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janeykath318 · 3 years

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Happy BIRTHday! (Shieldshock)

“I should have known your kid would insist on being born on our birthday,” Darcy groaned, clutching her husband for dear life during a contraction.

She’d gone into labor late in the evening of July third, and strongly suspected baby America wouldn’t arrive until the date showed July fourth.

“We’ve still got a few hours yet,” Steve noted, eying her with concern and excitement. She knew he was totally stoked for fatherhood, given how happy he’d been ever since they’d found out she was pregnant.

“I highly doubt he’s just gonna pop out in two hours,” Darcy observed skeptically, slumping against Steve to catch her breath as the contraction eased. “Much as I wish that would be the case. Jane’s kid was definitely the exception, not the rule.”

Jane and Bucky’s daughter had arrived with astonishing speed, and Darcy was deeply envious.

“Alright,” she sighed. “I think I’m good. Let’s get to the hospital.”

Picking up her bag, Steve helped her out to the car, mentally reviewing all the advice he’d received on supporting one’s partner through childbirth.

Meanwhile, Jane was relaxing in bed, half heartedly perusing a science journal while her husband attempted to distract her with kisses. Hearing a buzz from her phone, she reluctantly pulled back to check it.

“Darcy’s in labor.” She informed Bucky. “They’re headed to the hospital now.”

Bucky beamed.

“Another Fourth of July baby? How very Rogers of him,” he murmured. “Do they need anything?”

“Darcy says no and has ordered me to stay put and not pace around all night,” Jane reported, rolling her eyes at Darcy’s typical bossiness. . “She says Steve will keep us updated. I sure hope it goes okay. It’s impossible not to worry when childbirth is happening.”

“As I recall all too well,” Bucky agreed, remembering how scared he’d been watching her go through it a few months ago. “You were such a trooper, doll.”

“I’ll never forget the look on the doctor’s face when he told me I could start pushing and we had barely even got settled at the hospital,” she reminisced quietly, a smile lighting up her face.

Little Rebecca had been in a tearing hurry to enter the world, and Jane had been grateful for that. She’d heard horror stories of how long labor could be and was bracing for the worst, only for her daughter to arrive after only three and a half hours.

“She was impatient to be out and start sciencing,” Bucky said with a shrug.

Jane giggled and poked his shoulder playfully.

“You goof,” she said lovingly, leaning in to kiss him again.

Sharon and Sam received a similar text as they arrived home after a long mission.

“Looks like you’re gonna owe me, Wilson,” Sharon commented. “He’s gonna be a Fourth of July baby.”

“I’ll happily pay up,” Sam admitted. “I should have known Steve’s kid would do that. Is Darcy doing alright?”

“Yeah. But there’s a long way to go yet. First babies take a while, unless you’re Jane Foster,” Sharon sighed. “I’m dead tired, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep while we’re waiting for news.”

She kicked off her shoes and shed her jacket, wincing as her bruises were aggravated. It had been a tough fight, and she was expecting to be sore for a while afterwards, but they’d caught the weapons smugglers, and she was relieved to count it a success.

“Hmmm. Maybe a nice hot bath would help?”

Sam suggested, holding up her favorite bubble bath solution.

Sharon cracked a tired smile.

“Maybe. Will you join me?” She asked hopefully.

“Happily.” Sam assured her with a grin.

It was nearly seven the next morning when James Samuel Rogers finally made his appearance, screaming his lungs out.

Darcy winced a little at the volume.

“I guess he got an enhanced set of lungs,” she gasped out as he was placed on her chest.

Steve chuckled, even as his eyes filled up with tears.

“He’s beautiful,” he whispered. “Our son.”

“Oh, he’s definitely our kid,” she agreed. “He’s got my hair and your stubborn chin. Hey there, James, it’s all right. Mommy and Daddy are right here,” she said soothingly, running her hand along the baby’s tiny back.

Late that afternoon, baby James’s two sets of godparents arrived, eager to meet him. Steve and Darcy hadn’t told anyone the name yet, and greatly enjoyed the stunned expressions on Sam’s and Bucky’s faces when Darcy introduced baby James for the first time.

“Wow, Steve…..I don’t know what to say,” Bucky managed, giving his friend a big hug. “He’s pretty adorable.”

“We’re honored, man,” Sam added, in his turn. “Congrats!”

“Oh, he’s so cute!” Jane agreed, rushing over to Darcy’s side to admire the newborn. “He obviously inherited the Lewis hair.”

Darcy chuckled. Baby James had a thick head of dark hair just like her.

