#so although Four is physically and chronologically older than Two—

[brown-little-robin]

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[libsterslobsters]

Whole Lotta Love

Synopsis: For some people, Valentine’s Day is another word for "stress", especially when you don't know what the other person is expecting. Several years into their relationship, Bucky’s pretty sure he has a good understanding of the Reader, until a word from Sam makes him question everything he thinks he knows. The race is on to make their first Valentine’s Day since saying their vows a special one, but as per usual, fate has it's own ideas about what will make the holiday truly memorable

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem! Enhanced! Super-soldier Reader

(Reader can see bits and pieces of the future in visions as well as speak every language)

Warnings: Smut, Fluff

Author's note: This fic contains references to earlier stories. For more information, click the series masterlist link. As always, the reader is unnamed so that this can be read as a self-insert, but at this point, I think of her as an OC.

The song referenced is Hearts Don't Break Around Here by Ed Sheeran

Series Masterlist

A The Song Remains The Same Fic

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“So, Valentine’s Day.”

Bucky doesn’t look up from his laptop (or more specifically, the field report he’s typing) at Sam’s words. Despite his concentration, he can tell that his partner is staring at him, boring holes into his back with his gaze.

“Uh-huh.” He’s listening, but so far, he doesn’t care.

“What are you doing for it?” For Valentine’s day? Um…

“Not much.” It’s a Tuesday this year, right? Then probably working, like most other people, he’d imagine.

The room is silent as he types, so Bucky assumes that settles the matter. That is, until Sam mutters a quiet, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“About what?” How many paragraphs does he have to type before he can pass this off as a full report? When he joined the Avengers, he thought the hardest part of his job would be the bad guy of the week, not doing paperwork!

“You’re really not doing anything for Valentine’s Day? Seriously?” He nods absentmindedly and clicks the save icon. He’ll finish this tomorrow. It’s five o’clock. Time to head home. Home to-

“What’s your wife gonna think about that?” He shrugs and cuts the power to the laptop.

“She thinks that the whole holiday is a rip-off. See you Monday?” He turns around for confirmation, only to catch Sam staring at him, mouth hanging wide open. “What?”

“A rip-off?” Is he just going to be stuck repeating himself?

“Yep.” Told him that the first February 14th they spent together.

“And you actually believed her?”

He nods. “She’s not one to lie.”

Sam nods incredulously. “Uh-huh. And are you planning to ever have sex again?”

He’s not going to dignify that with an answer (because really, isn’t it obvious?).

“Fine.” Sam shrugs. “You do you, man. All I’m saying is, if I had a wife who looked like that-” he indicates the lock screen of Bucky’s phone (a picture of her laughing, telling him to put away the damn camera after wrestling the dog for the tie to her favorite robe). “-I’d have my V-day plans set up a month in advance.”

Normally Bucky would take what Sam says with a grain of salt, but he is after all a man out of time, so maybe it’s worth considering that his partner may be right.

“What would you suggest I do?”

“Outside of the bedroom?” He narrows his eyes at the Falcon. “Okay, bad joke.” Sam scratches at the back of his head, thinking. “I don’t know, man. That’s your girl. You know her best, but flowers are always a good place to start.” Good to know that hasn’t changed since the 1940s. Although, last time he brought her flowers, she spent the afternoon sneezing until he eventually convinced her that it was okay, he wouldn’t be offended, she should throw the damn things out. Then again, that was before she was a super soldier.

“Flowers.” He repeats, earning a nod from Sam.

“You can get creative. Do a little research. But I’m just saying, when a woman waits five years for you to reappear, the least she deserves is a few flowers.” On that, they can agree.

He must bid Sam some sort of goodbye and make his way through the Avengers compound, but he’s unaware of anything until he’s in the parking lot, sitting behind the wheel of his car, googling “What to do for your wife on Valentine’s Day.” There’s a web page that boasts twenty different selections. Might as well give it a look.

___________________________________________________________________________________

She’s nearly home when her phone dings with a text from Barnes. “Just got in. Forgot to get milk. Can you swing by on your way, or should I go to the gas station and pick up a gallon?” A frown forms on her face. It’s pretty rare that Bucky forgets things. Must’ve been a hell of a day at work, then. Either that, or his brain has completely turned to mush thanks to typing out field reports. Either way-

“I got it. See you in twenty.” She thinks about tacking on a “love you”, but the light turns green before she can.

The grocery store is packed thanks to so many people getting off work. There’s only three carts left, all with bad wheels. She chooses the least squeaky option and, grabbing an add on her way, heads into the grocery store. Milk, and if she remembers right from this morning, they’re running dangerously low on coffee and tea. Despite caffeine having absolutely no effect on their enhanced bodies, both of them are nightmares to be around in the mornings without their beverages of choice. Force of habit and all.

She’s halfway to the checkout when she sees it. A sign, decorated in garish shades of red, pink, and purple. “All Valentine’s Day chocolates 10% off.” Shit. Yeah, that is coming up. To tell the truth, she’d completely forgot all about that day halfway through February. For most of her life, it only meant giving homemade cards at school when most kids had store-bought. Then, once she reached adulthood, it was a reminder that she was destined to be alone. Who would want someone who’s on the run, and what’s more, sees the future? Once she and Barnes got together, it didn’t change much. That first Valentine’s Day, he mentioned the holiday, and she shut it down immediately. They were both broke (or at least, he had no legitimate way of making money while she was broke), and celebrating a mostly commercial holiday seemed like a waste. Plus, she didn’t want to put a strain on a new relationship. Over the years, the subject never came up again, and she’s content for it to stay a non-starter, thank you very much. In her opinion, you should show your partner you love them every day of the year, not shoe-horn it into one twenty-four hour period. Call her unromantic if you must.

She’s completely immune to the various displays of cheap chocolate in heart-shaped boxes and overly sentimental cards as she approaches the register and starts to unload her items. Milk. Tea. That one specific brand of coffee that he likes because, “It tastes like what we drank in basic training. Terrible, but I kinda got used to it, so now everything else tastes like it’s trying too hard.” whatever that means. He’s right; she’s tasted it, and it’s fucking awful. Still, every morning, he drinks at least three cups while she drains her pot of tea.

“You got a hot date for Valentine’s Day, hun?” The cashier asks her, never breaking her rhythm as she rings up the items.

She chuckles. “As a matter of fact, yes.” The cashier’s eye go wide, and she holds up her left hand. “And every other day.”

“Ooh, nice. How long have you been together?”

“Nine years.” Wait… “Or four years, depending on which of us you ask. He blipped, I stayed.”

The cashier nods. “So are you older than him now?”

Physically? They’re not completely sure, but if you calculate the times he was off the ice with HYDRA and add that to the age he was before the serum, then they’re not far off. But chronologically- “No, he’s still older.” And yes, it will always be funny that Sam responds with “Okay, boomer” whenever Bucky makes an outdated reference (even if he’s off by a good twenty years).

With a little more light chatter, she pays for her items and leaves. Now, for home.

As soon as she opens the front door, she’s greeted by their dog, Sarge, barking excitedly and hopping around like he’s on a trampoline despite missing a leg. Bucky’s not far behind, placing a quick peck on her forehead before taking the bags from her and unloading them in the kitchen. Tonight’s his night to cook, but unless her nose has suddenly decided to give out, he hasn’t started dinner yet. She doesn’t mind taking over tonight, and when he sheepishly apologizes while she begins her preparations, she brushes it off. Although, for the second time in an hour, she’s seen proof of his unusual absentmindedness. Oh well. She’ll ask him about it later.

Despite being relieved from tonight’s chef duties, Bucky stays in the kitchen, sitting at the breakfast bar scrolling through his phone as she cooks. His expression is neutral, which can mean one of two things; a) he’s just killing time and there aren’t any interesting posts or articles vying for his attention, or at the opposite end of the spectrum, b) he’s deep in thought, possibly angry, sad, or even frightened, but he’s gone into Winter Soldier mode and shut down so that she won’t pick up on his mood. Damn the man and his poker face.

Eventually dinner is served and she sends him off toward the fridge in search of two beers while she serves their plates. Just as she’s spooning a generous helping of salad into her bowl, it happens. A vision, but a limited one. All she’s seeing is a phone. Well, that and the hand holding it. She’s not sure whether to be proud or embarrassed that she immediately recognizes the hand as Bucky’s, but that goes by the wayside as she takes in the article he’s reading. “Should you do something for Valentine’s Day even is she says no?” It’s a thread on some anonymous discussion board. The reply that has his attention is in reference to a now divorced individual who “was dumb enough to believe that, on our first V-Day as a married couple, she didn’t want anything.” Oh boy. Not good. This will be their first Valentine’s Day since exchanging vows, and if the fact that he’s read this reply (if not already read, will read soon) means that it’s at least crossed his radar that she might be feeding him bullshit. That’s not the case, but after his research, she knows from experience that no matter how much she tries to convince him otherwise, a small part of his mind will be stuck on, “But what if this is a big deal?” Which means-

“Doll, are you just gonna stand there with the salad tongs in your hand?” That snaps her out of it.

“No. Just a vision.” He frowns as she passes him his plate.

“Anything important happen?” Should she say?

“No.” She’s not sure if the smile or not, so she takes a bite from her roll to cover it. “Random sneak peek.” It’s not a lie. What she saw really isn’t important. Still, if he’s in that mindset, she should probably go on and do something for him just in case. After all, why should it only be the ladies who reap this holiday’s benefits?

___________________________________________________________________________________

Not flowers. That’s the one thing that, after copious amounts of research Bucky is one hundred percent certain about. They may still be a common romantic gift, but since they were also a go-to back when he was courting girls in the 1940s, it’s safe to say they’ve been overdone. Plus, he doesn’t really want to remind her of that time she had such a severe allergic reaction to the flowers he picked her on a walk through the park in Bucharest that her eyes nearly swelled shut and she sneezed herself sick. That doesn’t exactly seem like prime romance.

