth nibble on his bottom lip.

You’re sucking his balls and stroking his cock letting your spit drool all over not only your face but also his body

Pop!

You took his ball out of your mouth and looked up at him with a fucked up smile. “I think I’m in love,” you said, gazing at his face, it was so sweet, and he was just so sweet.

“Hey, is someone in there? I see four legs in the stall, come out!”

you were torn from your drunken moment by the sound of one of the cleaning ladies, your makeup smudged as if you had been fucked by at least 3 guys, saliva everywhere and the smell of dick, how will you show yourselves?

[heartz-for-de]

‘JEALOUS BOY’

Kirishima X fem!reader

Warnings: fluff, cussing, jealousy, female!Reader, nothing else rlly.

——

Kirishima knew how wrong it was to get jealous over something so…mundane. It was just a conversation, so why was it causing his blood to boil? He tried as hard as he could to be the best boyfriend, but no matter what, he always had a tinge of jealousy hidden behind his performative smiles.

It was simply a kind gesture you had taken on, a student who was lost on campus and in need of help. He had came up to you asking for directions to a class, and you being the sweet and perfect girl you were, you said yes and engaged in conversation with the tall boy. The boys eyes raked over your form like you were some slab of meat.

Kirishima never wanted to assume anything about anybody, he found it rude. But for some reason his mind was screaming at him to get you away from him. He was nothing but bad news.

He didn’t wanna be overbearing—just walking up and introducing himself wouldn’t be bad, right? He decided that he needed to be near you in some way before his entire body became solid as rock in the middle of the hall.

“…I could never really help but dislike the way— oh…uh…” the boys flowing conversation had suddenly come to a halt, his eyes everting to something else besides you.

You let out a confused noise before turning around.

Standing there, in all of his glory, was your sweet red headed boy friend. However, he adorned a usual unpleasant look on his face.

You smiled at the sight of him, his frame slowly approaching the two of you.

“Eiji! This is my boyfriend, kirishima.” You introduced him to the boy in front of you, not noticing his the glare Kirishima offered the boy.

“Hey, dude.” Kirishima greeted him, placing an arm around your waist. You didn’t think much of it considering physical touch was a usual in your relationship. However, this time it felt different.

You leaned slightly into him. The boy in front of you gulped.

“You have a boyfriend?” There was an obvious answer to the question, but he asked it anyways.

You looked at him funny for a moment, was he joking? You let a small laugh slip through your lips and swatted at the air.

“Yes, me and eijiro have been together for a year now.” You spoke sweetly, even though your words held a slightly bloating tone.

Kirishimas grip tightened, and he smiled proudly at your words. It made him thankful that you were so open to brag about your relationship to other people. Especially ones who had ill intentions.

His eyes focused back on the boy, who now wore a scowl.

“Uh you good, man?” His question hung in the air for a moment. Even though Kirishima felt off about the guy, he wasn’t gonna be an asshole.

“Yeah, fine. Thanks for the directions, L/N.” The boy coldly responded with a quick turn in his heel. He had evacuated the conversation so abruptly you hadn’t been able to bid him farewell.

You looked a bit hurt, the confusion now spreading to your face.

“Did I say something wrong?” You looked up at Kirishima. His eyes softened at your scrunched eyebrows, his heart nearly cracking at your genuine concern.

“No, you didn’t baby. Some people are just weirdos, gotta ignore them and move on with your day!” He tried encouraging you with his usual light hearted comment, but you still looked confused.

“I don’t understand, everything was fine—well until you got over here.” Your voice trailed off, realizing just what the boy might’ve been thinking. He didn’t truly need directions, he probably just thought he had a shot with you.

Kirishimas face contorted, “don’t think he really liked the idea of you having a boyfriend.”

You nodded, everything making sense now. You suddenly snapped your head towards him, a goofy grin present on you face.

“Why’d you come over here?” You pressed him.

“I uh— can a man not come and be near his lovely girl friend?” His pink tinted cheeks and hesitant answer told you everything you needed to know.

“Oh don’t tell me—was the eijiro Kirishima…jealous? The manliest man I know, jealous?” You teased the already flustered boy.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been jealous. That was so unmanly of me. I just couldn’t stand the way he was looking at you, it made me feel all…like I was getting ready to fight a villain or something.” He apologized, his analogy making you giggle.

You leaned further into his shoulder.

“Oh, well I’m so glad you swooped in to protect me. My hero!” You fully hugged his side, planting a kiss on the side of his cheek.

He hugged you back, rubbing the side of your neck.

“Stop flattering me, Y/N! You’re gonna make my ego as big as bakugo’s.” He laughed out, but it was short lived considering the snappy blonde was only a few feet away. Kirishima didn’t know that.

“HAH?! THE FUCK IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN SHITTY HAIR?” you heard the boy before you saw him, the sounds of small blasts echoing in the now almost empty hall.

Kirishima whipped his head around to face the boy.

“BAKUGO? WHERE DID YOU COME FROM? AND STOP CALLING MY HAIR SHITTY WE BASICALLY HAVE THE SAME HAIR!” He yelled out frantically.

You watched as Kirishima tried to calm his hot headed friend down, but was sort of failing. Iida soon swooped in for reinforcements.

——

[shaunasrabbit]

MAY

my first installment of monthly fic recs! i wanted to start compiling all of the fics that i loved each month because writers deserve more recognition for their work. reblogging and compiling lists like this are a great way to spread the word about fics you love!! so much of this (if not all of it) is going to be smut because that's just who i am as a person lmao.

doctor's orders by @silksepia — contains smut

jackson!joel x reader summary: your period cramps are awful. joel just wants to help because he's so caring, no selfish intentions at all. my thoughts: absolutely delicious. i'm down for anything that involves blood. period!

kiss it better by @strang3lov3 — contains smut

stepdaddy!roman x reader summary: you get hurt, and roman puts you back together. then makes you come all apart again. my thoughts: strange will get me to read anything at this point. i've never been into stepcest before, but if strange is writing it, i'm into it. every single one of strange's roman fics GETS ME. she really nails his characterization and the dialogue is perfect. there's such a great balance of filth and care in this one. probably going to go back and read all of her roman shit now. yeahhhhhh.

collateral by @gothcsz — contains smut

javier peña x f!reader summary: what happens after you mishandle information and subsequently fuck javier over. my thoughts: kat is one of my favorite writers (and people) on this site and DAMN DOES SHE DELIVER! this is a dark fic with dubcon, so check the tags. but anything with a gun kink will have me on my fucking knees, and if it's written by kat and involves javier peña, i'm absolutely fucked. gorgeously written, gorgeously filthy. kat, you are everything to me. mwahhhhh.

a safe haven | one by @mari-positas

jackson!joel x female reader summary: after the events in salt lake city, joel and ellie are back in jackson, wyoming to start a brand new life in the safe haven; ellie has a difficult time fitting in, but she finds a friend in you; joel meets you for the first time and a foreign feeling instantly takes root. my thoughts: when i heard that vee was going to rewrite her series a safe haven, i was so excited. i loved ASH—i would anxiously await a new chapter when it was ongoing, i'd go back and reread old chapters, and would always recommend it to friends. it was such a comfort read. so to get to experience peach and joel's story all over again is such a gift. vee is a phenomenal writer and her characters are so well developed and realized. can't wait for the next chapter.

mama's boy by @toxicanonymity — contains smut

slasher!joel x f!reader summary: dinner at his mom's house, mostly. my thoughts: so dirty, so fucked, so good. check the tags on this one—it's a dark fic and i am eating it up. this was my first intro to toxi's slasher!joel collection and probably not where i was supposed to start, but i am hooked. i've been going back and reading other pieces for slasher!joel and yeah. i'm obsessed. his dynamic relationship with the reader has me barking and screaming and god. again, i'm a total slut for gunplay/gun kinks. toxi...your mind...amazing.

mine to keep by @pandapetals — contains smut

joel miller x fem!wife reader summary: after a heated encounter at the tipsy bison, joel’s possessive streak is set off when a cocky newcomer makes a crude comment about his wife. tension boils over into desperate, filthy lovemaking back home, where joel reminds you exactly who you belong to. my thoughts: i don't know what it is about being called mama but it fucking GETS MY ASS!!!!! i am such a sucker for a breeding kink and this delivered. beautiful, filthy, no notes.

as you are by @for-a-longlongtime — contains smut

marcus moreno x joel miller summary: with tension running high at work, marcus desperately needs to relax. joel knows just how to make that happen and stop all that overthinking. my thoughts: truly might be one of my faves ever. i was FERAL after reading this. joel and marcus have an amazing, effortless dynamic. you can always tell when an author has a clear understanding of their characters and this was just!!!! mannnn, this did it for me. anytime "good boy" is in a fic, i'm sold. a masterpiece.

the weight of it all by @worlds-we-write

jackson!joel x reader summary: you’ve been hiding your sickness—and the truth—from joel for weeks. but when a pregnancy test confirms your fears, the weight of it becomes too much to bear. telling him risks reopening old wounds…but keeping it secret might break you both. my thoughts: this made me cry lol. idk if i'm just extra hormonal lately, but anything with pregnancy and angst??? sobbing. beautifully written.

and that's it for may, folks! i read so much this month, so this really is just scratching the surface.

happy reading! friendly reminder to reblog/comment/recommend fics. that's how they reach new readers! see ya next month.

[ravenempress101]

•Rain drop• Wonwoo imagine Rated:M

Warings: plot with smut, smut with plot Wonwoo’s blood boiled with anger.A second skin was his anger he produced. A skin the appeared with pride.

Not even he had been that a very in that moment.

His slender palms gripped the handlebars of his bike. His knuckles manifesting ghost white the anger coursing through his veins. A vein popped out his forehead threatening to burst out of him.

A woman next to him, y/n, his thoughts of her were fighting of envy of what she had done to him.

The only thing that mattered to him was how she made him feel.

How y/n made him want to kill.