“Yup. But look at his little chin and ears,” she cooed. “Totally Steve.”

“I’ve seen that look before,” Sharon commented, shooting a sly glance at Steve. “He’s got that stubborn Rogers jaw.”

“I call it the jawline of Freedom.” Darcy said, winking at Steve. “He’s also got his dad’s beefiness. Nine pounds, six ounces.”

Sam whistled, Bucky smiled, and Jane winced in sympathy.

“Holy crap, Darcy. You deserve a medal. You better treat her extra special, Steve,” she declared, pointing her finger at the new father, who nodded seriously.

“I will. She’s my hero,” he stated, looking at his wife and son with a very besotted expression that Darcy referred to as “heart eyes.”

“Do they know if the serum affected little James?” Sharon asked curiously. That had been one source of concern for both Steve and Bucky during the pregnancies. So far, Rebecca had not shown to have inherited any super abilities.

“We don’t think so,” Steve said. “But I just wanted him to be healthy. I can tell you from personal experience, It’s no fun spending half your childhood in the hospital.”

He shared a rueful glance with Bucky, who nodded knowingly.

Darcy passed Baby James to an eager Jane to hold and tugged Steve close to her.

“Steve was great. He let me crush his hand and swear at him without breaking a sweat,” she said fondly. “And he told me funny stories about you two to take my mind off the pain.”

She grinned at Sam and Bucky, who only sighed.

“We’re glad we could be of use,” Sam said with a snarky grin. “What stories did he tell?”

“Oh, the one where Spidey webbed you two up,” Darcy revealed with a sly smile. “You got your butts beat by a teenager.”

“A teenager who can lift an elephant!” Bucky defended mildly, making cute faces at baby James, whose dark blue eyes were now open and looking around.

“Hey there, little guy,” Bucky said to him. “I’m your cool uncle Bucky, this is your awesome aunt Jane and your awesome aunt Sharon. Over there is your much less cool Uncle Sam.”

“Quit feeding the kid lies, Barnes,” Sam retorted. “We all know I’m the cool uncle. You’re the embarrassing caveman uncle who scratches his back with random knives and grunts a lot.”

Darcy, Jane and Steve burst out laughing. The ridiculous banter between Sam and Bucky was ongoing and provided a great source of amusement for their friends.

Next, it was Sharon’s turn to hold little James and she too, quickly fell under his spell.

“He’s just perfect,” she admired, gently touching one tiny fist. “Talk about a birthday present, huh?”

“You can say that again,” Darcy said emphatically. “The best,” Steve agreed, a tender smile on his face.

That night, after an exhausted Darcy had fallen asleep, Steve held his tiny son until the baby also succumbed to slumber. “Happiest Birthday Ever”. He thought, kissing James’s tiny head as he laid him in his bassinet.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he whispered to the sleeping Darcy.

#shieldshock #FLUFFY #baby fic #Darcy Lewis #Steve Rogers

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flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash · 5 years

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Irresistible Danger - Part 50

Synopsis: After being caught outside the compound on your own, Negan decides to punish you in the best way possible ;)

Words: 3,921

Warnings: nsfw, swearing

Masterlist links are in the header at the top of my blog.

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Author’s Note: I can’t believe it’s been almost a year since I updated this story, but we finally made it to chapter 50 (holy crap)! I apologize to y’all for making it seem like I had abandoned this fic; I always promised myself I’d finish this, even if it took 50 years, and I’m holding to that. The past year was full of many ups and downs, and I really just needed a break from writing and to take a step back and focus on other things. Now, I’m hoping this update marks the start of a refocus on writing and this story, because I really really want to be able to mark it as completed at some point lol. It’s been such a journey (I started this over 3 years ago!!!), and I want to personally thank each and every one of you who is still hanging around and interested in the story. I seriously think I have the best group of readers a fanfiction writer could ever ask for. I know it’s been forever since the last update, so you might need to go back and refresh your memory of the last chapter, since this one is jumping right back in where we left off. Enjoy! <3

Semi-Rational Adults

Your ability to speak had momentarily left the building, as you stared back at Negan with what was sure to be a deer in headlights expression for a long, drawn-out moment. Mind whirling with how to respond to his accusation without also throwing Trixie under the bus, you finally stammered out a shaky, yet truthful, denial.

“I don’t know what you were told, but the test wasn’t for me.”

A muscle started ticking in the side of Negan’s jaw, his lips pressed into a tight, thin line. He looked as though it was taking all of his physical effort not to start yelling, for which you were grateful, since him losing control of his temper usually meant there was slim-to-none chance of reasoning with him.