Chocolates or other candies have the same issues as flowers. Contrived and predictable. A bottle of wine is nice, but neither of them can so much as get mildly tipsy thanks to the super serum. The fourteenth is his day to cook, so he guesses he could do some reading and try to create something a little more special than spaghetti (he thought about going to a nice restaurant for dinner, but there’s a few issues with that, not the least of which is they’re likely to be recognized without their disguises, and he’d rather not look at his wife through sunglasses on Valentine’s day), but that seems a little underwhelming.

As he loads the dishwasher (she fell asleep half-way through the third episode of whichever nonsensical comedy they’re watching this week, so he sneaked back downstairs to clean up the dinner dishes), he thinks back to the dozen separate articles he read on the subject of Valentine’s Day gifts. Jewelry was a common theme, but that’s out. She’ll say thank you to his face, but worry about the cost behind his back. Plus, he has absolutely no idea what she’d like, and there’s no sense in purchasing something only for her to hate it.

Another common one was lingerie. Bucky almost choked on his tongue when he saw some of the examples given with that option. None of it looked comfortable (in fact, he’s still scratching his head about how you even put on one of the pieces that popped up on the web page) and he doesn’t want to give her the impression that she has to dress up for him. Even putting all that aside, he has no idea what size she’d even wear. He likes to think that he knows his wife pretty well, but somehow, in all their years together, it never occurred to him to ask her for her clothing sizes. That, and have you even seen the bra sizing system? Does it make sense to anyone, because to Bucky, it’s all gibberish. 32 B? 36 DD? What the hell? Somehow, when HYDRA was training him to extract information, they failed to go over the translation of a woman’s bra size. He supposes he could ask, but he’s not sure there’s a non-suspicious way to work, “Hey, sweetheart. What size are your breasts?” into casual conversation.

Sam said to get creative, so he tried to think outside the box. What’s something she really needs? A new vacuum cleaner is the first thing to come to mind, but he’s not stupid enough to think that would make a good gift. He knows she’s had her eye on a set of throwing stars, but that doesn’t seem to correlate well with what this holiday is all about. That’ll keep until her birthday.

He’s still wracking his brain for anything at all that might work when he feels a wet nose poking at his hand. Sarge. “Hey, boy. Has your mom gone to bed?” The response is a quiet “woof” and lick to his palm. He scratches the mutt behind the ears, smiling to himself as Sarge’s back leg thumps at the treatment.

“What do you think we should get our girl? Huh?” There’s no reply (of course not, he’s talking to a dog), but he nods, pretending all the same that Sarge has offered up a suggestion. “A bone. Yeah, somehow I don’t think that’s her thing. Try again.” The dog blinks at him lazily. “No, you’re the one who wants new tennis balls. Not Mom. Although you’re right about her liking peanut butter.” At this rate, he might as well get her a bone and some tennis balls, because he’s sure not coming up with any ideas.

She likes music. The thought pops into his head while he’s brushing his teeth. All sorts of music. Over the years, he’s tried to make sense of the songs he’s heard her listen to, but has yet to find a discernible pattern in her listening habits. She doesn’t seem to stick to just one genre or era. More like she picks songs by how they relate to what she’s feeling at the moment. Wait a second-

“A mixtape.” His reflection mouths the words back at him. Despite technology having moved on from the days of burning CDs, she still has a thick stack of the disks stored in a cabinet and plays them on the regular. He’s even seen a few that she made herself, pasting together the songs she likes to make a “Cleaning mix”, “Workout Mix” and “Pissed off Mix”. Bucky’s sure he could figure out how to burn a CD, but it’s not like she’d be able to listen to that everywhere she went. That leaves a playlist. She uses one of those apps to listen to music on her phone, right? Surely he can put something together for her using that.

Quietly, he climbs into bed next to his sleeping wife and pulls her back against his chest, slinging one arm over her waist as usual. He closes his eyes, but his mind is alight with activity. A playlist. Of course. He’ll put some extra effort into whatever he cooks that night, stop by a bakery and pick up some sweet treats for dessert. Hell, maybe they’ll both dress up and act like they’re on a date. Then, once they’re sitting down to their meal, he’ll pull out his phone and hit play. It’s perfect. At least, he hopes it is.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Putting on a lacy bra and panties set underneath her regular work attire seemed like a brilliant idea this morning. Today’s a short day; she’s only got three classes to teach, and Rhodey called last night to tell Bucky that he’s suspending work hours at three pm “Since most people have holiday preparations to make.” Her plan was to be waiting on the sofa in the living room when he arrives home, professional button-down blouse open just enough for him to get a good look at what’s underneath, pencil skirt pushed up enough to reveal the stockings and garters she’s donned for the occasion. It’s fun, with just enough cheesiness to match this whole holiday. And, well, it’s a guarantee that by the end of the night they’ll be in bed together, both rumpled, sweaty, and satisfied. Perfect, right?

Wrong. On her drive to work, her skimpy underwear began to ride up, giving her a wedgie, and there was no way to adjust without running the risk of wrecking. She was so distracted by her discomfort that she missed her exit, and by the time she arrived at the college, she was running so behind that she didn’t get the chance to run to the bathroom and readjust. Her lecture on sentence diagrams was pure torture before the underwire from her bra decided to join in the fun and poke her directly in the ribs, but with that addition, she was especially impatient with her students’ tendency to joke around a little too much in class.

Luckily, she had just enough time to wrap the exposed metal bit in tissues before her next class, which eliminated the pain in her chest, but did nothing to alleviate the discomfort once her stockings began to slide down, having at some point disconnected themselves from the garters. She taught like that for the next two classes, but as soon as they were over, she pealed the whole ensemble off in the teacher’s restroom and changed into her gym clothes. Alright, screw the whole seduction routine. She needs to blow off some steam and fast, or else she’ll be in a bad mood all night.

That’s why, thirty minutes later, she finds herself in the training room of the Avengers compound, working over a punching bag. “Fuck-” Her fist connects, making the bag swing crazily from it’s hook. “-this- whole- day!” It goes sailing, and she feels a little better.

“Ouch!” The voice comes from behind her and she whirls around, gaze resting on-

“Sam.” The man in question holds up his hands in an “I surrender” gesture.

“Don’t shoot! I come in peace.” Rolling her eyes, she holds up her middle finger, receiving a snicker in acknowledgment.

“Just working off a little frustration before I head home.”

“Good.” Sam chuckles. “’cause otherwise, I’d be worried that when Barnes pulls out his dick tonight, you’ll bite it off.” She thinks about telling him that there’s no chance of that, but she might just cut off his if he crosses her. However, that jogs her memory.

“Has he left yet?” Sam nods.

“About an hour ago. Said he had to pick up groceries.” Shit. There goes her plan to shower, throw the damn lingerie back on and proceed as planned.

Bidding Sam a hasty reply, she makes tracks towards her car and, once inside, heads for home. Fine. New plan. She’ll shower once she arrives and then when the evening is drawing to a close, wait for him in bed. Nodding to herself, she puts the car in park and climbs out. Now, to psych herself up enough in the next few hours to put the damn lingerie back on.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Where did he go wrong? It takes all of Bucky’s self control not to spit out the spoonful of sauce he just tasted. This was supposed to be an easy recipe for Chicken Alfredo (or at least, that’s what the website boasted; he should’ve known better than to get his information from the internet and stuck to a good old-fashioned cookbook from the library). Not… whatever the hell this is. Maybe even if the sauce is nauseating, the chicken is okay?

He pulls open the oven door, and immediately smoke billows out, making his eyes water. Okay, chicken’s a little well-done. Who is he kidding? Black. The chicken is burned black. And the pasta… he lifts the pot lid and stirs, only to come to the realization that the pasta is completely stuck to the bottom of the pot. Wonderful.

It’s inevitable; over the years, he’s had his fair share of cooking disasters, but usually he does okay. Tonight though… who the hell up there did he piss off, because the only explanation for how badly this is going is his karma coming due.

Still holding the offending spoon, he looks over at Sarge, who’s staring at him, long pink tongue sticking out as he pants. “Trust me, boy. You don’t want any of this.” There has to be something else he can pull together on short notice. Normally he’d be worried that she’s running late without so much as a text, but today he’s relieved. At least if she’s running behind he’ll have time to… what? Maybe order takeout? Before she gets-

“I’m home.” Shit.

Sarge yips, shaking with excitement, and starts towards the kitchen door, then turns back, uncertain. “Go on. I know you’re dying to jump on her and lick her face.” Something they really should be training out of him because he’s getting too big for that sort of behaviour but, well… there’s a reason they call them “puppy dog eyes.”

Not needing to be coaxed, the dog takes off, tripping a little in the momentary lapse in his memory that he’s a tripod, but easily catches himself and goes on his merry way, leaving Bucky to clean up his mess. From the sound of things, a game of fetch is going on in the living room, so she should be distracted for a while.

He manages to pour the sauce down the drain and scrape most of the pasta into the trash while Sarge is acting as a decoy, but there’s absolutely no way he can dispose of the chicken without tipping her off (damn enhanced senses, it’s a wonder she hasn’t already smelled it). Finally, he decides to just go for it. She’s going to notice whether he throws it out now or two hours from now. Might as well get a head start on cleaning.

Sure enough, not ten seconds after he empties out the oven, he catches a movement in his peripheral vision, and the familiar sound of her breathing tips him off that he’s no longer alone.

“Hey, Doll.”

“Hey, Bucky. Did something burn in here, or-” He holds up the pan for her inspection before continuing his scraping.

“That’s one way to put it, yeah.” He slams the lid back on the trashcan and turns on the tap, intent on rinsing out the pan. “Another is whoever the god of culinary arts is has it in for me today.”

She chuckles. “You know, that would be funnier if we didn’t actually know a god.”

“Yeah, but he’s in control of thunder.” He meets her eyes, smirking slightly. “Although it did look like I electrocuted the bird.” Her lips quirk up into a smile, and he takes the opportunity to kiss her, cupping the back of her head gently to hold her in place when she tries to move away, muttering something about being sweaty.

He’s not entirely sure how it happened, but by the time they come up for air, her back his pressed against the wall and he’s got her pinned in place. Not that he’s complaining.

“Anyone ever tell you that the tip of your nose turns pink after you’ve been kissed?’ Her cheeks go rosey in response.