Wonwoo felt the heat radiating from her chubby frame. His nose twitch with her arousal for him as he mirrored the same. He couldn’t give in to her desires. Not yet.

Wonwoo made her wait . He was going to make her beg.

Revving up the engine of his bike. The bike came to life with a growl that came from deep within his chest.The dark raven haired man was in control, y/n is at his mercy.

His orbs fell on her out of the corner of his eye.the anticipation in her goddess features. Her boba eyes widened, lips parted slightly.

Sense of Satisfaction washed through his body. He was in charge, and he was going to make her feel every inch of his venom.

His muscular leg kicked the bike into gear them both took off down the highway.the wind ripped through them. The adrenaline capturing his body. It was a feeling he loved, a feeling that made him feel alive.

They rode for what seemed like hours. But in reality minutes.Wonwoo felt her thick frame manifested on his. Her breasts hardened with his leather jacket back, her thighs wrapped around his waist

wonwoo dreamt of her. He wanted her more than anything even his own life .

The bike slowed to there secluded destination. He quiet the engine and slid off the bike.his movements straight and precise.

Wonwoo turned and faced her.the hunger in his orbs.

His fingers on her waist.pulling her to the front of the bike and her leaning back on her back. The heat of her body against his clothed center. Serving the fuel the fire within him.

“How long? “ he sighed his eyebrows furrowed scanning her chestnut eyes of anything that captures a threat to him.

“What do you mean Wonwoo? just kiss me ”

Y/n whispers fell from her mouth toward him. Wonwoo starred at her lips and he kissed her, his heartshapes chapped and rough. Her moans guided in his mouth. A surge of pleasure course through him.

His palms rose her closer to him. Her slender fingers wrapped around his back for more access. He pushed her back down her back slamming again the bars from his demanding movement.

“Oh fuck Wonwoo damn that hurt” y/n protested at him

His calloused hands roamed over her thick frame. The softness of her skin made a groan fall out of his mouth. The curves of her body.

“Well my heart feels the same”

Wonwoo wanted to devour her.

“The whole time I thought that a marriage counselor would be our solution, but it turns out you're fucking them too."

Pulling away from her as he said the words that haunted her begin. How did he know what was happening. The 3 am phone calls of the counselor didn’t help him but pleasure her desire.

The ragged gasps, his eyes welled up with tears and he saw the same water reflected back at him.

“Please Wonwoo I don’t need this, I never baby never”

Her body sensitive his fingers, brushing a stray wet curl from her eyeview. His thumb tracing along her jawline as he murmured.

“No I thought you were different but your just like the others one is never enough for you”

His fingers on his zipper and undone his pants, his sharp movements causing urgency. He didn’t want to waste any more time, but it felt like she wasted all his life. He needed to feel her. To claim her.

His palms held her wrists above her head as the other hand ripped her panties to the side. Exposing her heated place.

He positioned himself at her drenched entrance. His tip disappearing inside her along with his veiny shaft. Thrusting his 9inch length in with one swift motion

Her existence cried out, her curves jolting against his. Wonwoo fingerprints held her Hips firmly.gripping his palms bruising of blue and purple as he Began to accelerate.

A crack of thunder followed by droplets from the sky on there naked bodies.Wonwoo half lidded and hair turning raven charcoal, his hair covering his forehead.

He roared “I’m never enough!”

He advanced himself into her again, his movements rough and unrelenting. Wonwoo’s anger fueling his assaults. Making him want to take her harder and faster.

“Baby you are” groaning out of her mouth her protest spurred him on.

Wonwoo lips found the side of her moist neck. His teeth pinched leaving a mark from the kiss. A mark of procession. A print that said she belongs to him.

Y/n was his, and he was never going to let you go.

“Then say it baby girl scream my name release on me”

Wonwoo’s attacks picked up momentum. Y/n’s curves withered underneath him. Her body responding to his every touch.

Wonwoo wanted her to fall apart on him. To hear her beg for mercy.

But she didn’t beg. Her demeanor met his stab for stab. Y/n body moving insync with his.

he couldn’t hold back any longer of his name being filled in his ears of her high pitch curses

“Fuck i’m close”

Y/n warned Wonwoo’s oragasm laced his body. Threatening to explode in her.

He drove one last time in her gummy wall losing rhythm. Burying himself deep as he could within her. Y/n felt her walls close in and her breathe hitched. He held himself inside her. Savoring the feeling Y/n fingers guided on his shoulder, has her ecstasy washed over her. The rain made her feel alive.

Her creaminess release on his length coming undone on him. Wonwoo’s half smirk seeing her soul leave her body and capturing it for himself.

His mess released inside of her and he boomed curses on how much she release while he filled her up.

He ejected out of her letting her spill both of them on his bike. Wonwoo pulled himself away, the anger never left his body but lingered with anticipation. He zipped back up his pants. Wipped his forehead and turning cold of what mess he had made.

He mounted the bike. Her standing beside it as the rain drop by drop on both of them and the betrayal never washed away.

“Wonwoo please we need to talk more”

Wonwoo started the engine and his bike roared on to the vacant road.

Leaving y/n standing there with a broken piece of a mess she needed to fix.

[imaginejamesandsirius]

James and Sirius are so beautiful together. I want to ask, if you have time, of course. Would you mind writing a story about james starting to call Sirius by a different pet name every day to get Sirius' attention. But, Sirius, even if he loves it, he plays it cool. Fluff and getting together

((Note: Read below or on AO3!))

“What the hell, Potter?” comes an enraged yell from across the Great Hall. James looks up to see Sirius Black storming towards the Gryffindor table with red and gold stripes replacing the usual green and silver on his tie. He snickers.

Remus tries to hide his amusement. “James, it’s the second day of school.”

James shrugs. “Which is why I used a second-year charm to torment him today. If he’d stop to think for half a second, he could easily solve the problem with the counter-charm.” He ignores Remus and Peter’s disbelieving scoffs and smiles innocently at Black when he reaches them. “Alright there?”

“What the fuck is your problem?” he snaps, grey eyes flashing. 

“It’s a second-year spell, Black, bloody hell. Just fix it yourself if it bothers you so much.”

“You think I didn’t try?” he bites out. “I wouldn’t put myself in your presence if I could help it.” 

Remus and Peter share a glance, then raise matching eyebrows in James’ direction. James doesn’t bother to look at them.

“See, here’s the thing. I could fix it, easily, but the Gryffindor colors look so much better than the Slytherin ones. So, no, for the sake of my eyes and everyone else’s, I’d rather not.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Black sneers and turns away. 

Not quite finished messing with him, James winks. “I’d rather you fuck me, ” he says, relishing the way Black’s eyes widen slightly and lips part before he recovers and smooths out his expression again. He once again ignores his friends’ bewildered expressions.

“I wouldn’t dirty any part of my body by having it come near you,” Black retorts. 

“Think about your come near me often, do you?” James says.

“That is not—you—” he splutters, then rolls his eyes. “You’re insufferable,” he mutters and walks away. 

James watches him leave and grins. He had expected Black’s predictable comeback, but his face, wide-eyed and caught off-guard, was a much more exciting reaction.

~~~

The summer before James started Hogwarts, his parents threw a large banquet in his name. They invited all the purebloods they knew and some others, and to their surprise, most of the pureblood families showed up. The Blacks, unable to resist the lure of a night of gossip and wine and music, were one of them. 

At eleven, James was just as restless as he is at seventeen. He’d managed to escape the crowds of people gathered inside Potter Manor to climb one of the trees on his back lawn. Something about the night—just a week before he’d leave for Hogwarts—made him ache in a way he had never felt before, and he wanted to step outside to look at the stars. His mum had taught him all about constellations, and he found comfort in trying to find them.

He was just about to swing his legs over the highest branch when his hold on the trunk slipped and he fell onto the grass below.

“You should watch where you’re going,” came a disdained sniff next to him. “Or are you blind even with your glasses?” 

James looked up to see the Black heir, clad in silk robes of deep emerald, eyeing him with a bored expression. His blood boiled—it was one thing to make fun of him, but another thing to consider him boring. 

“I’m not blind, but seeing you makes me wish I was!” he answered hotly. He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he was being unreasonable, that there was no need to lash out, but someone finding him when he was trying to get away from his own party made him feel unpleasantly exposed. 

“Clearly you blood traitors have no manners,” Black said. His expression remained bored and James wanted to punch him. How dare he come to James’ party just to insult him and then talk about manners?

“At least we’re not so inbred our family tree is more of a circle than anything resembling a tree,” he retorted.

“It’s to keep the good genes away from you lot,” Black said, scowling. 

James looked him up and down. “I don’t see anything I’d want to have,” he said, done with the conversation. 

In retrospect, it may have been a bad idea to make an enemy out of someone so magically inclined as Sirius Black, especially if said person was to be one of James’ peers for the next seven years. James decided to simply avoid Black for his own good.

On the train ride, he’d successfully managed to follow through with his decision. But as soon as they arrived at Hogwarts, all his efforts to avoid and ignore were quickly undone. As soon as they were sorted—James to Gryffindor, of course, and Black to Slytherin—Black started in on him as though he were making up for James having the last word in their argument in the summer just days ago. 

“I’ll never understand how the Sorting Hat managed to fit on you, Potter, with your head being as large as it is. Maybe that’s why you were sorted before it even touched you.”

“It’s really not that hard to understand, Black, but you were always a slow one.”

“Slow? More like waiting for you to catch up. It’s not fun having one-sided conversations, but you wouldn’t know the difference.”

And thus their years-long rivalry began. Initially, they exchanged nothing more than barbed insults, but soon, increasingly complex pranks followed. In their third year, Black vanished James’ clothes mid-Quidditch match, while James slipped enchanted powder into his shampoo bottle, causing his hair to become an impressive gold and red for a week. James cast a silent spell on Black’s shoes, making them squeak with every step, and in return, Black charmed James’ cloak to stick to him. 

This year, however, James has a plan to beat Black once and for all. It isn’t a particularly good one, but that has never stopped him.