Continuing hesitantly, you added, “I asked for one from Carson, but it was for someone else.”

At this point, you realized that it must’ve been the doctor who told him about the test. Your subconscious suggested that perhaps it was Amber, since she had probably been in here not long ago with his dinner tray. However, your brain insisted that Trixie had been truthful when she said she was done with Amber. Besides, Carson was terrified of Negan and would probably rat out anyone in the compound, especially if he thought it meant getting on the leader’s good side.

“You really expect me to fucking believe that?” he growled through gritted teeth, hands leaving the desk as he straightened to his full, imposing height. “Fucking think again.”

A spark of anger ignited in your gut at his immediate dismissal of your words. Part of you wanted to give some snarky reply or go off on him for his lack of trust in your honesty. How dare he jump to his own conclusions and refuse to consider that they were wrong! He wouldn’t be satisfied unless you gave the answer he was expecting, the only answer he currently saw as truth. The helpless realization hit that he’d rather you admit to fucking someone else behind his back instead of getting off his high horse and realizing that perhaps his assumptions about the situation were incorrect.

You didn’t want to go down this rocky path again, thinking back to your last fight a week and a half ago, out in the gardens. Both of you had thrown words like knives without stopping to consider the repercussions, and you had come away from the experience emotionally bloody. You didn’t have the mental capacity to go through that again, and if every hurdle with Negan was going to lead to an all-out brawl that set your relationship back multiple paces...then was it even worth it?

Shoulders sagging in defeat, all angry retorts died before they had a chance to leave your lips. If, despite the last few days, he could still think so lowly of you, then why even try to argue? He’d jumped to anger and accusations, rather than rationally asking for your side of the story, and that hurt. God, you were so sick of situations with him leading to you feeling hurt. No one deserved to feel unheard and misunderstood by someone they cared about, and you’d be damned if you fell into his trap by even continuing this conversation.

Looking him square in the eye, with what was hopefully a neutral expression, you deadpanned, “I told you the truth. Whether you choose to believe me or not is up to you.”

Turning for the door, you made it two steps before his voice barked out your name.

“I didn’t fucking say you could leave!”

Twisting your upper body so that you could glance at him over your shoulder, it took everything in you to stay calm, to not fight fire with more fire. Instead, you wanted to douse the flames of the fight before they could truly be ignited.

With a wave of your hand towards the box on the desk, you said, “If that’s what you really think of me, then we’re done here.”

And with that, you turned and walked out the door. Half expecting him to say something else or come out in the hall and demand you turn back around, you weren’t sure if it was relief or despair that cause a loud sigh to leave your lips, when all that came from behind was silence.

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Focused on getting back to your room, which was a safe space away from any prying eyes and ears, you speed-walked down to the third floor. You vaguely acknowledged passing Maria in the hall; she said your name as you walked by, as if she wanted to stop and have a conversation, but you ignored her and just kept walking. You didn’t have the energy to deal with anyone right now and just wanted to be alone. Your silent dismissal was probably rude, but you didn’t overly care at the moment, instead making a mental note to apologize to her later.

When you were inside the small bedroom, with the door closed and locked, it felt as though you were finally able to breathe. This tiny space had become your own personal sanctuary within the Sanctuary, and for the umpteenth time since your interactions with Negan first began, you were beyond glad to be assigned a single room with no bunk mates.

Refusing to just sit and dwell on the situation until you worked yourself into a panic or flood of tears, you instead grabbed your notepad and flopped down on the bed. Laying on your stomach with chin propped on the pillow, you tried to focus on the meal plan and kitchen job assignments you had started organizing for next week. However, you barely made it through Monday before the words turned blurry on the page and you were blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. When one of the bastards escaped, rolling down your cheek and plopping onto the lumpy pillow, you cursed before throwing the pencil and notepad onto the floor and turning over onto your back on the mattress.

Staring up at the ceiling, you started counting the tiles, noting a tiny crack in one that was two rows down and three columns over from the door. After you finished tallying up all of them, you did so again, and again. You were on your fourth round, the simple task just mundane and simple enough to calm your mind, when you were startled by a light knock on the door.

Rather than respond, you kept counting, hoping that whoever it was would take the hint and leave. You had just started the exciting game of Tile Count for the fifth time when the knock came again, this time a bit more insistent. The hair raising on the back of your neck at the first light tapping had already given away who was on the other side, and you refused to fight anymore with the probably still pissed-off man standing outside your room.