“I think so. One guy did. I told him it’s only when I’m kissed properly.”

He really would like to continue the playful banter, but there’s still the small matter of whatever it is they’re going to eat.

“What do you feel like for dinner tonight?”

“Apart from electrocuted chicken?” He responds with a swat to her ass, which earns him a snicker. “Let’s keep it simple. Pizza. Your choice of toppings.” Right, that’s easy enough. Plus, if they have to wait longer than thirty minutes, it’s free.

“Okay. I’ll order while you shower?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

He’s just pulled up the menu on his phone when the sound of her clearing her throat attracts his attention. She’s standing in the doorway, combing through her freshly let down hair with her fingers, a playful look in her eyes.

“Or you could join me. Just a mild suggestion.”

Dinner can wait for a while.

___________________________________________________________________________________

The Brooklyn townhouse they live in has many nice features. There’s a functional if small screened in back porch, big enough to hold a table for two and a grill. Two bedrooms, on the off chance someone from work needs to crash for a night or two. A kitchen with a dishwasher. A working fireplace. Good closet space. And an en suite bathroom.

Maybe it’s a little ridiculous to call a bathroom luxurious, especially when, in comparison to what’s featured in many brownstones, it’s more than modest, but she can’t help but think of it as such. There’s a double sink so that in the morning rush to get ready, Bucky’s able to shave and brush his teeth without having to wait for her to finish applying her makeup. Shelving above the toilet makes certain that even if the last person to shower took the towel with them, another one is on hand. Speaking of the shower, it’s not the largest one in the world, but both of them can fit in comfortably at the same time, which is what’s lead to their current situation.

She’s just finished allowing the water to course over her body, easing the sweat from her skin, and is about to begin the process of washing her hair, scrubbing her body, but she hesitates. She might as well ask. It’s only practical after all.

“Do you want to start now or get cleaned up and have dinner beforehand?” It’s obvious what she’s referring to, so she doesn’t bother to spell it out.

His brown knits, and if she didn’t know him as… intimately… as she does, she’d actually believe he’s confused.

“Oh, so you’re just assuming there’s gonna be sex involved at some point tonight?”

She shrugs, wringing out her hair.

“Seemed like a safe enough bet.” She glances pointedly between the two of them. “After all, we’re already undressed. “

His laugh is a quiet huff, barely discernible over the sound of the water. “Then I’d say start now, have dinner, then go for round two. Sound about right to you?”

She nods. “Solid plan.”

“Then get over here.”

Unlike the welcome home kiss they shared not half an hour ago, this one is less tender, more electric. Hands twist in hair, bodies press together. Tongues begging for entrance quickly give way to teeth nipping at bottom lips, an unspoken sparring match for who’ll be in control this time around. Ultimately he wins, grasping her hips and lifting as she wraps her legs securely around his back.

There’s no need for prep; the teasing of their earlier words is foreplay enough. Back pressed against the wall, her body easily welcomes him in as she braces one arm against the glass shower doors for balance. Any concerns about slipping and falling wash away as they move together like so many times before. She’s sure her nails will leave marks on his back, fingertips digging in for purchase and it’s a guarantee her hips will be littered with fingerprints from his grip, but she can’t find it in her to care, and if the desperate, bruising kiss assaulting her lips is anything to judge from, neither can he.

“So damn good, Doll.” It’s panted against her neck. “Always. So damn perfect for me.” All she can manage is a moan in response.

She feels him twitch inside of her and knows he’s close. So is she, but she can’t quite get there without-

As if he’s read her mind, he reaches between them to touch her where she needs it most, and on instinct, she readjusts, locking her arm around his neck to stay in place. “Let go, sweetheart. Can you do that for me?” She couldn’t disobey if she wanted to.

“Fuck.” As her walls contract around him, he pulls out just in time to paint her middle with his release.

“That’s one word for it.” She’s still fighting to catch her breath, but she shoots him a shaky smirk, which he returns.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mrs. Barnes.” Snickering, she releases him to stand on unsteady legs and pecks his legs.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mr. Barnes.” Maybe there’s something to this holiday after all.

___________________________________________________________________________________

“You want the last slice?” Bucky considers it for a moment before deciding-

“Nah. You can have it.” It may not be exactly what he planned, but it’s been a good night. Between the two of them, they’ve gone through two large pizzas while watching the new version of Beauty and the Beast (she rolled her eyes when he asked if this was her way of saying he reminds her of a certain hairy, horned character) in their pajamas.

“No, really. You take it. I don’t want it.” She nudges the mostly-empty pizza box towards him. The noise makes Sarge lift his head from where he was snoozing beside her on the sofa. That gives him an idea.

“I don’t want it either, but I can think of someone who does.” He cocks his head towards the now-drooling dog. “How ‘bout it, boy? Wanna help us out?”

Snickering, she picks the pepperonis and pieces of sausage and ham from the pizza, forming a pile. “Here, Sarge. Catch.” She tosses a coveted treat in the air, and Sarge’s jaw snaps, swallowing it whole. “Good boy.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes before she speaks again.

“You know, I actually did have something planned for you.”

“Oh, yeah?” She nods.

“Absolutely. Had a whole seduction plan laid out. Tiny underwear, lacy bra, and stockings with garters included.” Huh. Guess she wouldn’t have taken the “lingerie” option the wrong way. He’ll file that away for future use… along with a mental note to ask her bra size. “That is, until I tried wearing the damn things for longer than an hour. Turns out, hiding a dirty secret under your clothes is more itchy than sexy.”

He can’t help it. He laughs, producing a pout from her which quickly turns into her own quiet laughter.

“Well, that fits in perfectly with my fancy dinner going up in smoke.”

“We really do have shitty luck with the whole “romance” thing.” She’s joking, but he decides to respond anyway.

“I don’t know about that.” Entwining his fingers with hers, he lifts their hands, twin wedding bands catching the light. “You waited five years for me to reappear after the blip, and I convinced you to elope with me. Seems pretty romantic.” Although, that reminds him…

“Don’t move.” Releasing her hand, he stands and goes in search of his phone.

“Bucky, what-”

“Don’t move, Doll. Stay right where you are.” Ah. On the kitchen counter, just where he left it. Jogging back into the room, he resumes his place on the couch next to her. Ignoring her questioning gaze, he pulls up the app and, selecting the correct playlist, hits play.

Immediate recognition blooms on her face at the opening lyrics. “She is the sweetest thing that I know. Should see the way she holds me when the lights go low.” He’s not one for modern music, but when he was googling “songs for Valentine’s Day” and this one popped up, he couldn’t help but think that the lyrics were fitting.

“I didn’t know you’d heard this one.”

He chuckles. “Even old men have a few tricks up their sleeves. That, and a wifi connection.” She rolls her eyes but leans closer, which he takes advantage of to show her the playlist.

“This is the app you use, right?” Receiving a nod, he continues. “Feel free to scroll through and add whatever you want. I haven’t listened to all of them the whole way through, but they seemed to fit the mood.”

Her hand closes over his, covering the phone. “Thank you, Bucky. It’s perfect.”

As the singer goes on about how hearts don’t break around here, he presses his lips against hers.

“I love you, Doll.”

“Love you.”

Not bad for a disastrous Valentine’s Day. Not bad at all.

[mamikiddy]

Keys to Finding The Right Way to Potty Training.No Hustle No Stress

If you're like most parents who are still monitoring their two-year-olds' pee pees and poops, you're looking forward to potty training your toddler and moving closer and closer to a diaper-free household. And who could blame you? In addition to being expensive and messy, diapers may even serve as daycare roadblocks. So, it's in everyone's best interest to get the job done sooner rather than later...

Understandably, however, you may be unclear on the best method for potty training toddlers and may even be completely clueless. If so, don't worry - none of us was born knowing how to potty train children (it's definitely a learned skill) and you can get reliable help for real-life experts... like me.

Learn more the easiest ways to potty train your toddlers

I've been potty training toddlers for the past thirty years and have witnessed firsthand what approaches and techniques work best. I have also counseled hundreds of parents along the way and conducted extensive research in order to learn what pediatricians, child therapists, and other experts advise. And although potty training methods vary widely there are four basic approaches. The first is, what I call the "let-children-teach-themselves." Widely used in the United States, it is based on a belief that potty training is a developmental skill that cannot be "taught" - much like walking, talking and eating solid foods. In other words, children will be potty trained when they are ready. End of story.

To be perfectly blunt, this is hooey, and in my opinion has far more to do with parental preferences than it does with sound scientific theory. Simply put, this "method" requires little or no preparation and easily fits into busy lifestyles. Why? Because parents aren't doing anything!

Yes, they may introduce their children to the potty, but that's about it. As a result it usually takes 1-6 months longer to potty train; often interferes with childcare opportunities because these toddlers are that much older when they're trained; diapers are needed longer, so parents waste money; and it's more difficult to potty train these toddlers because their behaviors are more entrenched.

The second method for potty training toddlers is one that is not commonly used in the United States and practiced mostly in developing nations. I call it the "potty-train-babies" approach.

Parents using this process, hold their infants over the potty to catch their eliminations. It's based on the theory that babies will gradually learn to signal before they urinate or have bowel movements. And while there is scientific evidence that supports this theory and it certainly puts an early end to diapers, it is extremely impractical for most families. Why? Because it requires an extreme level of attention and commitment from parents, grandparents, babysitters, and anyone else who comes in contact with the babies. Also, as you might expect accidents are commonplace so time and energy spent cleaning up can be onerous. In other words, this is definitely not potty training made easy!

The third basic approach is the "practice-makes-perfect" method; over time parents introduce their children to the potty and conduct regular teaching sessions with them. The system is based on the belief is that toddlers will eventually "get it" and transition from diapers to pull-ups to underwear.

Learn more the easiest ways to potty train your toddlers

Again, in my opinion, this method sets parents - and children - up for failure for three major reasons:

1. The vast majority of parents cannot remain consistent over the extended period of time this requires (i.e. practice sessions must be frequent and regular in order for this to work). Also, you should be aware that this is a slow and circuitous road to a diaper-free world, so be prepared to hunker down for the long haul if go this route.