~~~

The first week of classes passes without incident. James wants to feel happy about it—perhaps Black’s prudish nature couldn’t handle James’ comments a few days before—but instead, he feels rather, well, disappointed.

It comes as a welcome relief when Slughorn announces the potion they will be working on that week: Essence of Insanity. 

“Now, class,” he begins, leaning against his desk. “This is a very dangerous potion. I trust that as seventh years in a NEWT-level class, you are all well-equipped to make this without trouble. Now, can anyone tell me why it is so important to follow directions with extra care for this potion?”

Lily raises her hand. “It causes irrational decision making in the drinker, Professor, so it’s already a pretty dangerous potion if it falls into the wrong hands.” She pauses, instinctively flicking her eyes to the Slytherin half of the room. “And the main active ingredients, frog brains and beetle eyes, can cause unpleasant results if not mixed in the right way.”

Slughorn beams. “Excellent work, as usual, Miss Evans! Now, get in pairs. We’ll be working on this all week.”

Remus is already sitting near Lily, so James is left to partner with Peter. As he makes his way to the storage cabinet to get the ingredients, a shadow falls across his arm. 

“Your potion will likely be the best in the class, Potter, since you’ve mastered the essence of insanity ages ago, don’t you think?” a snide voice says next to him.

James hums, in the middle of crushing his spoonful of beetle eyes. “Well, my father is a master potioneer.”

“Sure, plus you’re a master at being insane—”

“You’re so tall,” James says, as he finishes measuring. “It’s nice.” He had turned around to return to his seat, but he hadn’t realized how fast the line had moved and how close Black now stood behind him. 

Black eyes him warily. “What?”

“I mean, I knew you were tall, since I’ve seen you around, but I hadn’t realized you were taller than me,” James continues. “You’ve probably got a couple centimeters on me. Probably makes it easier to reach these ingredients on the high shelves, doesn’t it?”

Black steps back, or as much as he can without trampling someone’s feet behind him. He looks down at himself, then back at James, mentally cataloging their height difference with a bewildered expression. “Um, I guess. So?”

“So, nothing,” James says. “Just that I find tall people more attractive. See you later.”

And then he strolls back to his cauldron where Peter awaits him, leaving Black baffled behind him. 

~~~

“Hey, Potter,” Black sneers in the corridor near the Great Hall the next morning, stopping James on his way to breakfast. “Where’s the rest of your little clique? Did they abandon you? I suppose they were bound to figure out how boring you are after seven years in your presence.”

James shrugs, the jab not bothering him nearly as much as it did seven years ago. “Remus and Peter woke up before me. And anyway, I’m glad I caught you without them around—they wouldn’t let me hear the end of it if they heard me tell you that green is your color.”

Black raises an eyebrow. James idly wishes he could make the same expression with as much ease. “The same green that you claimed was an atrocity to everyone’s eyes?” 

James nods. “Yeah. Somehow you make it work. I never noticed before, but your eyes are sort of a cooler shade of gray. The green brings out the color. You look good.”

“Er—”

“I’m not sure if the green is what brings your eyes out more, or if it’s your ridiculous cow eyelashes, or your hair,” James says, leaning a little closer to scrutinize him. 

Black takes an alarmed step back. “M-my what eyelashes?”

“Cow eyelashes,” James repeats, gesturing at them. “They’re all long and thick. Mine aren’t half as pretty, but I guess my glasses cover most of them anyway. Hey, is your hair wavy? I always thought it was straight.”

Black reaches up and touches his hair uncertainly, looking lost about how to deal with James’ onslaught of compliments. “Uh, no, it’s always been wavy.”

“I bet your parents aren’t a fan of you growing it out,” James remarks, wishing he could take the words back when he sees Black’s jaw clench. 

Unexpectedly, Black barks out a laugh, though his posture remains stiff. “That’s the whole point.”

James glances up, surprised. “Seriously? I’d have thought you would do anything to keep them happy.”

Black’s eyes darken. “Well, that just goes to show that you know nothing,” he says icily, sweeping past James into the Great Hall. James exhales heavily, regretting his words, before following him to breakfast.

~~~

Several hours later, James finds himself hunched over his and Peter’s cauldron of Essence of Insanity at the table in front of Black. He’s minding his own business, already feeling guilty about this morning’s encounter.

“Hey, Potter.” When James turns his head, Black is pointing at the jar of frog brains on the racks next to their desk, “If it’s not too much trouble for you to help a spineless, evil Slytherin.”

James’ lips tighten. “I didn’t mean—never mind,” he says, passing him the jar. He looks over at Black’s potion. “Hey—what the heck, yours looks amazing! What did you do?”

“I read,” Black snaps, voice sharp. “Which you clearly can’t do, even with an extra set of eyes.”

“I—”

“But it’s not unlike what I’d expect from you. It makes sense that a reckless Gryffindor such as yourself wouldn’t be able to read the room or, apparently, textbooks.”

James falls silent. “I’m sorry about this morning,” he says quietly. Then, gathering his courage, he says, “My dad always wanted me to follow in his footsteps, but I’ve never been the best at potions. He doesn’t say anything, but I know he still wishes I did better. Maybe we could work together for the next potions project since you’re really good at it? You could show me all the ways you’re better than I am at following instructions.”

Black doesn’t say anything, but his knuckles whiten where he’s gripping the jar. “Absolutely not.”

“Okay. Whatever you want.” He feels bad about earlier and chooses not to push Black any further. 

Black suddenly stands up and rounds on James. He digs the tip of his wand against James’ collarbone, and James takes a step back. His back collides with his desk, leaving Black leaning over him. Peter looks up, startled.

“Erm, Black?” James asks, his voice tentative. He reaches up and catches Black’s wrist, momentarily distracted by the contrast between the slenderness of the bone and the solid strength in the rest of his arm. The rest spills out in a rush. “You’ve got really nice arms, and normally I wouldn’t mind you pressing against me like this, but we’re in class and this definitely isn’t normal, at least for you. What exactly are you doing?"

“What am I doing?” Black repeats, incredulous. “The better question is, what the fuck are you doing?” 

“Nothing?” James replies. “And let go of me—I know you’re dying to get your hands on me, but Slughorn will notice.”

“This is what I’m talking about!” Black nearly yells. “Why the bloody hell are you complimenting all the damn time? You’re supposed to be annoying me, not talking about my fucking hair and my height and my hands! When I pinned you down, you were supposed to hex me or punch me or something, not act as if we—as if we were—”

“What, dating? Fucking? In love? All of the above?” James says mildly. “But I am annoying you, if this situation is anything to go by.” Black groans, running a hand through his hair in frustration. 

“Do you want me to hex you?” James asks after a beat, doubtful. “I mean, while it’s fun to rile you up like this, I’d be happy to punch you if you really wanted.” 

“That is not what I—no. ” Black rubs his eyes. “Fuck. You know what? Pettigrew, we’re switching partners for the next potion. I need to teach this one a thing or two about following the rules.”

“There aren’t any rules about how to antagonize you,” James begins. 

“Yes, there bloody well are!” Black snaps, cutting him off. “Like not flirting, for starters! Or complimenting my eyes! Especially when we’ve hated each other since forever!”

Peter speaks up, voice meek, like he doesn’t know whether to be amused or frightened. “Erm, is this supposed to be some kind of foreplay for you guys?”

Black jerks back. James gapes between Black and Peter, heat rising to his face. 

“No,” James rushes to say. “No, we’re not—it’s just a joke. I was trying to see how far I can go to rile him up.”

“Right,” Black scoffs. “You think I’m so stupid I wouldn’t catch on? Contrary to what you may believe, I’m not an idiot. I can think and do things for myself.”