“Go away!” you called, irritated that the noise had caused you to lose your place, and starting back at the corner from zero.

There was a long silence, so long that you started to think perhaps he had actually listened, when his voice came, deep and slightly muffled by the door.

“We need to talk, doll.”

The locked door as a barrier made you brave enough to flippantly reply, just loud enough for him to hear, “Why? You apparently think you know everything already.”

Another long silence. You had to admit, that was surprising. You had expected his reaction to a comment like that to be anger and a demand for you to open the door immediately. In fact, you could almost feel him struggling to keep his cool, which gave you a small zing of satisfaction.

“Doll, are you gonna let me in or…”

Sitting up on the bed, the tile game forgotten, you fired back, “Or what?”

You ignored your brain and subconscious, both of whom were looking at you with exasperated expressions. This might not be the most productive of interactions, but hey, you had tried to explain things to him in his office, and he hadn’t wanted to listen. Why should you want to listen now?

“If you don’t open the door, then we’ll just have to talk about it like this,” he replied, voice still surprisingly calm and collected.

You paused and thought about that for a moment. Would he really discuss something like that out in the hall, where anyone could hear? Your brain and subconscious quickly answered at the same time with, Of course he would!

Giving a heavy sigh, you got up off the bed and walked across the room, dragging your feet with every step. You really would’ve preferred he give up and leave, because letting him in this room would give him a chance to either hurt you further or get back in your good graces. At this point, you didn’t know which was preferable. Did you want him to push you further away or bring you in closer? And what the fuck did it say about this “relationship” that you didn’t know the answer to that question?

Unfortunately, you knew that Negan wasn’t going anywhere, stubborn as he was, so with a deep breath for courage, you threw open the door and tried to give him your best neutral stare. It was a bit difficult, once you saw the look on his face. The heat you had expected to see in his eyes wasn’t there; instead, his face looked drawn and, dare you say it, almost ashamed. No, that couldn’t be right. It must just be the glare from the overhead lights and your own buried hope that was causing you to see things that weren’t there.

“What do you want?” you asked, trying to mimic his cool and collected tone.

“I want to talk, doll,” he replied, staring back and waiting patiently for you to decide what would happen next.

Holding eye contact in silence for a long moment, you finally gave a sigh and stepped back, letting him in. He was dressed in a simple, navy blue t-shirt and dark grey pants, and you got a lungful of his unique cedar and spice smell as he walked past. Once the door was firmly closed, you turned and leaned back against the smooth wood, putting both hands on your hips and lifting an eyebrow at him expectantly.

When all you got in response was him looking everywhere in the room but at you, impatience caused your foot to tap and your mouth to give a slightly sarcastic, “I thought you wanted to talk?”

Finally looking over at you, he took in your body posture and facial expression, mouth tightening as he ran a gloveless hand down over his beard. Seeing his bare skin made you realize that he also hadn’t brought Lucille with him, which caused a jolt of surprise. He took that bat everywhere, and you had to wonder how distracted he must’ve been, to forget something so important.

“Damnit, doll. I’m trying to fucking apologize!” he growled, hands now stuffed in his pants pockets.

Both eyebrows raised this time, as you gave him a quick look of surprise before schooling your features. “Well, then do it.”

While part of you was floored that he hadn’t come here to continue fighting, another part of you wasn’t ready to dole out brownie points just because he was trying to apologize. After the things he had just accused you of in his office, trying wasn’t going to be good enough.

He gave a sigh and gestured nervously with his hands, before saying, “Perhaps I was...a little hasty with my judgments...regarding the situation.”

You huffed out a humorless laugh at his stumbling efforts to say that he was wrong. “A little hasty?”

He chewed on his lower lip while looking at you with a gaze dulled by discomfort and guilt. When you didn’t offer any more support, just crossed your arms over your chest and stared back expectantly, his eyes dropped to the floor.

“I’m sorry, doll. I shouldn’t have said what I did,” he mumbled in a voice so low that you strained to hear. You opened your mouth to respond, but he beat you to the punch by adding, “I don’t want this to be a repeat of last time. I don’t want to almost fucking lose you again.”

His words were like a punch to the gut, and you were glad he was still looking downwards and so didn’t see your mouth hanging open as you stared at him with wide-eyed shock. While his words didn’t totally wipe the slate clean, you knew what they had cost him to say. A straightforward apology from a man such as Negan was about as common as a walker turning vegetarian. You took a tentative step towards him, then another. Reaching out, you laid a gentle hand on his bicep, causing his gaze to finally rise and lock onto yours.