2. Using pull-ups and/or diapers during the training process sends complicated mixed messages to toddlers and severely hampers the potty training process

3. Children are learning to use the potty at their parents' initiation, not their own! That's not the objective here... the goal is to potty train toddlers, not parents!

The fourth basic method for potty training toddlers is the accelerated approach. Although there are many different techniques used within this fundamental mode - some good, others not - I do recommend this method.

Here is a quick overview of an accelerated method which combines time-tested, wholesome behavioral modification techniques within a positive, nurturing and emotionally supportive environment.

o Before potty training toddlers parents assess their developmental and chronological readiness

o One parent (or teacher) commits to potty training process for 24-48 hours and sets up a one-on-one teaching environment and prepares carefully in advance.

o The potty training teacher follows specific step-by-step instructions,which are designed to accelerate the potty-training process.

o Potty training is accomplished in much less time than traditional methods and provides a wonderful bonding experience for parents and their children.

In the end, however, how you potty train your child will be a personal decision based on your lifestyle and preferences, and regardless of which method you choose, it's important to keep the following in mind...

1. Toddlers have a profound and earnest wish to grow and master new skills, even though they may act as stubborn as mules! Children want to be potty trained, even if they don't show it!

2. Normal, healthy toddlers between the ages of 18 and 27 months should be physically and developmentally ready for potty training. If you have any concerns regarding your child's readiness, check with his/her pediatrician.

3. Parents who have a well-thought-out and workable plan - and execute it properly (this is a big one) - are far more successful (i.e. their children are potty trained faster, less stressfully, and more completely) than those who do not. Period. I hope this information has been helpful to you and you'll pass this article along to a friend or relative who may find it useful as well.

Learn more the easiest ways to potty train your toddlers

[musingmycelium]

da 20 questions

i was tagged by @goblin-deity thanks dear <3 and i’ll tag @lyrium-lovesong @raymurata @pegaeae @veridium-bye and @crystal-grace <3 no obligations of course <3

01) Favourite game of the series?

ooooghghghghghgh Origins is my Favorite, the Story........

02) How did you discover Dragon Age?

i recieved a copy of inquisition as a gift, became immediately immursed but i didn’t dig more into the series for a good half a year or so? at which point i discovered the other two games and went Oh Fuck

03) How many times you’ve played the games? 

oh, uHHHHHHH, Far Too Many. i’ve sunk over 1k hours into dai alone, origins and da2 probably have about 1k combined?

04) Favourite race to play as?

i’m always a slut for elves 

05) Favourite class?

me, a staff wielding bisexual: i’m Mage, all the way. though i don’t mind rogue if i mix things up [which is like, i think i have three or four rogue play throughs out of all of them?] i NEVER play warrior bc i’m a bottom i’m not about that life

06) Do you play through the games differently or do you make the same decisions each time?

i play in character! so i’ve got some Wildly different world states depending on which playthrough/oc i’m on

07) Go-to adventuring group?

for my Canon world states i’ve got origins gang: sten, zevran, morrigan. da2 gang: fenris/aveline, anders/merrill, varric. dai gang: dorian, bull, solas/sera  i sense a theme...... 

08) Which of your characters did you put the most thought into?

oh god, ellanis and noure are my most fleshed out origins kids, wren and galahad are less fleshed out, sorta, but i Love them, idrilla and da’ean are pretty fleshed out as well -though linayel and mithra are also fairly fleshed out i just never write about them 

09) Favourite romance?

ZEVRAN -god i love him so much hhhhhHHHHHHHH he’s got Everything, everytime i play ellanis and he goes ‘the grey wardens die here’ i’m Fucking Lost Already man. hhhhhoooohhghghghghghgh i’d go on but i’m running on cough syrup and midol so it would be even less coherent than ususal

10) Have you read any of the comics/books?

lmao i own all the books but i haven’t been able to finish them because My God are they poorly written. LIKE good Characters, good characters, shit prose.

11) If you read them, which was your favourite book?

the one i’m furthest along in rn is stolen throne so i’ll go with that one

12) Favourite DLCs?

jaws of hakon -holy shit as an archaeologist grad student i cannot tell you how much i Fucking Loved the lore dump in site form that was jaws of hakon JUST OH MY GOD it was AMAZING the first time you talk to professor what’shisface with the hot accent and he starts talking about chronologies via buckles i was fucking lost in nerd heaven

13) Things that annoy you.

homophobia and transphobia and racism. the games are Rife with bad correlations between real people and grey morality and poor handling of sensitive contents, though i don’t know if it was all done for ‘woke’ points or if some came from legitimate good intentions, most of my problems lie in those areas. fandom also hits a lot of my annoyances but that’s what block is for

14) Orlais or Ferelden?

antiva bitch

15) Templars or mages?

mages

16) If you have multiple characters, are they in different/parallel universes or in the same one?

same one! ellanis is my canon hof but noure is a part of his backstory and they meet during the blight [ellanis frees noure from a sentence of tranquility and conscripts them, uh, temporarily] noure leaves the group after like a week?ish and goes to nevarra. wren and galahad are twins, wren being the older one and the main rabble-rouser hawke. da’ean is the only quizzy but idrilla, linayel, mithra and a handful of other lavellan ocs all exist within the clan -idrilla and linayel and a few others come to skyhold after clan lavellan handles the unrest in wycome with da’ean’s help [my canon there is a bit wonky as of yet as i’m still working out the kinks]  

17) What did you name your pets? (mabari, summoned animals, mounts, etc)

this is the part i suck at, i think ellanis named the mabari something after the flower that saved him? but i don’t remember tbh, and that’s the only one i cna think of rn too lkjlkjlkjklj

18) Have you installed any mods?

oh yes. ohhh yes i have an extense amount of mods on all three games, mostly cosmetic ones but a few gameplay ones

19) Did your Warden want to become a Grey Warden?

ellanis didn’t no, he thought warden’s were a bit of reality mixed with myth. when duncan shows up he’s more skeptical and curious than anything else, and his joining is less than enthusiastic but he makes the most of it for a good five years, before he fucks off to do his own research in antiva in seclusion -he just leaves, with an encripted note for nate making him warden-commander of ferelden while he’s gone and tells him not to tell anyone where he’s gone. only nate and velanna know where he is in the wardens

20) Hawke’s personality?

wren is a purple hawke! she knows what she wants and she is not afraid to go after it, although she does care deeply and shows her affections loudly. she’s a fucking chaotic stupid mess and i love her.

galahad is blue throughout. a natural big brother, super loving and patient and caring. he’s always looking to help, though when things go wrong he tends to blame himself only, he’s more together than wren though. 

21) Did you make matching armor for your companions in Inquisition?

....yes.......  my inquisition is a fashion disaster, everyone has a palatte but i do complimentary colors for my parties and lis Of Course

22) If your character(s) could go back in time to change one thing, what would they change?

yes, ellanis would go back and kill the shems before they could crash the wedding -to prevent shianni from ever having to live through what she did. he would still have probably been conscripted by duncan soooo not too big a change for him but, for shianni it would be huge. 

ellanis has another but it’s tied up with noure’s: noure would go back and ambush the templars before being captured and then run for their life. without ever having lived in the circle i don’t, know exactly how noure would come out -probably happier, less jagged, less terrified and paranoid. but probably not by much if they had to live their life constantly looking over their shoulder. they may have ended up in nevarra this way too, but they wouldn’t have ever made it to kirkwall and they never would have met anders or karl, they may have never fallen out of love with ellanis via distance/assumed death, it would be far different than what happened.

wren and galahad both would go back and save bethany. doesn’t matter how, or what the cost to themselves would have been that’s their little sister and they would do anything to save her if they could.

da’ean’s is much the same. his biggest regret, the thing which haunts him the most is ashalle’s [not dao ashalle lmao] death. he was supposed to protect her and after what happens in that field and that month, da’ean blames himself for how his sister died. though he isn’t the one to blame, and later [far, far later] he is able to come to terms with what happened. though he never Truly shakes the guilt.

linayel would probably try to save his mother’s sight. he would tell her to stay with him by the fire, or would try and find a cure faster for her. the illness wasn’t his fault and he knows it wasn’t but given the chance he would save her sight if he could.  

23) Do you have any headcanons about your character(s) that go against canon?

lmao canon? never heard of her, a shitton of what i write is either me taking canon and making it Good/Useable or me shitting on it and saying this is My Castle Now

24) Who did you leave in the Fade?

this choiice always pissed me off, or it did after i knew who they were. when i first played i had no idea who hawke was or who the grey warden contact was [stroud for my first couple of play throughs] at all. so i would flip flop between them without care really. 

now, in my canon alistair stays behind while hawke physically drags da’ean out because he was going to stay and fight or find a different way out. i still think its shit and a naratively piss-poor meta punch though

25) Favourite mount?

i’m a dirty gatherer so i don’t actually use any mount. the only time i Have used a mount was the royal 16 for screenshot purposes, which i lost when my harddrive crashed a couple months ago D:

[ellawritesficssometimes]

Before I start, it’s important to lay out some ground rules.

Thanks to Finland we know that the nations aren’t that different from humans with regards to their physical strength and anatomy (with the exceptions of Russia and America who are exceptionally strong).

The point in this is that the “not-so-different from a human rule” pertains to their basic physiological structure. On the other hand, there are immortal perks of nationhood, such as being impervious to experiencing the fatality of illnesses. They still can fall ill, though. This happens when they’re….

1) Suffering from political instability.

2) They’re experiencing an economic recession.

3) There’s a rampant illness in their population (i.e Romano’s Chorea).

With that said, we know that the nations are stronger than normal humans regardless. They don’t age as fast, and as such, their memories don’t deteriorate at nearly the same rate.

What this post will explore are the different examples where nations have been shown to have gaps in their memories.

The thesis I’m putting forward includes a variety of reasons to account for this:

One, older nations such as Japan and China have even larger gaps in their memories as a result of their physical bodies aging. They’re therefore unable to recall memories as fast as younger nations [This in part goes with my third argument].