He holds James’ gaze when he says that, and James flushes. Then the moment passes, leaving James with the nagging sense that he’s missed something significant.

~~~

James feels like an arse through the rest of his classes. He can’t unsee the way Black’s expression had closed off at the mention of his parents, the way he had flinched. Remus and Peter aren’t surprised when, all throughout dinner, James keeps looking over to the Slytherin table. James knows he’s like a mother hen to all the people he cares about. Black is hardly someone he can tolerate, much less care about, but even he isn’t ignorant of the Black family’s unorthodox principles of keeping their children in check. He feels terrible about bringing up all that baggage, especially when Black had actually been decent, as far as Slytherins can go. 

He had been laughing. In James’presence. 

Despite what had happened immediately after, James couldn’t help but remember the way his eyes had sparkled the instant before he had laughed, the way his shoulders had loosened with mirth. At that moment, when they had bonded for a brief moment over a mutual dislike for the Black parents, he hadn’t seemed like the irritating menace he had been throughout their Hogwarts years. He had just been a boy, bitter about the control his parents had over his life, and while James hadn’t understood, per se, he could still relate to doing things for the sake of rebelling against his parents. 

And then James had to muck it up. 

He feels responsible for Black’s bad mood as he watches him snap at his brother and friends over at the Slytherin table and later in the halls after dinner. As he makes his way to the Gryffindor tower to get ready for his night’s patrols, he quickly grabs the Marauder’s map before thinking better of it. It would be good to apologize to Black sooner rather than later, he thinks, and ignores the small voice in his head that Black wouldn’t appreciate an apology at all.

He finishes off his assigned rounds as fast as he can, then pulls out the map, his footsteps echoing in the quiet halls. The glow of his wand illuminates his face as he scans the parchment for the dot labeled “Sirius Black.” Finally, he spots it, hovering near one of the abandoned corridors on the seventh floor near the Astronomy Tower. 

“What’s he doing there?” James mutters to himself. A strange unease settles in his stomach. He folds the map and tucks it into his pocket, quickening his pace.

The corridor is dimly lit, the torches on the walls flickering feebly. James slows as he approaches, hearing the faint clinking of glass. Rounding the corner, he spots Black leaning against the wall, a bottle of Firewhisky in hand. His posture is loose, almost careless, but there’s a tension in the line of his shoulders that betrays his mood. His robes hang off his shoulders, the top buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned, and stray hairs from his bun frame his face. James swallows, trying to stop the way his heart quickens at the sight of the faint golden light spilling across Black’s disarrayed state. 

“Black?” James calls out cautiously. He tucks the map into his pocket. 

Black looks up, startled, and his eyes narrow. “Head Boy,” he says coolly, tilting the bottle in a mock salute. “What brings you here? Here to give me detention for being out after curfew? Or say something about my butt”

James steps closer, hands shoved into his pockets. “Thought I’d find you,” he says. “I wanted to apologize. But I can compliment your butt, too, if you’d like. It’s unfairly distracting.”

Black looks skeptical, but there’s an amused quirk at the corner of his mouth. “It’s my second-best asset,” he says. “And apologize for what? Letting your mouth run away with you earlier? Don’t bother. It’s not like it’s the first time.”

James winces but presses on. “Yeah, for that. Look, I shouldn’t have brought up your parents. It was out of line.” Then he pauses. “What’s your best asset?”

Black snorts, taking a swig from the bottle. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he murmurs. “Anyway, you’re not wrong about them. They’re bloody nightmares, both of them. But it’s not exactly dinner conversation, is it?”

“No, it’s not,” James admits. “Still, I—” He hesitates, searching for the right words. “I know I don’t understand what it’s like, but… I’ve seen enough to know it’s not easy.”

For a moment, Black just looks at him, the guarded expression on his face cracking ever so slightly. Then he slumps down to sit on the cold stone floor, motioning vaguely for James to join him.

“So you’ve come to play Mind Healer, have you?” he asks, his tone laced with sarcasm. His head tips back to lean against the stone walls, and James turns his gaze forcibly away from the long line of his neck, the sharp curve of his Adam’s apple.

Merlin, what was happening to him? 

He sits beside him, keeping a small distance. “Not exactly,” he says. “But if you feel like talking, I’ll listen.”

Black takes another swig and then sets the bottle down between them. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” James says with a faint smile.

Silence falls between them, stretching long enough that James wonders if he should leave. But then Black speaks, his voice quieter than James has ever heard it.

“They hate me,” he murmurs, staring at the far wall. “Always have. I’m not what they wanted. Not obedient enough, not ambitious enough, not…dark enough. Regulus? He’s the perfect son. Does everything they ask without question. Me? I’m the family disappointment.”

James listens, the weight of Black’s words settling heavily in his chest. “That’s not on you,” he says firmly. “That’s on them. Parents are supposed to, you know, love their kids for who they are, not try to mold them into something they’re not.”

Black lets out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well, that’s not how the Blacks operate. Loyalty to the family above all else. Toujours pur. It doesn’t matter if it breaks you in the process.”

James hesitates, then takes a long pull of Firewhisky. Gathering his courage, he speaks. “My parents—they’re not like that. They’re amazing, honestly. But even then, I’ve felt it sometimes, the pressure to be the perfect son. They’ve wanted a child for years, so I feel like I have to, I don’t know, live up to expectations. It’s nothing like what you’ve been through, but I get it. A little, at least.”

Black takes the bottle from him. “I thought you were the perfect golden boy.” He takes a shuddering breath, then closes his eyes. “When I was younger I actually used to be jealous of how easily you made friends and how happy you always seemed.”

“I am happy,” James says. “And I’m grateful for my friends. But it’s hard to be the ‘perfect golden boy’ all the time. Sometimes I just want to hex someone or scream bloody murder, but I have to keep up the act for others’ sakes. It’s tough. I’m always looking out for others, but not all of them would even think to look out for me. Not that I’d ever ask.” 

Black holds his gaze, something in James’ expression making his eyes soften. “I guess we’re not as different as I thought,” he says, almost grudgingly. He pauses, but then steeling himself, he continues.

“I can’t ask anyone for help either,” he says hesitantly, “I don’t—I’d be in a worse position if they figure out I’ve been speaking about family matters to outside people. And I can’t imagine Regulus in my place. He’s quiet, sure, and he never stands up to them, but at least he’s there. When everything goes to hell, he’s the only one who understands.”

James glances at him, surprised. “Really? I didn’t think you two were close.”

Black’s lips twitch into a faint smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “He’s my little brother. I’d do anything to protect him. And he’s the only one who looks out for me when there’s no one else. We both hate them, our parents. He just better at keeping his head down. It’s like he’s learned to survive by staying silent. I’m not sure if that makes him smart or just cowardly, but, well, it’s Reg. That’s just how he is.”

James nods slowly, understanding dawning on him. “Sounds like he cares about you in his own way.”

“He does,” Black says softly. “And I care about him. I just wish he didn’t have to carry all of this, you know? Wish neither of us did.”

“Maybe you don’t have to,” James offers. “Not alone, anyway.”

Black glances at him, something unreadable in his expression. Then, with a sigh, he inclines his head. “Maybe, Potter.”

“James.”

“What?”

“James,” he repeats. “Call me James. I’ll call you Sirius, if that’s okay?”

Black pauses, considering, then nods. “Okay, uh—James.”

They sit in silence for a while, the Firewhisky forgotten between them. And for the first time, James sees Sirius Black not as a Slytherin or an enemy, but as a boy who’s just as lost and hurt as anyone else. And he realizes that maybe, just maybe, they could be something more than rivals.

~~~

The next morning, History of Magic is as dull as ever. James strolls into the classroom, his usual confident swagger intact, but instead of heading to his seat beside Remus and Peter, he veers off. He makes a beeline for Sirius, who’s slumped in his chair at the far end of the room, looking decidedly worse for wear.

Remus and Peter exchange glances as James drops into the seat next to Sirius without preamble.

“What are you doing?” Sirius mutters, his voice low and gravelly, as though he’s nursing a hangover—which, James realizes with some satisfaction, he probably is.

“Spying on you, obviously,” James quips with a grin, loud enough for Remus and Peter to hear. “Can’t let a Slytherin out of my sight.”

Peter chuckles, apparently buying the excuse, but Remus just raises an eyebrow, his sharp gaze cutting straight through James’ bravado.

Sirius rolls his eyes but doesn’t protest further. He’s too distracted, his usual immaculate appearance slightly ruffled. His hair is less polished than usual, and while he still looks more put-together than James on any given day, there’s a weariness in his eyes that makes James pause.

“You look like hell,” James whispers, leaning closer.

Sirius glares at him. “Thanks for the observation, Potter. Very helpful. What happened to my beautiful eyes and hair?”

“They drowned in last night’s Firewhisky,” James says, fishing a small vial out of his pocket. He slides it across the desk. “Sober up potion. You’re welcome.”

Sirius hesitates, then snatches the vial and downs it in one gulp. He grimaces at the taste but says nothing, his posture straightening slightly as the potion takes effect.

“Don’t mention it,” James says, smirking. Cheekily, he adds, “Now you look like your usual hot self.” Sirius rolls his eyes again, but he looks pleased.

The two of them spend the first half of the lesson ignoring Professor Binns’ droning voice entirely. Instead, they pass notes back and forth, the parchment quickly filling with a mix of sarcastic commentary and idle chatter.

At one point, James mentions how he practices Quidditch during any free time he can find, juggling it with his Head Boy duties and NEWT preparations.

Sirius scribbles back, his handwriting perfectly even and neat. Must be nice. Slytherins aren’t usually welcome on the pitch unless it’s for reserved practice hours or games.

James reads the note, his jaw tightening. He scribbles furiously in response. That’s bollocks. The pitch should be for everyone. You should come flying with me sometime.

Sirius glances at the note, his expression unreadable. Then, to hide whatever emotion flickers across his face, he writes back, I’m busy. There’s a pause before he jots down, But maybe. Later this week.

James beams at the reply, his mood lifting instantly. Sirius glances at him, one eyebrow raised in amusement at James’ obvious delight.

“What’s got you so chipper?” Sirius mutters, though there’s no real bite in his tone.

“Oh, nothing,” James whispers back, still grinning. “Just thinking about how much I’m going to show you up on the pitch.”

“In your dreams, Potter,” Sirius retorts, but there’s a faint smirk tugging at his lips now.

“Oh, I do much more than that with you in my dreams,” James says with a wink. Sirius looks away, flushing.

When the lesson finally ends, James rejoins Remus and Peter as they head out of the classroom. Sirius takes a different direction, his gait more composed than it had been earlier.

“Alright,” Remus says as soon as Sirius is out of earshot. “What the fuck was that about?”

James shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Just keeping an eye on him. You know, for strategic purposes.”

Remus gives him a long, unimpressed look. Peter, however, nods earnestly. “Makes sense. Got to keep tabs on the competition.”