Giving a tentative smile, you whispered, “Apology accepted.”

The tight lines around his mouth visibly relaxed, as his jaw unclenched and shoulders slightly dropped some of their previous tension. You stared at one another, both seemingly uncertain what to say or do next. Trying to lighten the mood a bit, you joked, “Did we actually just make some progress and communicate like semi-rational adults?”

He gave a light chuckle and raised his hand to cup your jaw, the calloused thumb rubbing back and forth across your lower lip. “I’d say we did, doll. I’m about as fucking surprised as you are.”

His eyes became a bit more focused and intense, as if he was trying to read your mind. You had a split second to think oh no before he added, “I still need to know what happened though, and what you were doing with that pregnancy test. I’m willing to hear your side of the story and forget what Carson told me, but I need you to be fucking honest with me.”

Shit. You didn’t want to backtrack, not after how well things were going and the steps forward that were being made between the two of you. But you also couldn’t break your promise to Trixie, not when she had placed her trust in you.

You knew Negan saw the conflicting emotions and panic written all over your face, because his hand dropped and he gave a warning growl of, “Doll...”

Muttering a curse that made his eyebrows raise in surprise at your vehemence, you dropped your hand from his arm and took a couple steps back, needing space to get your thoughts together. Gazing at him imploringly, you replied, “I want to tell you, but I made a promise.”

You could see the first sparks of anger in that tawny gaze, and so hurried on. “Someone came to me, in confidence, and asked for my help. I can’t tell you who she is, but I will say that it wasn’t one of your wives. She thought she might be pregnant and didn’t want to cause a fuss if it wasn’t true. She didn’t even want the potential father to know unless she was certain.”

You took a breath and analyzed Negan’s reactions to your words so far. His head was cocked slightly to the side and he remained silent. Satisfied that you had his attention, and that he was still calm and willing to listen, at least for now, you continued.

“I wanted to help, so I asked Carson for a test, that way he wouldn’t know who it was really for. I told him it was for someone else, but it was obvious he didn’t believe me. Not that I cared much at the time-” your eyes rolled upwards in annoyance, “-though I should’ve guessed he’d run to you the first chance he got. But the test was negative, thank god. And it wasn’t that she was being unsafe; she assured me that they were using condoms, and it was probably just stress that messed up her cycle and caused her to panic. The situation is handled, Negan, I promise. I was there when she took the test, and I even saw the negative results. You don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

He studied you, searching your face as if looking for clues to fill in the gaps you had left. You knew that he didn’t appreciate having information withheld, and hoped he wouldn’t take your unwillingness to reveal Trixie’s identity as a personal offense.

“I hope you’re fucking sure about that. Because if it becomes an issue for me down the line, I’m gonna be fucking pissed, doll.”

Bringing up your chin and using your no-nonsense voice, you replied, “I said it’s handled. Which means it’s handled.”

Hazel eyes widened in surprise. “When did you get so damn authoritative?”

“When I started hanging around you too much.”

Giving a smirk and genuine laugh that let you know he wasn’t upset, Negan started towards you. You wanted to smirk in return, but instead backed up, maintaining the gap between your bodies.

“I’m still mad at you,” you warned.

“Why, doll? I fucking apologized, didn’t I?”

Just when he was about to reach out and wrap his arm around your waist, you sidestepped and scurried past him, stopping on the opposite side of the room, near the bed. “I want to know why you automatically assumed the pregnancy test was mine.”

The playful smirk that had been on his face dimmed, as he realized he wasn’t totally out of the clear. “I was being stupid, doll.”

“Stupid how?” You knew the intelligent thing to do would be to let the topic go. He had apologized and admitted to being wrong, but you still felt the zing of hurt from earlier, when he had believed you were sleeping with someone else behind his back.

He sighed and grumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “persistent woman,” before saying, “When Carson told me you wanted a pregnancy test, my mind automatically jumped to the other day in the kitchen. Benny boy was being awfully fucking protective of you, and I’ll admit my thoughts went in a direction that had me stewing by the time you came to my office.”

Not this again, you thought. You didn’t expect Negan and Ben to ever be the best of buds, but the pissing contest Negan had with someone who had been nothing but a supportive friend to you needed to stop. The easiest response would be to tell him that it wasn’t you he had to worry about Ben getting too close to, but knew it wasn’t your place to discuss Ben’s potential love life. Negan needed to trust you, because you weren’t going to keep defending against something that wasn’t even close to the truth.