Two, the influence of their citizens pertaining to whether or not the nations can see and therefore remember the existence of magical creatures.

Three, the nations simply aren’t able to remember everything; it would be impossible.

And four, some nations actively repress bad memories to minimize the anxiety and trauma they previously experienced.

Without further ado, let’s go over some of these examples.

Age:  

As stated above, the nations’ chronological age, while influenced by their economic and political affluence, also seems to be affected in part by how long they’ve lived (I.e. Both Japan and China refer to themselves as old men.)

If Japan is shown to have higher blood pressure levels and hip pains as a result of his old age, then it wouldn’t be too farfetched to assume that his memory wouldn’t be as up to par as it would be in comparison to a nation younger than him. Put another way, his age would cause him to have greater slips in his memory.

It’s the body that’s old, despite not looking like it. 

Ex: He’s unable to remember who Lithuania is, and almost mistakes the latter to be Livonia.

Ex: While looking through an album of him and Pochi throughout different periods, Japan mistakenly recalls the chronology of them.

Likewise, China’s also referred to as an old man.

Ex: He admits to being forgetful.

The Ability to See Magical Creatures:

We’ve also seen the impact on how a population’s belief in magical creatures respectively influences whether or not the nation will be able to see them.

Ex: During the Meiji Era, England could see the kappa and youkai spirits, meanwhile Japan couldn’t as a result of his people no longer believing in them as strongly.

However, just as a nation can forget about magical creatures, they can also re-remember them if popular culture strongly believes in them again – presumably it would have to go past folklore superstitions.

While enjoying Japan’s hot springs, the two talk about folklore. 

Notice how Italy spots a strange creature beginning to approach them. Although it’s not shown, the discussion of the topic could possibly mean that Japan [and not just Italy] is also able to see the creature.

There’s also an exact replica of this hot spring scene dating back to when they first met during WW2. I don’t think Hima did this for no reason:

Repression of Traumatic/Guilt-Ridden Memories: 

As Russia darkly puts it, perhaps it’s a good thing that the nations don’t remember everything.

When Lithuania and Germany allegedly meet for the first time during WW2, Lithuania expresses relief over Germany not remembering him. It’s noted that Lithuania once beat-up one of Germany’s family members. This is possibly a reference to when Prussia became a lackey to Poland under the Lithuanian and Polish Commonwealth.

This is highly indicative of Germany existing well before his ‘birth’ in 1871 given that Lithuania is fearful of being remembered and/or triggering Germany’s memory. If anything, Lithuania’s fear of this points further in the direction of Germany suffering from amnesia.

Why else is there a childhood version of Germany/Holy Rome pushing to be acknowledged in older strips? I’ve theorized before that this is simply a part of his unconscious mind trying to get him to remember about his forgotten childhood.

Or why is it that he’s seen to confusedly hold up Chibitalia in another strip? 

“It’s me.” Jogging his memory much?

Similarly, Italy also dreams of a childhood version of himself pushing to be acknowledged by him, only for Italy to refuse in doing so. Like Germany, it seems that Italy has actively striven to forget his childhood.

Lastly, the most obvious hint of repressed childhood memories is found in Buon San Valentino, where Germany appears to recall fuzzy images of Chibitalia.

They Can Only Remember So Much:

Prussia is the one to confirm this rule, considering that he’s taken to recording every experience as a method in circumventing the inability to recall them. It’s simply a matter of jogging his memory.

In sum, while the nation’s memories are limited, there are different factors and contexts that account for this phenomenon. Age, trauma, civilian belief, and limited physiological brain capacity seem to be the most common reasons in accounting for this.

[dewittsend]

‘The Defenders’ Review [Episodes 1-4] {REPOST}

So far, so okay.

As of this moment, The Defenders has pretty much met my expectations. That’s not to say it’s great, though. Not yet.  

It’s difficult to pick where to begin, because there’s a lot to cover. And I may not talk about scenes in their exact chronological order, because I’m summarizing the important information. And since this series won’t stop shoving his importance down my throat, I guess we’ll start with Iron Fist aka Danny Rand, played by actor Finn Jones—which, while I am on the fence about this, may be the first issue. I was disappointed with Iron Fist’s own Netflix series. To me, it felt rushed. A last-minute collage of sloppy choreography, boring writing, and confusing character choices. I often found Jones’s acting to be cringe-inducing at best, and his is the first character we’re reintroduced to.  

SPOILERS AHEAD! Do proceed at thy own caution.

We find Danny in Cambodia, hot on the heels of The Hand after the events of his series left him looking at an empty mountainside where K'un-Lun, the monasterial city he was raised in, used to be, with no trace of his mentors to be found. He is currently joined by friend with benefits and best-part-of-his-show Colleen Wing. Rand gets into a tussle with the revived Elektra [Elodie Yung reprising, and notably annoying me less], who is here hunting down an enemy of The Hand. Brainwashed and merciless, a la the Winter Soldier, she gives Danny a hard time, but he fights her off and she retreats temporarily. Our heroes have a vague conversation with the target of Elektra’s assassination, who tells them that the war they’re fighting will be finished in New York City before croaking.  

We’re privileged (and I do mean that because Krysten Ritter is a delight) to catch up with Jessica Jones next, as she’s kicked out of a bar that’s closing at what appears to be 8:00 in the morning and runs into her friend Trish Walker. Jones is still recovering from the psychological toll of her battles with Kilgrave, and as such has indefinitely suspended her investigative services. She is approached by a woman whose husband, named John Raymond, is missing. Jessica initially blows her off, but is driven to take the case when someone calls her office and warns her against taking it. She’s stubborn like that.

Luke Cage is on his way out of a short stint in prison. His fellow inmates are cheering as he is walked out of his cell. We get a great moment where a fumbling rookie cop can’t find the right keys to remove Cage’s cuffs, so he just snaps the chain himself and drops the crumpled rings into the warden’s hand. The supporting cast of these individual series are turning up left and right, and doing so in smart, sensical ways that really make this world seem well-connected. For instance, it turns out that Franklin “Foggy” Nelson was Cage’s attorney, and is the reason he’s out so early.

Foggy, by the way, now works for rich-people lawyer Jeryn Hogarth after he and his best friend Matt Murdock chose to dissolve their law firm. But they’re still friends, sort of. It’s complicated.

And where IS Daredevil? The Man Without Fear and the man who started it all, Matthew is currently a man defeated. Although he now takes the majority of his cases pro bono, the fulfillment of that isn’t enough to stave away the dissatisfaction he feels since choosing to hang up the horns. Karen Page, now officially a reporter, catches up with him over a slightly awkward cuppa. They have a solid scene together, illustrating the romantic tension budding between them. Karen still believes in Daredevil’s ability to affect change, as she always has. Matt thinks those days need to stay behind him. Of course, it’s only so long he can do that.

Promises promises.

This may be a good time to talk about each character’s signature color and lighting palettes. They’ve been used as tonal gauges, and they may have something to tell us about who these people are. For Matt, it’s obviously red, which carries the instant connection to the Devil and brimstone, to rage and blood. Cage’s is yellow, which is well known to be a color invented by God for black people to wear. It also reflects the warmth with which Luke views his community. Danny’s is green {EDIT 2021: representative of his status and wealth as well as a nod toward the importance of jade in kung fu symbolism}, and we’re probably never going to see him rock the Iron Fist costume so just be happy he’s got loose-fitting green clothes that look nice when he’s punching people. Finally, Jessica’s ranges between blue and purple; harking back to the “Purple Man” who consumed so much of her life when she was under his control, and also reflecting her much colder dispotion towards people and their problems, despite being a P.I. There are times when this lighting technique gets kind of oppressive, like when Matt’s entire apartment is bathed in fire-tones, but it helps to create some truly memorable cinematography. Case in point: one of this first half’s best moments is Luke’s bus ride back into Harlem. Set to a silky D'Angelo track, we see the golden glow of the sunset filter in through the bus’s gritty and fingerprint smudged windows. And views of the Manhattan skyline, and of Harlem’s streets, through what looks like avintage film camera, all with a sepia tint. It’s breathtaking, soothing, and probably had a little extra impact because I’m a Harlem resident myself.  

Cage reunites with his boo Claire Temple, Rosario Dawson’s nexus character through all of these shows, for a little bit of brown sugar. But before the two can settle into a routine together, Cage is pulled back into the sorrows of the streets by Detective Misty Knight. She informs him that several young men in the community have been getting involved in some seedy affairs, and some of them have gone missing. It seems they’re being used as expendable henchmen, pulling off whatever odd jobs they’re told to, whether it’s delivering drugs or making dead bodies disappear (which is what Danny Rand catches him doing later on). Cage takes it upon himself to investigate the affairs of one young man in particular named Cole.  

In between all of this, we’re introduced to our Big Bad. National Treasure and sci-fi icon Sigourney Weaver portrays the enigmatic Alexandra, whose body is beginning to fail her after centuries of life. Weaver is doubtless a tremendous actor, but even she can’t escape some typical mustache-twirling clichés (a friend of mine put it better than I can: “It’s not innovative for the cream white villain to find beauty in Rachmaninov but not in the lives of others, like, we understand!!!”). That aside, she brings something fun to this show just by the virtue of who she is. And at six feet, the actress’ physical presence really makes an impact. Alexandra towers over characters like Madame Gao and is almost eye level with Luke Cage. Her presence feels like a legitimate threat, and Weaver does an excellent job of portraying someone with significantly more power than she lets on. Our first demonstration of this is in a scene between her and Madame Gao, who has been built up throughout these shows as a force to be reckoned with, who had Vincent D'Onofrio’s Kingpin shaking in his shoes. This scene between them ends when Alexandra literally tells Gao to “finish feeding the birds for me,” hands her a bag of seeds, and walks away like the CHIEF CHICK SHE IS GO ‘HEAD SIGOURNEY!!!

*ahem* So sorry.  