James hides a grin as they walk down the corridor, already imagining how satisfying it’ll be to have a proper challenge on the pitch.

~~~

The Quidditch pitch is quiet the night James and Sirius go to play, the lamplight casting shadows on the grass, illuminating the glinting frost, and reflecting the starlight that spills across the grounds. James hovers high above the pitch, his broom swaying gently beneath him as he watches Sirius adjust the straps on his gloves. 

“You ready to get your arse handed to you, Black?” James calls, his grin audible even through the distance.

Sirius mounts his broom, looking up with a smirk that could cut glass. “You fucking wish, Potter. Try to keep up.”

James’ laugh echoes as Sirius kicks off from the ground, soaring up to meet him. The wind tugs at their robes, the chill biting at their faces, but neither pays it any mind. The exhilaration of flying drowns out the cold.

“First to five goals wins,” James announces, flicking his wand to summon a Quaffle from the nearby trunk. It zips into the air, spiraling between them as if eager for the match to begin.

Sirius snatches it mid-flight, spinning his broom with a graceful twist that makes something warm spool inside James’ belly. “That’s one for me already,” Sirius taunts, his voice ringing with playful arrogance.

“Oh, it’s on,” James growls, diving after him.

The game is fast and brutal. Sirius weaves through the air with an agility that James can’t help but admire, his broom a blur as he dodges and ducks, keeping the Quaffle tantalizingly out of reach. But James is relentless, his competitive streak burning as brightly as the lanterns lining the pitch.

They clash near the goalposts, James’ broom edging perilously close to Sirius’. Sirius laughs, sharp and wild, as he swerves just in time to avoid a collision. He tosses the Quaffle toward the hoop with a flick of his wrist, but James intercepts it with a well-timed dive.

“Not so fast, Black,” James crows, tucking the Quaffle under his arm and rocketing toward the opposite goal.

Sirius chases him, the sound of his broom slicing through the air close behind. “That’s all you’ve got?” he calls, though his breath comes heavier now.

“Just warming up,” James shoots back, grinning as he swerves and hurls the Quaffle through the hoop.

They trade goals back and forth. Sirius’ form is impeccable; his turns are sharp, his throws precise. But James has the advantage of instinct, his ability to anticipate Sirius’ moves honed through years of playing against the best. By the time the score is tied at four each, both are panting, their breaths misting in the frigid air.

“Next goal wins,” James says, his voice tinged with exhilaration and exhaustion.

Sirius’ eyes glint with determination. “You’re going down, Potter.”

The Quaffle hovers between them, pulsing slightly as if sensing the tension. They stare each other down, brooms poised, before launching forward simultaneously. The Quaffle shoots upward, and they collide mid-air in their scramble to grab it. Sirius’ shoulder slams into James, but James holds firm, his hand closing around the ball.

“Not today!” James yells, pulling into a steep dive. Sirius is right on his tail, the distance between their brooms almost negligible. The goalposts loom ahead, but Sirius isn’t about to let him have the victory so easily.

With a final burst of speed, Sirius lunges, his fingertips grazing the Quaffle. It slips from James’ grasp, spiraling toward the ground. Both dive after it, the world a blur as they race for the ball. At the last second, Sirius reaches out, snatching the Quaffle and rolling to the side to avoid a crash.

He straightens, laughing triumphantly as he tosses the Quaffle through the hoop. “And that’s how it’s done,” he declares, his grin wide and smug.

James lands beside him, shaking his head but smiling despite himself. “You got lucky.”

Sirius’ laugh is softer this time. “Admit it, Potter. I’m the better player.”

“Never,” James replies, though there is no venom in his tone. He holds out a hand. “Good game.”

Sirius shakes it, his grip firm. “Yeah. It was.”

They stand there for a moment, the rivalry between them softened by the shared exhilaration of the match. The frost-covered pitch stretches around them, silent and still, as the adrenaline begins to fade. James looks over at Sirius, his hair a windswept mess, his cheeks flushed from exertion, and feels a warmth that has nothing to do with the exercise.

“Want to go somewhere?” he asks impulsively, his voice light but his gaze tentative. 

Sirius frowns. “Somewhere else? It’s nearly curfew, and I thought Head Boys were supposed to enforce rules, not break them.”

James’ eyes sparkle with mischief. “What’s the point of being Head Boy if I can’t use my power to bend the rules every now and then?”

Sirius’ lips quirk. “Are you saying you’re a bad influence, Potter?”

“Oh, the worst,” James replies, winking. He notices with satisfaction the faint flush creeping up Sirius’ cheeks, though he tells himself it’s probably just the cold. Probably.

Sirius huffs but falls into step beside him. “Alright, then. Lead the way, troublemaker.”

James leads him through the castle, weaving through shadowed corridors until they reach the entrance to a secret passageway behind a statue of a one-eyed witch. Sirius’ eyebrows rise as James mutters the password and reveals the hidden staircase.

“Well, would you look at that,” Sirius says, breathing a laugh. “A secret passage? How in the name of Salazar did you find this?”

“It wouldn’t be a secret passageway if everyone knew where to find them all,” James teases. 

“There’s more? ” Sirius exclaims. 

“Plenty,” James says smugly. “I’d love to show you more sometime.”

Sirius gives him a sidelong glance, but a faint smile tugs at his lips. “You’re full of surprises.”

They emerge in Hogsmeade, the village eerily quiet and coated in frost. Honeydukes is dark, but James has a way in, and soon they’re rummaging through shelves of sweets. Sirius surprises James by grabbing handfuls of sugar quills and chocolate frogs, stuffing them into his pockets with an almost childlike enthusiasm.

“You’re like a kid,” James teases, laughing as Sirius drops a handful of gold onto the counter.

“Shut it, Potter,” Sirius says through a mouthful of candy, but he’s smiling. “Everyone has their vices.” 

As they make their way back to Hogwarts, Sirius’ pace slows. “Potter—James,” he says. “Thank you for tonight. I had fun.”

James smiles. “Me too.” 

Sirius watches him carefully, then closes the distance between them to kiss him softly. 

James jerks back, staring at him in shock. “What—what are you doing?”

Sirius’ face colors. “Is this not what you wanted?” 

“No!” The word comes out before James can process the question. “Wait, what? No—I mean—”

Sirius laughs humorlessly and takes a step back. “Fuck off, Potter.” His glare is cold, mask slipping back onto his face to hide his emotions, but James can see real hurt behind his eyes. James opens his mouth to try and explain when Sirius talks over him. “Was it all for revenge?” he asks, waving a hand between them. “Try to out the Black heir as gay? See what it would take to get into my pants?”  His voice gets smaller as he speaks. “Well, congratulations, Head Boy, you’ve humiliated me enough.”

“Of course not!” James manages to get out. His heart is racing. “Of course that wasn’t what I was trying to do!”

“Then what were you trying to do?” Sirius snaps, glaring. “‘Your robes make your arse look fantastic, Black, and I really like your eyes,’” he mocks. His voice cracks as he continues, “‘You don’t need to be so alone anymore because you have me.’ Everyone thinks you’re the saint of Gryffindor, but you’re a right arsehole, you know that? You make me sick.” 

“I meant all of that!” James exclaims.

 Sirius spins around, his eyes blazing with something James can’t quite decipher—anger, fear, hope, maybe all three. “You’re a bloody fucking liar,” he says. “Because you just said you didn’t.”

“I do,” James insists, his hands shaking slightly as he gestures between them. “I’m sorry. You took me by surprise and I blurted it out without thinking. Of course I like you. As a friend, obviously, but I also like you as more than that. I would’ve run away screaming if I didn’t.”

Sirius exhales sharply, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. For a moment, neither of them speaks. The silence stretches, filled only with the sound of their breaths mingling in the cold night air. Sirius looks at James, really looks at him, as if trying to find the catch, the hidden joke, the reason not to believe him. But all he sees is honesty, open and raw.

“I hate this,” Sirius finally says, though his voice lacks the venom it usually carries. “I hate that you make me feel like this.”

James steps even closer, close enough that their shoulders nearly touch. “And how’s that?”

Sirius hesitates, his jaw tightening. Then, in a voice so soft it’s almost lost to the wind, he says, “Like I matter.”

The admission hangs between them, heavy and fragile. James feels his chest tighten, the weight of Sirius’ words almost unbearable in their sincerity. Without thinking, he reaches out, his fingers brushing against Sirius’. “You do,” he murmurs. “You matter, Sirius. So, so much.”

Sirius looks down at their hands, then up at James, his expression conflicted. “You’re going to regret this,” he says, but there’s no malice in his tone—just a quiet, lingering doubt.

James smiles, lopsided and genuine. “Not a chance.” Then cheekily, he adds, “I wasn’t able to enjoy the last experience as much as I should have, so may I kiss you again?”

“Are you saying you’re a better kisser than I am?”

“Your words, not mine,” James murmurs, then moves, closing the gap between them in one swift motion. His lips crash against Sirius, fierce and desperate, as if trying to convey all the things he can’t put into words. Sirius responds just as eagerly, his hands coming up to cup James’ face, grounding them both in the intensity of the moment.

When they finally pull apart, both are breathless, their foreheads pressed together. Sirius’ eyes are dark, but there’s a softness in them now that James hasn’t seen before.

“You’re insufferable,” Sirius mutters, though there’s no heat behind it.

James laughs, his thumb brushing lightly against Sirius’ cheek. “And you’re impossible. Guess we make a good pair, huh?”

Sirius huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “We’ll see.”

But the way his lips pull into the barest hint of a smile feels like a promise James is determined to keep.

~~~

By the next morning, nothing about Sirius and James has outwardly changed. At breakfast, they sit at their respective tables, Sirius laughing at something Regulus mutters under his breath while James launches a piece of toast at Peter for eating the last sausage.

But in the moments in between, when no one else is looking, James catches Sirius’ eye from across the Hall. It’s only for a second, but the corner of Sirius’ mouth quirks up in a small, knowing smile that makes James’ heart stutter in a way he’ll never admit.

They’re careful, of course. Sirius keeps his distance in public, maintaining his sharp tongue and impenetrable facade among his housemates. James plays the part of the Head Boy perfectly, breaking up scuffles and charming professors with his easy grin. Yet, when the corridors are empty or the nights grow still with promise, they find each other.

It’s during one of those moments, tucked into the shadows of the Astronomy Tower, that Sirius presses James against the cold stone wall. James’ hands slide up Sirius’ back, pulling him closer, and for a while, they forget the world outside.

“This is mad,�� Sirius whispers when they finally break apart, his forehead resting against James’. He looks at James with a mix of frustration and something softer, something he can’t quite put into words. “If anyone finds out—”

“No one will,” James cuts in, his voice low but sure. His hands rest on Sirius’ waist, steadying him. “And even if they did, I wouldn’t care.”

Sirius snorts, though there’s no real humor in it. “You’re Gryffindor’s golden boy, Potter. You can’t afford to be seen sneaking around with me.”

James tilts his head, his grin softening into something almost tender. “Maybe I don’t care about what they’d think. Maybe I care more about this.”