This time it was you who moved forward, coming to a stop right in front of the tense man who was awaiting your reaction. Reaching up, you took his face between your hands, the scratch of his beard against your palms as you locked eyes with him from a distance of mere inches.

“I’m only gonna tell you this once more, so I need you to really hear me. Ben and I are friends. We’ve never been more than that, nor will we ever be more than that. My love for him is 100% platonic, and vice versa.”

His brows furrowed, and he reminded you of a petulant child, though you’d never say that aloud, as he questioned, “You love him?”

You’d swear his voice held a note of jealousy at the idea of you loving someone. No, that couldn’t be right...could it? Sure, you and him were taking steps towards what might be some form of a relationship, but that topic was nowhere on the agenda for him. You were too busy watching Negan’s face to see the exasperated look your subconscious and brain shared, as if they both wanted to throttle you for being in denial.

“As a friend, yes. I love him emotionally and platonically, but not romantically or sexually. And Ben has never given me cause to believe it’s any different for him. He cares about me, so of course he’s protective...just as I’m protective of him. And he’s not going anywhere, so I need you to accept that he’s a part of my life, and that his friendship makes me happy.”

Your hands dropped from his face to rub along his shoulders; you could see the wheels spinning as he processed this information, and hoped that the words were finally sinking in. You didn’t want two people who you cared deeply about to be at odds with one another, and you refused to be put in a position where you felt like you had to choose your friendship with Ben versus your...whatever this was...with Negan.

He finally gave a nod of affirmation, which caused you to exhale the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. His large hands rubbed up and down your sides, and you weren’t sure if his actions were meant to soothe you or himself.

“You’re right, doll, I misread the situation. I saw that test and lost my shit without even fucking considering there was another possible explanation. And when I thought of you being with someone else, I…” his words dropped off into silence.

You made a shushing noise and wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, standing up on tiptoes and tilting your head to brush his lips with your own. He took the hint and pulled you in close, so that the length of your body was pressed against his.

“You still mad at me, doll?” he murmured into your mouth.

You pulled back and gave a saucy smile. “Only if you don’t use that bed to show me how sorry you really are.”

The look he gave in response caused a flutter of butterflies in your stomach, which quickly shot lower and became a deep, pulsing flutter of an entirely different nature. He caught your mouth in a deep kiss and pushed forward, causing you to walk backwards the couple steps needed before the edge of the mattress bumped into the back of your thighs. You were breathing heavily by the time he lifted his head, and it took a couple seconds for the hazy cloud of lust to lift enough for you to realize his gaze was distracted by something off to the side.

Glancing in the same direction, you saw the pile of condoms laying on your bedside table. They were the ones you had stolen out of the drawer in his bedroom this morning, and suddenly you were patting yourself on the back for thinking ahead.

This time his lips landed on the side of your neck, goosebumps erupting along your arms as he sucked gently at where the sensitive flesh sloped down to meet your shoulder. “First you take coconut oil out of the kitchen, now you’re stealing condoms from my bedroom,” he said between kisses and nips to your flesh. “You’re outta line, doll.”

His hand came up to cup a breast through your shirt, at the same time he whispered in your ear, “Now, how do you think I should punish this insubordination?”

You could only moan in response and gasp out his name, before falling back onto the bed and pulling him down with you.

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Tag List will be posted separately and in three chunks, to hopefully keep tumblr from doing anything wonky to this post. If you do not want to be on the tag list anymore, PLEASE send me a message and let me know. I won’t be upset because I don’t want to bother anyone with tag notifications who is no longer interested in ID updates. It’s been forever since I updated, so I totally get it if you’ve moved on lol.

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borisbubbles · 5 years

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Eurovision 2010s: 90 - 86

90. Suzy - “Queiro ser tua” Portugal 2014

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~Huawei Wa Wei~

I have mentioned earlier that Moran Mazor is arguably the saddest NQ, but Suzy is definitely up there in people whose success I was rooting for. Indeed, I mostly love Suzy because she was a TRAGICALLY ROBBED UNDERDOG.