It is eventually revealed that Alexandra is the person behind Elektra’s revival and reconditioning. Conveniently, Elektra doesn’t remember anything about her past life except how to fight. Thus, Alexandra has been using her to take out The Hand’s enemies and as a personal bodyguard. And after receiving the news that her body is reaching a terminal state of decline, Alexandra decides to accelerate her plans for the destruction of New York. As such, she has her people trigger a massive earthquake (the ramifications of which have not yet been fully uncovered) that affects everyone within the island of Manhattan. Nothing is exactly leveled yet, though. This seems to only be the beginning of her sinister plot.  

This brings the first episode to an end, and over the course of the next three, our four vigilante heroes follow individual leads that start to bring them together, at first in pairs. Iron Fist has a confrontation with Luke Cage in an alleyway when Cage catches the Kung Fu kid beating up on Cole. They have an entertaining fight, as the petulant and bewildered Rand keeps striking Cage with no affect. He finally unleashes the iron fist right onto Luke’s jaw and knocks the big man off of his feet into a metal gate. It’s only later, when Luke recants the experience to Claire, that she sets up a meeting between the two, and they have a conversation that is another highlight of the show so far. Cage essentially privilege-checks Danny for being a rich white kid and taking out his frustration on the underprivileged with little regard for their lives, instead of trying to use his wealth and influence to take The Hand down from an administrative level. These two characters are famously friends in the source material, and I can see the direction the writers are trying to take them here, wherein the older Luke is mentoring Danny and opening his eyes to a side of life he’s never considered before, even with all the trauma of losing his parents and being tortured raised by monks. Danny has a tendency to fly off at the handle, so the more patient Luke is there to ground him. It’s more father and son than two good friends, but it’ll have to do for the versions of these characters we’ve been given.  

Jessica Jones returns to her office at one point to find John Raymond with a gun to her friend Malcolm’s head. He’s panicked, telling her that there’s no future for him now that The Hand know he’s being investigated. On cue, Elektra crashes down the door to Jessica’s apartment and attacks. Raymond shoots himself before she can kill him, and she escapes before Jessica can catch her. But because of her rooting around in all of this, in addition to stealing evidence from a crime scene, Jessica’s put herself on Misty Knight’s radar. When she’s brought in for questioning, Matt Murdock steps in to defend (ha) her.  

At one point, we see that Alexandra has a hostage—Stick, Matt Murdock’s blind mentor. They have an exchange that contains the phrase “old friend” and other related banter. Stick, rather unexpectedly, starts prophesying about the Iron Fist, which confused me because he’d never mentioned him in either season of Daredevil. You’d think he might have in season two, when the Hand presented a more imminent threat to the city. But nah, he just spent the majority of his screen time groaning that Matthew wasn’t joining “the war.” So it seems a bit ham-fisted for him to now have this hard-on for Iron Fist, even if it does make sense that he’d know who he is. I just think it required some more setup. Anywho, big surprise, Stick gets hold of a weapon and slices his own hand off to escape, continuing to cement himself as perhaps the most hardcore old man on television.  

See? No biggie.

All our protagonists’ investigations lead them to one building: Midland Circle. Danny arrives there in suit and tie, ready to threaten them with financial and political action, as well as reveal himself to be “The Immortal Iron Fist,” which he says more often than “hello,” but since everyone in this series makes fun of him for it I can kind of excuse it. Alexandra, nonplussed as always, tells him that the only difference between him and the other Iron Fists she’s met over the years is that this time “I won’t kill you.” And GOD do I get chills.  

What follows is the action highlight of the series’ first half. Iron Fist gets better choreography than anything we saw in his show. He spends about a minute fighting Alexandra’s security detail, and right when he gets overpowered, Luke Cage busts in. They do battle side-by-side for a while, all until Jessica and Murdock (wearing Jessica’s scarf over his face) arrive on the same floor. It may be this show’s “hallway sequence,” as these Marvel Netflix projects have become known for. It’s well-lit and gives everyone a good amount to do—except Jessica, who might be the most vulnerable of the four as she’s got no real fighting technique, and for all her strength lacks any indestructible skin to fall back on when confronted with weapons. Although for what it’s worth we finally get to see her reunite with Luke Cage. That reunion is built on in the next episode (not that way, pervert) and it’s great to see their chemistry ignite again.  

There’s a point in the skirmish when Matt senses that “Someone’s coming. Something.” This something is Elektra, but he doesn’t realize it at first, and they fight for a good while. Matt takes a moment to listen to her breath, which causes him to stop fighting. But she doesn’t have a heartbeat. WHICH IS ACTUALLY SUPER SPOOKY AND COOL! She hesitates when he says her name, then raises her blade to strike Matt down, only to be knocked away yet again by Danny. What a guy, that guy.  

The four of them escape together, and in the next episode commandeer a Chinese restaurant as a temporary hideout. This is the first time we get to see all four of them interact, and it’s pretty fun. Cage and Jones muse over how absurd this situation is, because oddly enough, they’re sort of the straight men in this situation. They may have powers, but their worlds have never been touched by the supernatural. Rand and Murdock, however, are well-versed in this field. Thusly, they spend a good deal of time trying to catch the others up. This is also the episode that has some of Charlie Cox’s best acting yet, as a paranoid and frustrated Matt who doesn’t want to give in to the idea that A. what he suspects to be happening is in fact happening and B. he needs to involve these people in his life in order to handle it. And to some extent, all of them feel that way. While Danny is keen to team up, Jessica is immediately against it, and Luke is reluctant as well. All of them are loners by nature, who’ve each experienced pain as a result of opening up to people.  

When we’re done watching them bounce dialogue off each other, Stick shows up, sword in one hand, stump as the other, to do what he does best—exposit and tell the heroes what the stakes are. It’s not long before Alexandra ALSO sneaks into the restaurant (everyone can move like a ninja when this show wants them to) and tries to reason with her enemies, saying that if Iron Fist is willing to go with her, she’ll spare the lives of his friends. Which is almost definitely completely 105% a lie. The episode, and the first half of this series, ends with Elektra ready to square off against the four vigilantes + Stick.

To give my overall impression, I’m enjoying Defenders so far, and I think the actors are too. The problem to this point isn’t the actor’s level of chemistry, but that of the characters. I’m still hoping to see the bond between Danny and Luke expand into something more than just “shut up white kid,” even though that may well be what Danny needs to hear a few times. There needs to be a believable dependence between these four people. And although I know it’s a lot to juggle, I hope the supporting characters aren’t just dropped completely. They probably won’t be, though. I expect that as The Hand start getting closer to what they want, the ramifications will spread across the Defenders’ sphere of influence, from Turk to Claire Temple*.  

Other expectations/hopes for the latter half include:  

A cool introduction of the Hand’s remaining “Fingers”

Colleen v. Elektra!!!!

White Hat will be from, or have ties to Wakanda

Elektra will inevitably snap out of it. The hope here is to see her pick up her signature dual sai and stand with the Defenders

Alexandra could have some further connection to one of these heroes. Preliminarily, I thought it would be interesting if she was Matthew’s long-lost mother. Though, I guess that would really be pushing it

*Claire can’t survive this, right? I mean we all know Luke and Jessica have to end up together, and Claire’s not just going to give him up. I don’t want to see her go, but I also don’t know if there’s any way for her character to develop. Of course, there’s no guarantee Marvel will stick to the comics…but the Jess-Luke romance seems like too much of a fan favorite to pass on.

Stick’s gonna get stuck and tell Matt he’s proud of him

Whatever happened to Stone/maybe Lord Darkwind, the spooky dude Stick was talking to in season one of Daredevil? Let’s get him out here

Someone just say Tony Stark’s name. I mean, come on. The guy lives in the tallest building in New York and no one’s wondering what he’d think about all this? I know we can’t afford RDJ but is his character’s name gonna break the bank? (Yeah, it definitely would.)

Bullseye tease? Maybe? I dunno, man, they already robbed him of his big moment by killing Elektra without him

I already got THAT THING spoiled for me, THAT THING about THE OTHER GUY, but it would be on this list if I hadn’t

Oh and also Blade please

And so conclude my thoughts on the first half of The Defenders. There they are, lookin’ like Nirvana. Which I guess makes sense, given the marketing for this series. I’ll be writing a similarly long-winded and unnecessary reaction to the latter half. I hope you’ll check them both out.  

THANK you for reading if indeed you did read! Keep on watching, friends. And as always: Blessings & Blexcellence!

-JKW

[inhumansforever]

The Royals #3 Review

spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers

The history of House Boltagon is turned on its head in this truly bizarre third installment of The Royal Family’s venture into the stars.  From the creative team of Al Ewing, Thony Silas, G Will Robinson and Jim Charalampidis.  Full recap and review following the jump.

The narrative of the tale jumps back and forth through time, from the distant past to thousands of years into the future.  Rather than laying it out as it was depicted int he issue, this review will re-stich the story in its chronological order.  Oh, and everything you thought you know about the brothers, Black Bolt and Maximus, throw that out the window…

Many years in the past, Attilan was ruled by King Agon and his queen, Rhynda.  Although governing Attilan was never their true passion.  Rather the couple’s real interest was in exploring the effects of Terrigen on the Inhuman genome and producing superior beings by way of accessing the ‘Prima Materia.’  In earlier tellings of the tale, Rhynda was more of a passive subject to Agon’s experiments, allowing herself to be subjected to the Terrigen Mists while pregnant with the couple’s first child, Black Bolt.  

In this retelling of the story, however, it turns out that Rhynda is very much an active participant.  Indeed it is her special Inhuman gifts that are pivotal to their efforts.  Rhynda possessed the ability to consciously filter whatever substances come into her body.  She had honed this power, refining it to such a degree that she could keep out any imperfection in the Terrigen Mist, allowing her unborn children to be exposed to an ultra-purified form of the Terrigen.

No, that wasn’t a typo…  I meant to write children.  Fore it turns out that not only was Black Bolt exposed to Terrigenesis in utero, but so was his younger brother, Maximus.   Furthermore, Rhynda’s filtering powers allowed her to both prevent herself from going through secondary Terrigenesis as well as direct exactly where the purified Terrigen particles would focus within the gestating fetus.  For Maximus, Rhynda concentrated the Terrigen on his nascent mind, ensuring greatly enhanced intellect and, potentially, a degree of cosmic hyper-awareness.  