For a moment, Sirius doesn’t reply. He just looks at James, his expression unreadable. Then, without another word, he leans in again, his lips brushing against James with a deliberate slowness that sends a shiver down his spine.

~~~

One evening, they meet in an unused classroom near the dungeons. Sirius is leaning against a desk, his arms crossed, watching the door with a practiced indifference that vanishes the moment James slips inside.

“You’re late,” Sirius says, but his tone lacks its usual bite.

“Got held up with patrols,” James replies, shutting the door quietly behind him. He grins as he steps closer, his hands finding their way to Sirius’ hips. “Miss me?”

Sirius rolls his eyes, but there’s a faint pink tinge on his cheeks. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

James leans in, his lips brushing against Sirius’ ear. “Too late.”

~~~

It isn’t always easy. There are days when Sirius withdraws, the weight of everything—his family, the expectations, the constant mask he has to wear—bearing down on him. Those are the days James finds him in the empty classroom on the third floor, sitting on the windowsill and staring out at the grounds.

“Sickle for your thoughts?” James asks one afternoon, his voice gentle as he approaches.

Sirius doesn’t look at him. “You don’t have enough sickles, Potter.”

James doesn’t push. Instead, he sits beside Sirius, their shoulders brushing as they watch the sun dip below the horizon. After a while, Sirius speaks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s stupid, isn’t it? Hiding like this.”

James turns to him, his eyes soft. “Maybe. But if it means I get to have this—to have you—I don’t mind.”

For a moment, Sirius says nothing. Then he reaches out, his fingers brushing against James’. It’s small, almost imperceptible, but it’s enough.

It’s always enough.

[allykatsart]

Hiiii, hope you're well ally ^-^, Purely curious and it's cool if not, will we get to see or learn more about pec's childhood at some point in the story?, ik it was mentioned as an idea he might of been kidnapped or adopted by a person in the cult at a young age, if i remember correctly (to be fair i have the memory of a goldfish), are there any stories from when he was a kid in it? (i won't lie part of this is I'm curious what little kid pec looked like)

Who is Peccantum?

Heya! Nice to see you again! Thanks for letting me yap about my boi for a bit X3 unfortunately, I don't have a lot of art to add, but I do have this.

I actually have solidified his background a bit more since then (mostly through RP's with friends). I don't think I'll make a whole comic on it, not yet. But I did end up writing some stuff that I want to expand on here.

(TW for violence, murder, child manipulation, death, rituals and sacrifice)

Peccantum's Memories

He is four. A child with fingers full of baby fat. There's a woman, with a gentle smile and golden freckles. She presses ribbons of magic into his palm and he giggles as they circle his hands. Sparks of magic travel across his skin. She hums an almost forgotten tune.

He is six. He is surrounded by people he would come to know too well. He is scared, though he does not remember why. He draws a circle in sidewalk chalk, adorning it with scribbles like the runes the adults keep showing him. They tell him he has a gift. They tell him he can be a part of their family. He is sure no one else will love him.

He is eight and he holds a dagger in his shaking hands. The adults whisper to him that they know it's scary, but it's needed to be a part of their family. It will be over quick. He just needs to prove himself. Just do this one thing for them. A stranger lays in front of him. He plunges the weapon down and is covered in something red, wet, and warm. A unholy baptism of blood.

He is nine. He starts his training. Unrefined power is woven into delicate silks of magic. The head of the family takes notice, swiftly taking him under his wing. Dolf's teaching methods are... harsh, but they work. He learns quicker than ever before, devouring the knowledge like he is starving.

He is ten. He is yelling at his teacher. He knows he shouldn't but he is just so angry and exhausted and Dolf just won't listen when he says it's too much. He sees Dolf's hands flex and that is the day he learns to fear his teacher.

He is twelve. The fight in him has not yet been quelled. Frustration bubbles under his skin. Two adults corner him, jealous of his position. They spit vile words at him, calling him things that make his anger reach boiling point. A snap of his fingers later, their tongues are cut off. They will never speak again. Somehow, his teacher does not punish him for this, but praises him. He feels better afterwards.

He is fourteen. He is well behaved, and Dolf is pleased with his progress. Dolf moved on from teaching him magic to teaching him how the cult runs. He assures the boy that they are special, they know the truth. They are to keep everyone else in line for their grand plan. His smile turns wicked. He enjoys their suffering now, because he thinks knows he is above it. Above them. Better than them.

He is sixteen and he is sent on his first solo hunt. His prey is a runaway, a traitor to the pack. An easy test, though there would be more difficult ones to come. He kills them, of course, he's been trained for this. But he does not escape unscathed, deep red welts where their fingernails dug into his skin. He bleeds for his success. Dolf praises him, and he greedily drinks it in, thirsty for his approval.

He would never betray his master.

He is eighteen, almost nineteen. He has earned the trust to explore the mountains to his heart's content. He has killed many people, by this point, some he had known all his life. Some were twice his skill and age. Not all of them are runaways. He leaves the bodies for the dogs to eat, the wildlife gets whatever is left over. There is a strange place, hidden in the mountains, that he finds. He finds a book there, one that has him endlessly curious. He sneaks off to read it often.

He is nineteen.

He's just nineteen...

Rough hands against his wrists as he screams his throat out. Forced to the ground by people he had known all his life did they know too?! A boot against the back of his head forcing his face into the dirt. A spell, and then he felt a part of himself being torn away did it hurt this much when he did this to others?

There is talk of sacrificing him to complete the ritual. But he is clever, and for the first time in his life, he chooses his fate.

He is running. He knows it is fruitless. He knows there's miles and miles between him and the next town. He runs anyways. He hears the sounds of dogs in the distance.

They have caught his scent.

He is found, back against an old tree, limbs shaking. He stares up at a face he had always known, and sees death in its stead. He begs for mercy. Pleads for it.

It never comes.

[ofgrenvde]

Aarti Sanwal His threat made her blood boil. This man had the audacity to compare a legitimate arrest to deliberately blowing her cover out of spite? "Not against the law? Are you serious right now?" She jabbed a finger in his direction, keeping her voice low despite her fury. "Your friend wasn't some innocent bystander who happened to be nearby. He was actively distributing for the Sanchez family when we caught him. That's a choice, not bad luck." She ran a hand through her hair, fighting to keep her composure in the parking lot. "You expose me, and people die. Real people with families. Is that what you want on your conscience? All because you couldn't get your precious fries from someone else?" Her eyes burned into his, challenging him. "This isn't about getting even. This is about you throwing a tantrum when you don't get your way. My job is protecting people. What's your excuse for threatening to destroy that?"

Jesse Romero.

his face twisted in surprised. his friend had told him a completely different story and he hadn't known that he was working for the sanchez family. in fact, he steered clear of anyone who typically associated themselves for any of the crime families in devil's junction. still, he didn't like her attitude or the way she acted toward him. "first off, i didn't know what my friend was doing. he told me that he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. so, i will apologize for accusing you of arresting him otherwise and exposing you for doing your job may be a little out of line." he paused, "but secondly, don't you think that maybe you're overreacting simply because i asked someone else to serve me? it's a preference. i'm sure i'm not the only one that has those sort of requests."

Aarti Sanwal A preference? Like choosing paper over plastic at the grocery store? Her jaw clenched so tight it might shatter. Of course he'd try to minimize his behavior after finding out his friend lied to him. Men always backpedaled when caught being jerks. And now he had the nerve to lecture her about overreacting? “Well, now you know to blindly believe your friend. I’m not a fucking monster. I don’t get enjoyment out of putting innocent people in prison.” His whole attitude screamed entitled brat who'd never worked service industry a day in his life. "Let me be crystal clear; this isn't about preferences. This is about you walking in here, making demands, then threatening to blow up my life when you didn't get your way. And no, other customers don't pull that kind of stunt. They order their food like normal people or go somewhere else. Your friend lied to you, and instead of apologizing like an adult, you're trying to justify being a jerk. Not happening."

Jesse Romero. he knew that whatever he said wasn't going to solve the obvious issue that the two of them had together and he wasn't going to continue to sit here and argue with a woman who's mere presence annoyed him, despite her having explained the situation a little more. jesse sighed, letting his head fall back as he pushed his hands over his face and shook his head. "this conversation isn't getting us anywhere and i've got way better things to do than to stand here and argue with you. clearly, you're not going to let go what i did and you're offended by my choice to ask for someone else. so, what do you say we go our separate ways and i'll order prohibition petes on post mates next time?"

Aarti Sanwal Was this man serious? His dramatic sighing and head-tilting act wasn't impressing anyone. She bit her tongue, tasting the sharp edge of her own anger. This vineyard snob had crashed into her bar, thrown a tantrum, possibly cost her a job, and now wanted to pretend they could part ways peacefully with some lame Postmates comment. Her fury bubbled beneath her skin like acid. No more playing nice with a man who threatened her entire operation over fries. "You know what, I'm not going to keep arguing with you. You do what you want, and think what you want. Just stay out of my way." She turned and stormed toward her car, keys digging into her palm. This disaster of a night was all his fault, and she'd be damned if she'd stand here pretending otherwise. Now she could only hope she wouldn’t end up losing her job at Pete’s.

Jesse Romero. he wasn't going to continue to go back and forth with her. he didn't have to. it's not like she was anyone to him but a giant pain in his ass and as she turned to storm away from him, he couldn't help but to let out a sigh of relief. if she hadn't walked away, then he would have. watching as she made her way to her car, he shook his head. "she sure is something else." the man muttered under his breath and turned on his heels to approach his own car. tonight certainly hadn't gone as planned but at least he knew to avoid prohibition pete's from here on out.

COMPLETED

it was clear that the two of them weren’t ever going to be on the same page and that really wasn’t surprising at the end of the day. The more she spoke, the more annoyed he was and that was mostly due to the fact that she thought as though he had no right to request another waitress. Taking in a deep breath, “and what are you going to do if I do? It’s not against the law for me to expose you. After all, I’m only doing to you what you did to my friend and you know what? My friend just was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He didn’t deserve what you did to him.” He huffed out, his arms crossing over his chest. She wasn’t ever going to see it his way and he knew that, that’s for sure.