You see, Suzy was ~BULLIED~ from the moment she had won FdC, and beaten Catarina in the F2. Now, I personally don’t mind “Mea Culpa” itself (my favourite was the drunken pirate hag known as 😍 ZANA 😍, but that’s for another ranking). However, I don’t think I’ve *EVER* witnessed a fanbase as downright evil as the Catarina stans. These ‘people’, by the lack of a better term, make the Beyoncé and Ultimo fans appear like kind and rational people. These... self-proclaimed ‘eurovision fans’ tried to intimidate Suzy into quitting by sending her death threats, all because she DARED to beat their erstwile female-mediocre flavour-du-jour. Who the fuck does that? Human pieces of shit, that’s who. 😤

There’s an *additional* sociocultural connotation to the entire Suzy vs Catarina debacle, but my friend André, who is Brazillian and has Suzy in his 2014 top three made a great post about the issue back in the day, so I’ll just quote him for those who want more backstory:

Quero Ser Tua belongs to a music genre called "pimba", which is perceived by the Portuguese middle and upper classes as tasteless and vulgar because of simple melodies and dirty metaphors (the latter not present in Quero Ser Tua). So they despised Suzy and (...) went in a fucking frenzy [when she won FdC], attacked the composer of Quero Ser Tua (also the father of pimba music), and accused him to rigging the televote and even started dozens of petitions (alol) and regularly vandalised Wikipedia writing that Portugal's entry was "disputed" or that Catarina was the real winner (holy alol). This drama speaks to me because Quero Ser Tua and pimba music in general sound like other genres of popular music we have here in Brazil that are also derided by the snotty-nosed middle class as vulgar and devoid of "culture", often with racial connotations on top of the social class ones. To me, Suzy's victory (rigged or not) has a political message: pimba IS culture, like any other kind of music, and it deserves to represent a country as great as Portugal because it's part of their culture and they should be proud. It's definitely a bigger statement than the bourgeois, mediocre Mea Culpa and I am proud of every Portuguese that voted for Suzy to win. <3

As for ~my~ layman’s opinion, well, I just think the song possesses some great summer sprit.😊 It’s a colourful explosion of cheerful accordeon, moody percussion and ethnic frivolity. 😍 Listening to “Quero ser tua” makes me very happy about 100% of the time, almost as much as the knowledge that, after being disliked for most of the pre-show, Suzy won everyone except for her most diehard haters over, becoming someone who is now almost unanimously deemed one of the most robbed NQs. STAY PRESSED, HATERS. >pasta :victorydance:

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89. Jana Burcheska - “Dance Alone” F.Y.R. Macedonia 2017

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[2017 Review here]

Like many of the 2017 entries, my passion for Jana dropped over time. Make of it what you must but I think the live of “Dance alone” kind of cheapens it... and you know what I think about cheap and trashy, I LOVE THAT OBVIOUSLY.😍

However, I also think the cheapness does Jana dirty, because “Dance alone” also happens to be one of my favourite songs OF 2017. Its 80s synth sound and high voltage fierceness left me bald and straight UPON IMPACT, with madly quotable lyrics that I STILL use in friendly banter to this day. 😍

The awesomeness is only further enhanced by Jana, who is -independently from her song- also one of the best humans in 2017. I absolutely ADORED this goat-voiced gremliness from the SECOND she spent her first interview shading the fuck out of Rykka 😍 (check the 2017 review for the dirt) and then proceeded to troll the press people by teasing that she actually couldn’t sing for no reason. 😍

Which brings me to the live act which.... conceptually is a match to the song, but which also doesn’t do it justice. Don’t get me wrong, Jana contorting her body as she’s assaulted by a Carolean windmachine sustains the crap out of me, but I have always thought “Dance alone” had more potential than shown in the live. (Getting rid of the “Wishing you could hold me close” closer is particularly upsetting imo.) Moldova and Azerbaijan would’ve turned “Dance alone” into an EASY top 30 in this ranking, but in the hands of Macedonia it’s a mere top 90 for me. 😭

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88. Lake Malawi - “Friend of a friend” Czech Republic 2019

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only a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend

Lake Malawi live the ultimate BorisBubbles dream: IMMENSELY annoying song whose appeal hinges entirely on how uncomfortable it makes other people, somehow convinces about ~95% of the loyal eurofans that it’s a fantastic masterpiece. 😍 ADVERSI-DEITIES 😍

Of course, the axis around which Lake Malawi spins is Albert, a human spark plug and mankind’s youngest thirty year old. Seeing Albert fling himself around the stage, never losing his entheusiasm is the main reason why “Friend of a friend” exceeded my already high expectations! Another, slightly-less awesome reason however is the D-sound-like staging:

It really just is a clever, likable entry. Of course, that doesn’t take away that “Friend of a Friend” is objectively one of the most irritating songs ever, making it anathema to the televoters’ tastes <3 😭(😍)

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87. Jamala - “1944″ Ukraine 2016