Agon and Rhynda’s experiments were a success and both their sons possessed powers beyond their wildest dreams.  Whereas the enormity of Black Bolt’s abilities were quite evident and overt, Maximus’ gifts were much more cerebral and covert.  

His father seemed to believe that Maximus might develop the capacity to see and think on a higher level, breaching the confines of time and space.  And yet to achieve this required a kind of attunement with his brother.  Agon suspected that Black Bolt’s powers were the key to unlocking Maximus’ true powers.  

Both brothers were forged by the purified Terrigen, what their parents referred to as ‘Prima Materia' (Latin for ‘original matter’).  As such, the two are interlinked and while Agon and Rhynda saw in Maximus the potential for ultimate truth, in Black Bolt they saw the potential for ultimate destruction.  

Maximus was more like his parents, a scientist and discoverer.  Whereas Black Bolt was a leader, decisive and assured.  Agon and Rhynda feared Black Bolt, feared his decisiveness, his capacity to bring about change (for both the better and forth the worse).   They tasked Maximus with being his brother’s keeper, testing him, shaping him as part of some bizarre effort to guide this ultimate being their parents had created.  

There are periodic flashbacks to an incident in the brothers’ youth.  It was a story first told in the back pages of The Mighty Thor vol. 1 #149.  In the tale, the young Maximus is envious that his older brother should be first in line of succession to the throne.  With the nature of his powers, Maximus believes Black Bolt is too unstable and destructive to be king.  And he attempts to prove it by abducting young Crystal and firing ray gun at Black Bolt.  Black Bolt is able to resist his brother’s goading and his rescues Crystal without resorting to unleashing his destructive voice.  

In this retelling of the tale, it would seem that Maximus is actually acting on his parents’ behest.  He is not challenging his brother so to prove his own superiority, but rather to further hone Black Bolt’s ability for control and restraint.  Or it is possible that Maximus was hoping that his brother would crack and that releasing his awesome power would create the attunement Maximus required to fully unlock his own powers.  

At the age of nineteen, Maximus is continuing to test his brother.  This time by entering into a conspiratorial pact with rogue agents of the Kree Empire.  It turns out that these Kree agents are actually working for Ronan.  Ronan is aware of the prophecy that Terrigenic experimentation could bring about an anomaly, a destructive being who would bring down ruin on the empire (this prophecy was first introduced in the pages of Jonathan Hickman’s run on Fantastic Four).

Originally, Maximus’ conspiracy with the Kree was centered on an effort to seat Maximus as king of The Inhumans in exchange for assisting the rogue branch of The Kree in taking over their own empire (as first detailed in the pages of Avengers Vol 1 95).  In this retelling, however, The Kree appear to be interested in utilizing the forbidden anomaly that Agon and Rynda’s tinkering has brought about.  

The Kree flee as Black Bolt approaches.  Once more Maximus goads his brother, tempting him to let loose with his awesome powers.  This time Maximus succeeds and Black Bolt’s cries out in anger.  Unfortunately, Black Bolt’s sonic powers causes the Kree ship to crash into the building where their parents are and both Agon and Rhynda are killed.      

Here the story deviates a good deal from the original telling.  Initially, it was explained that Maximus was mentally controlling the pilot of the Kree spacecraft and that the concussive reverberation from Black Bolt’s voiced caused Maximus such psychological distress that he inadvertently caused the pilot to crash the ship into the royal palace, killing the brothers’ parents.  

This detail is left out of the retelling and it is reframed that the death of Agon and Rhonda was solely the fault of Black Bolt.  

Furthermore, rather than driving Maximus mad, the power of Black Bolt’s voice instead unblocks a higher level of Maximus’s thoughts and perceptions.  To this extent, all of Maximus’ ramblings and non sequiturs, all of his idiosyncratic prattling that made him appear as mad are actually the result of his ability to perceive time and space on a higher, more complicated level.      

Black Bolt has possessed a natural immunity to Maximus’ psychic powers of manipulation.  Under when under great physical or emotional distress can Maximus break through and take over his brother’s will.  And that is exactly how Maximus ultimately facilitated his escape and engineered his brother being sent to space prison in his place.  

Maximus had shared his secret with Black Bolt.  He told him how their parents had so feared Black Bolt and the destructive change he would bring about.  Their parents were afraid that Black Bolt would bring about their death and this fear proved prophetic.  Black Bolt has always felt responsible for his parents deaths and Maximus’ words brought about such agony that it lowered his defenses and allowed Maximus to take over his mind.  

Once he had achieved that, he used an image inducer to switch places and the fate of being sent off to some strange jail int he cosmos intended for Maximus instead was befallen onto Black Bolt (as shown in Ahmed and Ward’s wonderful Black Bolt solo series).  

And now in the present, Maximus explains to Medusa and the others how he had managed his escape.  Captain Swain suggests merely turning around and negotiating Black Bolt’s release so that Maximus can be rightfully take his place.  Unfortunately, it is not as easy as just that.  Maximus’ sentence was not just incarceration, but complete explosion from The Inhuman people.  He was made ‘unspoken’ his name and all trace struck from their history.  The name and location of this cosmic prison has been expunged and is no longer known, nor would the jailers respond to any call for Black Bolt’s release.  Black Bolt is on his own; Medusa and the others are helpless in their ability to offer him aide.  

Trying to determine her next move, Medusa orders that Swain stay near Maximus so that her own psychic powers will cancel out those of Maximus.  Maximus makes a more direct suggestion, asking why Medusa has not ordered him killed.  Indeed, Gorgon is quick to offer his services as executioner.  Yet for some reason Medusa refuses this option.  She has every reason to hate him, to want him dead, yet something is causing her to resist the idea.  For some reason, Medusa needs Maximus alive.  Whatever reason Medusa has, Maximus appears privy to it.  Confident that he is needed, Maximus suggests that the mission continue onward to Hala.  

Finally, five thousand years in the future, Maximus is the last of The Inhumans.  He is the aged shepherd who has appeared in the prefaces of the first and second issue.  Sitting in meditation, Maximus is able to see and experience the present and the distant past all at once.  He even sees the Sky Spears professing to know what they are.  

And he knows that his past self is hurdling toward his destiny.  He is Maximus, his brother’s keep and his mother’s child; the seeker of the Prima Materia; the last of the Inhumans.  And what he does he does for the good of all.  

Wow.  Where do I begin?

Off the bat, it is important to keep in mind that this is Maximus’ story told through Maximus’ lens.  It may be ‘the truth’ or it may be the ‘truth  that Maximus chooses to believe.’  

Interestingly, the story is not technically a retcon, but rather a retelling from a different perspective.  It may be that Maximus is mad, afflicted by traumatic brain injury; or it may be that he truly possesses preternatural awareness that traverses space and time.  Six in one hand, half a dozen in the other.  

The Scottish psychiatrist, R. D. Laing, argued that there is no such thing as mental illness.  In referring specifically to patients diagnosed with schizophrenia or other types of psychosis, Laing suggested that such conditions were merely metaphors for different kinds of experience.  “Madness,” Laing wrote, “need not be all breakdown. It may also be break-through. It is potential liberation and renewal as well as enslavement and existential death.”   From this perspective, Maximus may be both mad as well as preternaturally aware, simultaneously.

Past stories have only shown passing glimpse of Max and BB’s parents.  We have never before seen what were Agon and Rhynda’s motivations behind their experiments; what they hoped to achieve and what they thought about what they had achieved.   This story merely expands on those glimpses, showing that Agon and Rhynda were obsessed with unlocking some sort of alchemic potential in the Inhuman genome… so much so that they experimented on their own children.  The nature of Rhynda's Inhuman powers is a very neat touch, answering a question I’ve long since had (that question being how was it that Rhynda did not go through secondary Terrigenesis when exposed to the mists while pregnant with Black Bolt).  Well, now we know.  

It is wild to learn that Maximus was also exposed to Terrigenesis while still in the womb.  Although it makes sense, Agon and Rhynda did once, why not do it again?

Prima Materia is a term associated with ancient alchemy.   It is the first matter, the primitive formless base of the material world.  It is the aether, the quintessence, the soul of the world (anima mundi).   

Agon and Rhynda seem to believe that Terrigen is akin to this quintessence and that purified, unadulterated Terrigen is similar to the primal stardust from which all of the universe has been created.  

We still don’t know what Terrigen is; although at this point we can certainly discount it being a simple naturally occurring mineral with mutagenic properties.  This story is looking as though it will ultimately address what the Terrigen is and hereon we are likely to learn to what extent Terrigen may indeed be associated with ‘the first matter.’  

Some hints may be found another book written by the same author.  Along with The Royals, Al Ewing is also writing The Ultimates2.  That title has been exploring the cosmic origins of the Marvel Universe, revealing that the Celestials were beings created by an omnipotent ordinal being called The First Firmament.  The Celestials rebelled against their creator, choosing to make the universe dynamic and diverse filled with ever-evolving life.   

How the Celestials went about seeding he universe with dynamic life has yet to be revealed.  It is possible that this prima materia is in some fashion connected to The Celestials and how they went about creating life throughout the cosmos.  Its some pretty far out stuff and things are likely to get even weirder with subsequent installments.  

As much as I enjoyed the wild story Ewing has told in this issue, I was less thrilled with the art.  This is likely to be a pivotal turning point in the history and mythos of The Inhumans, yet the significance of it all is somewhat undermined by rather lackluster outings by both Silas and G. Will Robinson.  I’m not comfortable really dragging on an artist’s work; suffice to say I’m not a fan of the art in this issue.  Although I will add that I appreciate G. Will Robinson’s attention to detail in recreating the original costumes and looks of young Maximus, Agon and Rhynda.

The first issue of Royals was so tremendous, and much of it had to do with the excellent synergy Ewing and Jonboy Meyers had together in tether the art and story.  I’m not sure what has happened that resulted in Mr. Meyers walking off the book.  Whatever the case, the title deserves a new artists who might regain that same spark of synergy and align things between the story and the pictures.   As it stands, Royals #3 is a wild and captivated tail bogged down by flat art.   Two and a half Lockjaws out of five.  