[vvanillavveins]

Is she Lucy Westenra, or is she just a vessel for the writer's barely disguised fantasy of a women being punished for her promiscuity? Is she really"Bram Stoker's" Lucy Westenra: a naive, innocent 19 year old, with a cheery personality and a bright future ahead of her? Or has the writer instead just slapped her name on an OC that behaves nothing like her, and- with none of the grace or decorum that Lucy's tragically short story deserves- sexualized her slow and agonising death as much as possible, whilst very unsubtly doing their best to blame her for being murdered, so that we won't object to her being killed again later in an even more gruesome and sexual manner?

[mirrorofliterature]

'obi-wan is such a poor little tragic meow meow'

me, vibrating: obi-wan dug his own grave and he KNOWS it, stop erasing obi-wan's explicit narrative role in creating darth vader. he knows he fucked up when raising anakin, he did fuck up when raising anakin, he DID fail anakin. it's a pretty explicit part of the PT and OT.

them: obi-wan never did anything wrong and anakin, the child, was simply too difficult for obi-wan, the grown ass adult. everything is anakin's fault and obi-wan suffers the most out of every star wars character

me: *throws up my hands in the air* look at what you did to the perfectly flawed complex failed mentor figure. you woobified him into a 2D cariacature, look OSP agrees with me: 'great character, not so great mentor'

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

havin a normal night. doin a completely normal soundtrack listen. n bein. normal. like always.

[neonhellscape]

hated sons of brutal families

[buckydeservesthebest]

I want to start by apologizing for my previous post, it was terribly terse, and I didn't explain myself as I'd have liked, as I ignored many factors that must be taken into account. The truth is that I wrote it while I was in college online classes... it wasn't my best idea...

Back to the topic. You have interesting points. I think this is a much more complex topic than we initially thought... The mouse in my head didn't stop spinning until I came up with this two-cent theory:

I’d like to start with the point that it actually makes a lot of technical sense that Bucky under the Winter Soldier programming possesses the memories of what happened in his missions prior to the memory wipe. I mean, it doesn't mean at all that every instant the WS is activated he remembers everything, but that the memories are there and when his handlers order him to give information, he can, with some effort, access them.

Let me explain, the first decades after Bucky's capture, HYDRA tried in all its capabilities to eliminate all his memories and thus make his identity disappear, as they needed a… it hurts me to say it… blank canvas that offered no resistance to start with the conditioning and programming. But we know that all this presumed "wiped" memory was never truly gone, as Bucky finally regained his identity, so in reality what they did was not to erase but only to suppress all this data in a very recondite place in the subconscious of his brain so Bucky's consciousness could not manifest itself and interfere with the Winter Soldier's programming.

But according to Zola's notes (in The Wakanda Files book) even without an outside stimulus to help him remember his past life, as Steve was, Bucky was already beginning to manifest memory fragments and emotions on his own, which is why immediately after each mission they would place him in cryostasis and at the start of each new mission they would begin the process of memory erasure and the use of trigger words.

My point is, no matter how much damage HYDRA did to Bucky's brain over the decades, they could NEVER truly erase the memories of his past life, so that means the memories Bucky acquired as the Winter Soldier could not be erased either.

In reality, it would not be convenient for them to continue to cause such severe damage to Bucky's presumed “formatted” memory, because his brain must still be able to apprehend information. In fact, it is under the REM sleep state (the type of trance to which the Winter Soldier is subjected) that the brain is most receptive to information, there the brain regions used for learning are stimulated. That makes sense why HYDRA chose this type of trance, because it is the best way to make the human brain accept new information... basically, reprogramming it.

Trying to eliminate the memories the Winter Soldier acquired during his missions is directly proportional to the brain damage caused. And severe amnesia causes damage to semantic memory (general knowledge, facts and concepts), procedural memory (this is the memory of skills and procedures), short-term memory (the ability to retain new information) and anterograde memory (refers to the difficulty to form new memories after the onset of amnesia).

All of this would be counterproductive for HYDRA, as after every memory wipe before every mission, they would have to basically retrain the Winter Soldier in combat tactics, use of weaponry, tactics to leave the scene of the crime unseen and without leaving a trace, and a long etcetera... This is definitely a situation they don't want to deal with...

This must mean that the ECT to erase Bucky's memories must be located more specifically in the oldest memories, those of his past life that make him who he is. Long-term memory is mainly stored in the hippocampus, according to the studies I could read, and precisely in the Wakanda Files book, Shuri says that this is the area most widely affected.

But leaving aside the more technical aspect, and returning to what Marvel has let us see, it is worth noting that when Zemo asked Bucky for the specific place in Siberia where he was held captive was *after* having pronounced the trigger words and the Winter Soldier was activated, because Bucky would never have shared that information voluntarily.

Zemo: "Why don't we discuss your home? Not Romania. Certainly not Brooklyn, no. I mean, your real home" (this is the moment when Zemo shows Bucky the red book and starts to say the trigger words, with no other flashing scenes).

That means Bucky did remember what he talked to Zemo about while he was under the Winter Soldier trance, because well, that's the information he gave Steve and Sam.

Also, there's the fact that Bucky remembers information about the other WS, like they were HYDRA's most efficient assassins before receiving the serum, etc... (the following flashback about them seemed to be a flashback Bucky had, at least that's the impression I got). This is information he must have heard by the time his handlers had assigned him the task of physically training them. And this seems to be something Zemo asked him as well, as Bucky thought that was the reason he wanted to get to Siberia. And in any case if this was information that Zemo told Bucky in that moment, it'd still mean that he remembers what happened under the Winter Soldier state.

And Zemo's comment: “Did you really think I wanted more of you?” reinforces the idea that they talked about it. (By “you” Zemo must be referring to Bucky, as he replies, “what the hell?” in confusion.)

So why couldn't Bucky recognize Steve and Natasha? My theory is that the WS's level of conditioning and programming is such that he is literally incapable of performing an action that is not part of the order his handlers gave him. I mean, if they ask him for information about a much earlier event, as Zemo did, Bucky is forced to go out of his way to remember and access those memory files that do exist, even if they are very hidden, but if the action of remembering is not part of the order then he doesn't have to, or rather, is unable to remember.

Note: I think this shocking degree of conditioning could be seen in the training of the other WS. For the order given to Bucky was to train them, and one of them seemed to hold the upper hand in combat. But once the situation got out of control and Korpov ordered him to get him to safety, the order changed and he was able to defeat almost all of the WS single handedly. All this maintains the familiar stance that the Winter Soldier exists only to obey... i'm not okay... 😭

Also, when Bucky questioned Pierce about who Steve was, it was because when a tiny fraction of his memories came back, a tiny fraction of his personality surfaced, and this allowed him to ask a question. For the Winter Soldier never questions, because he doesn't have that capacity. So, I wouldn't say it was so much that “what Bucky’s handler said doesn't make sense for him, but he can't be sure” but rather that he was incapable of performing on his own the act of trying to recall and access those memories of the supposed mission Pierce was telling him about. (added to the fact that his short-term and long-term memory are in constant flux, something he cannot control... I'll explain it below)

Natasha's case is simpler because the assigned mission for the Winter Soldier was to neutralize or assassinate her, remembering her was not part of the order of course, also she doesn't represent anything important in Bucky's life to remember, unlike Steve.

But he couldn't remember Steve when they met again on the Helicarrier either, right? Well, Bucky also had no flashback manifestations when Steve called him “Buck”, unlike the first time. I think it was the fact that HYDRA subjected Bucky to another ETC within a short time of each other - which they hadn't had the need to do before - or perhaps that this ECT was more intense, which caused Bucky to take much longer for a fragment of his memories to manifest.

That's why it took longer for Steve to try to get him to remember, tell him that his name is James Buchanan Barnes, that they are friends and have known each other all their lives, and it was until the end with “I'm with you until the end of the line” that finally a glimpse of Bucky's memories came back. I mean, Steve had to try a lot harder this time to get the same effect that calling him “Bucky” had the first time.

Note: I feel like besides the new ETC, the reason it took Bucky a lot longer to remember was because that was the order Pierce gave him, like “if that guy in disguise wants to make you think you know him, don't listen to him, you don't know him, don't think and just take him out” or something like that... and hence the very aggressive reaction to try to combat the resurgence of memories…

I find it interesting that at the very end of CA: TWS, despite Bucky remembering a sliver of his life, which gave him back his autonomy, there was not a flashback of his life before being captured by HYDRA to follow, unlike the first time Steve called him by name. So, I think maybe this could mean that in this case, he didn't have a manifestation of episodic memory, i.e. a memory with images, voices, etc. But rather it was a manifestation of emotional or associative memory, i.e. feeling that he knew Steve and feeling that he was a very important person to him, feeling that he was his family...

Note: Associative memory is memory through associations, such as a smell or a song, in this case I'd say it was the phrase “I'm with you until the end of the line”...

Did in the following time, more memories and flashbacks manifested in Bucky's mind? Well, this is difficult to answer, because there is nothing to indicate that his rate of memory retrieval is linear or constant, I mean, it is not continuous or patterned.

In fact, in the book The Wakanda Files, Shuri says that repaired memory centers/retrieved memories are temporary! For Bucky's short- and long-term memory are in constant flux.

"it was as if Sergeant Barnes was in REM sleep while awake, in a dream-like state where he would comply with orders. And while in this induced state of mind, his short- and long-term memory were constantly in flux. However, the shared memories of Barnes with his best friend, Steve Rogers, *momentarily* fired memory centers, jogging bits and pieces of his past life while in the sleeplike trance." “It would seem that stimulus, especially emotionally resonant stimulus – the sight of a loved one, the mentioning of a familiar phrase, etc – has the ability to access a presumed “wiped” memory in those who have been brainwashed… *at least for a fleeting moment*.” – The Wakanda Files

So, this means that if Bucky retrieves a certain amount of memories at a certain instant, he may no longer have them a moment later. That explains why his backpack was just full of notebooks with notes everything he can remember, for fear of losing those memories, just like those with Alzheimer's, as Seb put it.