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It is only FITTING that Jamala and Lake Malawi rank alongside each other, star-crossed lovers that they are. ALBERT x JAMALA 5ever:

A greater love story than even Alfred x Amaia. However, this post is mostly about Jamala, so LET US discuss a great, if controversial winner. I will start with a small caveat and say that “1944″ isn’t the song for me. One of the biggest dealmakers in Eurovision songs for me is replayability “1944″ just doesn’t have that quality for me. I only really relisten to it when I must, for rewatching purposes. However, that does make the few times I DO revisit “1944″ all the more magical to me. If we take on board that songs are a means of expression, then “1944″ is one of the best songs ever, for the themes it expresses are all too real. I don’t even NEED the gutwrenching, defiant lyrics to *FEEL* the pain the nation of Ukraine is going through. The act sends shivers down my spine, body aching all the time. The Jamala Tree is one of modern Eurovision’s most iconic visuals:

Of course, that ALSO makes “1944″ one of the most notoriously political entries of all time. Now, other fans of Jamala might argue that, “No, it’s not about the Crimean war at all, just the historic deportation” and well... no? There is a reason why Jamala wrote this song *NOW* and not the last time she entered Vidbir. It *is* Jamala’s way of coping with the Russian invasion, something which *also* ties into her own family history. “1944″ is a very elegant, tasteful middlefinger aimed at Putin, but it’s a middlefinger nonetheless. However, what if it is? The Ukraine vs Russia conflict is a notoriously heated one and potshots are to be expected. If I have to chose between an open attack and a backhanded one (such as that rubbish entry from the Tolmachevy Sisters, or the two rubbish ones by Julia Samoylova), I will always pick the former.

Overall, I greatly appreciate “1944″ and think it’s a great winner. The composition is evocative of both Ukraine’s history and musical traditions, as well as their current predicament, making “1944″, despite pertaining to a specific year, a timeless experience. It is very deservingly considered one of Eurovision’s best winners by the fanbase, and I hope it remains a favourite for future generations to come.

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86. Joan Franka - “You and Me” The Netherlands 2012

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Yes, Joan ranks one spot above Jamala lmfao. EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED!!! 😈

Back in 2012, I obviously was a feverish Joan stan, mostly for Ironic reasons: “LMFAO JOAN TARD... it’s YOU... and ME! SO SILLY <3″ -- me Circa 2012, when my wit amounted to calling lovable dimwits “tards” and quoting song lyrics.

In 2019, I can say that... I still love Joan for her ineptitude and frivolity, but with the added layer of *genuinely* loving Joan for Joan. From the consistently offkey singing, to dressing up like a Lakota warchief (completely oblivious to how inappropriate this is 😍), to the bonfires (pandering to the Land Of Fire, Azerbaijan 😍) and the general-happy-go-lucky vibe, “You and me” just feels so.. real? Like a real person regaling real stories of a real romance with a real (boy)friend. It is so disarmingly earnest, which of course, being stuck in 2012, meant that it was unceremoniously offed by the professional juries. TOO PURE FOR THIS DAMN’ WORLD. 😭

Since this update booted the final entries from Portugal, Macedonia and the Czech Republic, I’ll disclose my final thoughts below, as to not disrupt the ranking:

PORTUGAL:

Honestly, a pretty good chart for Portugal, despite being the fourth country to be fully eliminated from the ranking. I was hoping that Salvabrat would have started a hot streak, but alas. Portugal just keep getting screwed over by subpar staging and their own stubborness, leading to insistent dismissal by the fanbase. I fucking hope people (Portugal deniers) come to their senses though because they are consistently robbing one of Eurovision’s best fucking countries.

NORTH MACEDONIA:

Sean Tarbuck from ESCUnited nailed Macedonia the best: they are a country of amazing music and utterly disastrous lives. They are probably the single worst stagers in Eurovision? The numbers don’t lie, with a qualification rate equivalent worse than San Marino’s. Just look at what Slovenia and Serbia are doing, Maco, and you’ll be fine!!!

CZECH REPUBLIC

There isn’t much to say about the Czech, but they’ve finally contributed with an entry I not only liked, but loved. I do think we are in the beginning years of a Czech Golden Age though and if they can keep that hot streak going, Eurovision might be coming to Prague very soon (ie: within the next five years.)

#Eurovision #Eurovision Song Contest #Netherlands #Ukraine #Czech Republic #Macedonia #Portugal #Joan Franka #Jamala #Lake Malawi #Jana Burceska #Suzy #You and me #1944 #Friend of a friend #Dance alone #Quero ser tua

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