[itsandiesanchez-blog]

Born 1976. Not Generation X.

I am 41, middle aged and getting older by the nanosecond. I’m not 21 anymore and I’m ok with that. I would be lying if I said I’d rather have wrinkles than none at all, but generally speaking, I’m alright with the advancing years and how they’ve treated me. 

I am a lot of things, just.......not Generation X.

Well, let me clarify first:

Generation X was initially classified as a generation beginning in 1965 and ending in 1984 by Douglas Copeland, the so-called 13th American generation, following the Baby Boomer cohort. As it stands in that form, completely arbitrary, chronological and unyielding, I am indeed a member of Generation X. It says nothing about me other than the fact that my birth year falls into that particular segment of a series of equal, unemotional generational divides.

It was, however, a surprise to me, to find out I was indeed considered Generation X. My whole teenaged and young adult life was lived fully believing myself to be a member of Generation Y, born somewhere between 1975 and 1990. Sometime during school in the 90s, a teacher addressed us with that label, and it stuck with me ever since. By the time I was 20, I knew that Generation X was Winona Ryder and all the 80s teens that came before us and that we, the heirs to the 90s and its technological advances, were something different. It made sense to me. The older kids weren’t like us. The 80s weren’t like us. We could sense the divide and the dawn of a new era. It was upon us.

And then..... one day someone started talking about Millennials. At first I mistook it for a new generation, born after 1990, the next in line, the one that came after Generation Y. Imagine my shock to find that not only was the Millennial generation referring to people practically the same age as I was, people I worked with and hung out with, but that I was also no longer a part of their gang. Suddenly I was Generation X. Not just stalwart 1965-1984 Generation X (which I would have accepted), no - 1965-1981 Generation X, chopped off three years before the actual 20 year divide, AS IF IT MEANT SOMETHING.

What did it allegedly mean? I couldn’t find an answer to that, except descriptions and identifiers - stereotypes - that might stick to someone born in 1970, but certainly not on me. Suddenly I was “cynical”, my idols were from the 80s, and all of my formative experiences and influences belonged to someone 10 years older than me. WTF??  1975-1981 found itself suddenly amputated from the rest of its generation. For no logical reason.

But it gets worse.

Those of us belonging to the island of Gen Y floating in Gen X started talking about it. We noticed the discrepancies in cut off years. We saw that depending on who you talked to, we were either Millennials or Gen X. The verdict wasn’t in, regardless of what Howe and Strauss said. Oregon Trail Generation, Generation Catalano - we saw ourselves everywhere, posting, discussing, putting up a fight.

Enter Xennials.

Yes, I thought. Finally. 

And then I saw the cut-off years.

1977-1983

FUUUUUUUUCK NO.

As a 1976er, there is no difference, absolutely none, between me and anyone born during the 1977 to 1983 time frame. In fact, I share more with ANYONE born between 1975 and 1990 than I do with a single person born in the 60s or early 70s. We can argue about years like 1974 or 1973, but trust me, in all my 41 ancient years here on the planet, living in four different countries, I have not ONCE met someone born in 1965 or 1970 that shares my childhood and youth experiences. Let this be known once and for fucking all, because I am sick and tired of explaining it.

Why?

1. 80s pop culture and music. 

Duh. I don’t really remember the 80s, aside from toys, the first video games and cartoon t-shirts. The 80s were vastly different on a pop culture level from the 90s and I was on the bench in the haze of childhood. Gen Xers had AIDS, world hunger and music and films that I only watched and listened to retrospectively out of curiosity much later on. Anyone who wasn’t a youth during the 80s (at least 15–24) would not have been fully part of that culture.

2. The Cold War: 

When the Berlin Wall fell, I was obsessed with the Little Mermaid. Does my voice sound like Ariel’s? How do you like my Ariel drawing? I couldn’t give two darns about politics in 1989 and really don’t remember the feeling of the environment that preceded it. I came of age during the age of Middle Eastern wars, starting with Iraq, continuing with Iraq and leading up to 9/11. I wasn’t old enough to vote for Reagan or Bush — I am Clinton era all the way. Again, if you weren’t at least 15 before the Cold War started crumbling, you probably don’t have much to say about it.

3. Technology: Now, I am not saying Gen Xers are not tech savvy, but give me a handful of people born in the 60s or early 70s and you’ll find quite a few people who pride themselves in the fact that THEY survived a good chunk of adulthood without the internet, that THEY can live without their phones. You know the memes. I was a teenager when I first got internet and I don’t know what real life is like without it unless you’re talking about My Little Pony and She-Ra. Smart phones were second nature to me and yes, I have my face glued to my phone whenever I am not asleep. I came of age during the whole 90s tech boom and it helped make me who I am.

4. The whole latchkey running wild thing: Technically, the latchkey era didn’t end until the mid-90s and by the time I was a kid, only irresponsible parents let their kids run around like free range chickens. We were the post-Adam Walsh, milk carton era and parents were worried. Contrary to popular belief, kids STILL play outside and of course, so did we, but we did not “run out of the house in the morning and come back when the streelights came on”. Oh no. My parents wanted to see me in the yard at all times and actually gave me a physical boundary that I was not allowed to pass (our yard ditch). Friends had to be approved and parents had to be contacted for any kind of visit or playdate. New children and families had to pass the parental supervision test — I was not allowed to roam free with kids whose parents were not home or just randomly pop by someone’s house unannounced. The shift was already there in the 80s — the freedom 60s and 70s kids had was gone. Oh yes, you’ll find a few of these kids (born anywhere in the late 70s and 80s) from divorced homes engaging in the same romantic nostalgia right alongside the Xers and Boomers, but seriously, the times were gone. Although I never read it myself at the time, my parents had IT, thank you very much. They had Wayne Williams, Clifford Olsen, Randy Kraft and John Wayne Gacy. My life at 10 was no 60s Disney live action film. And yes, we loved to stay inside and play video games. Atari, Nintendo, Sega…… those were the days.

5. The pessimism/anti-Baby Boomer thing: What???? I mean seriously, whaaat??? I can’t even write about that because I don’t understand it. Hippy was not a slur to me, in fact, we were very much into that sort of thing during the later 90s. I am not a pessimist, or a cynic or a slacker and I didn’t hate my parents or thought disappointing them was “cool”. I am STILL worried what they think and I’m over 40. I know that’s just me, but again, this particular Gen X attitude was one we always associated with either dysfunctional kids or… older kids. Yep. Older kids. Real Gen Xers. We were actually kind of enemies at the time. I recall “so 80s” (accompanied by a sneer) as a thing. It always seemed to me like they were still desperately trying to recapture the 50s cool during the 90s with a giant big hair, mullet fail.

6. The absurdity of the cut off lines and criteria for these so called “generations”. Who cares if I was born one year before the first Star Wars? Really? WHY? Does the fact that I was born the year Steve Jobs founded Apple count for less? Also, who cares if I can remember Nirvana? How does that negate almost complete comtemporary ignorance (and indulgance) of major 80s bands? I mean, let’s face it: the only reason I know what Depeche Mode is, is because of songs they produced in the 90s…….but then again, wait, maybe it wasn’t Depeche Mode…..Dire Straights perhaps….. or Duran Duran? I have to Google every time. Please don’t hold it against me. At the time in question, I was too busy pretending to be Jem and the Holograms. And grunge…..the one Gen X thing that actually occurred during at least a brief moment of my formative youth, well — Kurt Cobain was dead by the time I started going to concerts. While admittedly being a real common denominator between me and Gen X, grunge was just a fledgling spark at the dawn of budding musical tastes. Bluntly speaking, I am more Backstreet Boys, Spice Girls, Weezer, Blink182 and Linkin Park. It’s hardly enough to completely reclassify me and ignore the rest.

None of these cut offs are a strong argument, folks. You might as well say that “you are an Xennial” if you were the same age as one of the actors on That 70s show playing Eric and his friends. Which, incidentally, includes anyone born from 1983 back to……you guessed it: 1976.

Yes, some kids born anywhere during the late 70s or early 80s will have had older siblings or friends that influenced them with all things Gen X, just like I know 90s kids today that know more about Gen X culture than I do due to their Gen X parents. There’s also these pesky socio-economic aspects that play a role — I’ve met ’00s babies down here in the rural south that still don’t have a smart phone or their own computer. That aspect can be quite arbitrary.

I have real Gen X friends. I have Millennial friends. And while I won’t claim to be like anyone born in 1994, I have vastly more in common culturally with my 80s born Millennial friends than I do with my 60s, very early 70s born Gen Xer buddies. In fact, the latter group tends to freely associate with early 60s born “Baby Boomers” as if they are part of the same generation, as their “remember whens” seem to be in tune with each other. There is a generation gap between us that is every bit as tangible as the one that exists between anyone born throughout most of the 90s and I. As adults, it is enjoyable now, this funny little rift — certainly food for plenty of mutual teasing, but it is real. It exists.

The times just moved too quickly in the 90s. Politically, culturally, technologically - those of us who experienced our formative years during the 90s and early 2000s are hard to classify, I get that. But....The least anyone can do is keep us together. 

So stop. I repeat: STOP cutting me off from my generation and shoving me into a group that doesn’t share my experiences. If you want to be fair, keep the clean 20 year cut off — 1965–1984 for Gen X, so that I can at least be grouped with a good decade of people I can identify with. If you’re going to start chopping things up, be a little more meaningful. Might I suggest: Gen X 1960–1974? I have yet to meet a person born in 1974 that identifies as a Millennial or “in between generations”. Not to mention the nifty fact that grunge was almost exclusively produced by this demographic, a demographic which also includes many teen idols of the 80s.

Why does it matter? Well, people do ask — are you a Millennial or Gen X. And even Xennial. I kid you not! Can you imagine how much it blows to have to classify yourself as something you are NOT, suddenly stereotyped with qualities you don’t have, lumped into a category that makes you feel like oil in water, sitting there, suffocating under a label that doesn’t belong to you, while the rest of your people are bonding safely in the 1977 and beyond zone? The isolation is real.

SO STOP.