So, the idea that Bucky didn't quite recognize Steve at their meeting in Bucharest is not far-fetched, because it's possible that at that time he didn't quite have memories of him or their friendship but only what he read about him in the museum. So, his response “I read about you in the museum” would technically be true!

Then, the idea that Bucky had access to all the memories of his past life at the end of CA: TWS is actually not correct. In fact, it can be seen in CW, in the talk he had with Steve when they arrived in Siberia, that the memories of their childhood together were something he was remembering even at that point, as he didn't remember Dolores' name, for example. The point is, each and every one of Bucky's memories come and go (maybe only until before he got help from Wakanda), so they can be there one moment and for the other not, he can go a long time with no trouble remembering and a second later lose a bit of information.

Now, according to all this we can make a relationship between the percentage of memory obtained, the percentage of personality/identity manifested and the degree of influence of the Winter Soldier programming. We have that:

Percentage of memories gained is proportional to percentage of identity manifested.

% of acquired memories = % of manifested identity.

The percentage of manisfested identity is inversely proportional to the degree of influence of the Winter Soldier's programming.

In other words, the more memories Bucky recovers, the more of his personality comes to the surface and the less effect the WS trance state has on him.

This may explain the change in Bucky's personality at the beginning in Bucharest, for if by that time the amount of memories he possessed was small, i.e. his manifested personality was not complete (ergo: the Winter Soldier trance state was still influencing his behavior), then his continued nervousness and hyper-vigilance - yes, this in addition to the PTSD already present - was normal. And this would explain the slightly more aggressive behavior when fighting the SWAT team in the fight in his apartment. Also, did you notice how Bucky knocked Steve down immediately after he touched his shoulder? It was a self-defense reaction based on the tension induced by the trance-like state of the Winter Soldier.

Note: I believe Bucky was really really trying hard not to kill or hurt anyone, but the influence of the WS trance-type, which is mostly violence, was still having an effect on him (sorry if I have said it many times already, but I feel that if I don't, the sentence loses meaning), so he couldn't control the aggressiveness of his fighting form even when he tried. But our boy is so good that in the end he was able to control himself enough to actually not kill anyone... :')

Now, following this logic, this would also explain Bucky's more relaxed and cooperative behavior after passing out, as the severe head concussion would have brought back his memories/consciousness in a way analogous to how the emotional stimuli from the outside (the power of friendship) did the two times in CA: TWS. That being the case, Bucky immediately recognized his best friend and returned that affection and that gentle, soft manner with which he always treated him in the past.

Note: This means that the concussion to the head had a greater effect in giving Bucky back some of his memory, as opposed to the external emotional stimuli whose effect seems smaller (sorry Steve).

You can see in his body language how the memories started to flow in his mind… “Your mom's name was Sarah...You used to wear newspapers in your shoes.” He even laughed when he said this! That is a spontaneous reaction to a thought that is forming at that moment.

So, the sequence of events, where Bucky first asks “what did I do?” and then with effort remembers what he talked to Zemo after the Winter Soldier was activated, is not contradictory, because:

i) His short and long term memory is in constant flux.

ii) He had just woken up from a concussion fainting so it's natural that he was confused and that it took a while for his memories to start flowing.

Note: In this scene he appears to hit his head as he releases his arm from the chair, was this intentional? Was he trying to knock himself out before Zemo finished uttering the trigger words? Had he succeeded, he would have regained his memories upon awakening... 😭😭

Now, finally speaking of Tony, does it make sense that Bucky said he remembers all the victims he was forced to kill? The answer is yes, it can make sense, in the interpretation in which that information exists in Bucky's brain, those memories are stored there. And Bucky's ability to access those memories, while volatile, also exists. And by probability, the possibility that at some point in time all of those memories will suddenly appear in Bucky's mind, also exists.

Perhaps... perhaps and at that moment, in which Bucky said that to Tony, he had indeed remembered a large number of those victims, maybe not all of them because he could not be sure, but a considerable amount that in the metaphorical sense can be taken as “all”... that is possible...

Then there is the more symbolic perspective of the situation, where saying “I remember all of them” is a way of saying “all those deaths are something I'll carry forever, even if I don't remember literally all their faces... their deaths matter to me....” ... this is the interpretation I always had of the scene....

Note 1: But I also agree with the interpretation that by saying this, even when true, Bucky was giving Tony the excuse he was looking for to try to kill him... and if someone had to die there, Bucky wanted to make sure that was him... tell me our boy is one of the noblest characters of all without telling me! 😭 Note 2: I totally agree that, although Bucky remembers the people he was forced to kill, it would be in any case, a memory of only their faces and not their identities, because this cannot be deduced (unless HYDRA gave him the names, but I think this was never shown), as in the case of Tony's parents, certainly Bucky did not know their identity until the moment he saw the recording...

So, well, I feel all of this would disprove the idea that Bucky tends to lie or fudge the truth about his memories to put the situation in his favor (which, indeed, there is absolutely nothing wrong with), because Bucky is at the mercy of the volatility of the manifestation of his memories, and he can only rely on what he remembers at the time. Also, nothing that has been seen about Bucky indicates that he ever lied to turn things on his favor.

We can come to the conclusion that it is not a question of whether in the ABC situations he was Bucky or was not (not counting the time he was under the control of HYDRA, because here Bucky did not exist), but the percentage of Bucky's consciousness/personality that manifests. Nor about whether his memories are reliable or not, but about the volatile flow of memories that come and go and the ability to access this information that always exists.

*Again, I apologize for the wrong impression I gave in my first post, on the subject of emotional detachment to memories and whether Bucky's memories were reliable or not, i expressed myself terribly badly, so please feel free to ignore it.*

.

Now, talking about whether TFATWS confirmed the fact that Bucky remembers everyone. The short answer is yes. This was the premise of the series, and the book "The Falcon and The Winter Soldier: The Art of the Series", which we can consider canon because it was published by the entire production of the series, clarifies it:

In fact, Bucky's line in episode 6 also confirms it: “You think your cause justifies all this death, but in the end, the nightmares won’t go away. You’re gonna remember all the ones you killed. Trust me. Don’t do this. Don’t go down this path.” (no Bucky, HYDRA was never your cause, because your consciousness didn't even exist at that time!)

There is also Spellman's comment he gave in an interview: "So when Bucky enters the series, he's never ever shaken what he believes, which is, 'I remember everyone, murders, which means that part of me was there, which means a part of the Winter Soldier is me.' And if even a fraction of Winter Soldier is you, you are an awful person."

Talking about the idea that the show doesn't explicitly say that Bucky's nightmares are memories. Actually, the show did say that, again in a Bucky line:

Sam: “You still having those nightmares?”

Bucky: “All the time. It means I remember. It means a part of me is still there. Which means a part of the Winter Soldier’s still in me."

Yeah, it’s clear that he seeks information about those victims in order to make amends, but those nightmares are still memories, because those events are information, and well, by definition a memory is the brain's ability to retain and retrieve information.

Nightmare = Memory = Information

Speaking about the amends, well, in fact, it was never explicitly said that the government imposed them on Bucky as a condition of his pardon. In reality, only mandatory therapy was discussed as the only condition. That's why in episode two, the cops arrested him for not attending the mandatory session.

In the conversation between Bucky and Dr. Raynor it is made clear that it is the government's intention to be sure that he is a “non-dangerous member for society” (the real dangerous people were the ones who at the time were the Winter Soldier's handlers, as by himself he didn't have the capacity to do anything!). And therefore, the necessity of mandatory therapy...

“You’re a civilian now. With your history, the government needs to know that you’re not gonna… It’s a condition of your pardon. So, tell me about your most recent nightmare.”

That's why the only issue she wants to talk about is whether he's still having nightmares, not whether he's made progress with the amendments: “So, Mr. Barnes, are you still having nightmares?” “So, tell me about your most recent nightmare.”

And later again: “So, you did it all right, but it didn’t help with the nightmares.”

It seems that for Dr. Raynor nightmares are considered as “a sign that something is not right" (no! they are a manifestation of PTSD caused by decades of torture and are treated with years of a real healthy therapy!), so it has to be worked on so that Bucky can reintegrate into society. And for that, it was concluded that Bucky “had to make amends to make him feel better" (that's not how this works, on the contrary, it's only harmful to him!).

It always seemed to me that amends are something that Bucky wanted to do. I mean, it's an idea that came from him. He let Dr. Raynor know about it at some point and she imposed those “three rules” on him...

And about the idea that Bucky didn't have nightmares in Louisiana because he wasn't thinking about the list. Actually, Bucky told Sam that he has nightmares all the time... this has nothing to do with thinking about that list or not...

Sam: “You still having those nightmares?”

Bucky: “All the time....”

Again, nightmares are one of the many ways in which PTSD manifests itself and depending on the severity (Bucky's case must be the most severe there has ever been) it requires years or decades of real healthy therapy to disappear, if it disappears at all. In addition, what Bucky suffers from is NOT only PTSD, but irreversible brain damage and many serious mental illnesses... and none of this is going to magically disappear because of "Sam's motivational speech and putting himself at the service of others" (which is nothing more than victim blaming and... ahhh.. but I won't talk about it right now)...

So, the possibility Bucky will always have nightmares is very high... 😢😭

Maybe this is part of the reason we find him in such a depressing state in Thunderbolts???? :'((((

“That line was an interesting moment. At the time, the choice I was making is that [Bucky] had realized there was no way he was getting out of there, and someone was gonna die, whether it was gonna be him, Steve or Tony. When he says that line, to me, it was a turning point — he was, like, ‘Okay, I know what you want me to say, and I’m just gonna say it.’ When someone comes at you over and over again, and they can’t hear you, they can’t see you’re pleading with them, you’re trying to figure out how to get through to them and they just won’t accept it, at some point you just give in, and you go, ‘that’s right, that’s what you want.’ Of course [Bucky] didn’t remember them all.” —  Sebastian Stan