![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
agentadvocate.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
booshslashhavenTitle: It's Me, Cathy
Pairing: implied N/J
Summary: Julian watches Noel's appearance on Let's Dance For Comedy Relief. Enough said.
Word Count: 800
Rating: G
Warnings: Contemplation, Eyeing Up Noel, Mad Dance Skills
Disclaimer: I do not own the Mighty Boosh and make no profit. Fun was had. No rights were owned.
Author's Notes: Sorry to double-post, but this HAD to be done today!
* IN CASE YOU LIVE ON MARS & HAVEN'T SEEN NOEL DANCING... *
[ WATCH IT FIRST! ]
There he was.
A rolling mist and a flash of intense, worried blues in a sea of red flowing from side to side.
Julian laughs out loud.
That hair.
It had to be the hair that did it.
Julian runs his hand down his face and laughs again, turning up the volume, thumb digging hard into the buttons.
For a second it all looks too surreal; the moon, the trees, the song. Julian gets a flash of Pat Benatar in his head and feels old.
It’s not even him, Julian thinks.
Noel’s features lend themselves flatteringly well to drag, but the roses make him uncomfortably believable.
A close up of his evocative stare into the lens makes Julian shift forward on the couch, his own shameless smile keeping pace with Noel’s ludicrous sneer.
The last time he’d seen an incarnation of Noel wear red lipstick was touring Old Gregg. This was infinitely more satisfying. Possibly more arousing.
Noel starts throwing shapes and the camera zooms in on his flailing fingers & pouting lips.
It’s definitely him.
Julian doesn’t acknowledge the fact that he hadn’t spoken to Noel about the show before airtime.
He doesn’t acknowledge the fact that he wants to know why Noel didn’t do an obvious Jagger swagger number & make things easier on himself.
He just wants to know if Noel wins.
The flourishing of his limbs seems to take up the entire stage. He’s a square jawed senorita dream; a pointier Florence Welch incarnate.
He should call him, after the show he thinks, regardless of whether or not he wins.
The advent of Noel being home resting his strains and muscle aches is highly unlikely however. Noel fights recuperation like it was the poison, not the cure.
He’d deliberately stay up for days, work through evenings as if his entire career depended on it. Julian rubbed his socks back and forth on the plush carpet and adjusted the volume up a few more notches.
It was as if didn’t understand the natural correlation between age and energy run down, Julian thought. The speed of his life defied logic. It defied every plan Julian had made for this middle-aged stasis. It kept everything efficient and beautifully manic, but he felt like it stopped him from sitting down for 10 years.
Julian had always though he’d feel some sort of schadenfreude the day Noel hit the wall. Noel does a cartwheel across the set, seemingly to spite him.
Pots clank in the kitchen; a tiny voice says something inaudible over the music on the television.
No one was denying that fact that Noel would rip through again soon enough; Julia was already battening down the hatches.
Like a breathy, idea-filled tornado he’d steal him away. Julian would be off with the momentum, caught up in Noel like they’d just met, synchronized like clocks.
Julian thinks about what kind of house he’ll buy in America.
Noel falls to his knees, eyes to the sky, arms lock in absurd, endearing emotion.
He’s on the ground, clawing at the audience.
Julian rubs his sweating palm against the knee of his slacks.
He wonders if Noel would still be wearing the red nail polish tonight, or if his lips would still be smeared red in the corners.
He’d probably let the polish naturally peel over the course of the week or would begin flaking it away as soon as he left the studio. He bases his assumption on past experiences watching Noel fidget and scratch off black chunks as he was trying to read. On tour, Julian had never finished a Times crossword without it raining of black flecks from above. He’d lift the newspaper into a funnel and pour them into Noel’s orange juice. It was a particularly sweet silent victory when Noel would drink it without noticing.
The tattered dress circles around him as he spins. Julian rubs his hand up his thigh and leans back against the sofa.
Noel mouths for the girls to get out and prances over to the judge’s table; Julian squints up his face into a wheezy chuckle, all eyeteeth.
Lee Mack looks flustered, leaves on his head. Julian touches his tongue to the outside of his bottom lip and stares at the screen. He looks over at the chordless charger on the side table.
I'm so cold, let me in-a-your window
Oh it gets dark, it gets lonely
On the other side from you
I pine alot, I find the lot
Falls through without you
Noel descends into the fog one last time, a triumphant painted hand cutting through the haze.
Julian feels like he’s able to exhale for the first time in 2 minutes.
He laughs to himself again & eyes the judges.
He reaches for the phone, but is interrupted by a clank and thump. One of his boys trips in another room and he can hear the preliminary sounds of a cry beginning with a drawn out whine.
Julian walks to the hallway. He picks him up, tells him he’s OK and goes to look for a Band-Aid, TV still blaring in the background.
The audience screams.
Pairing: implied N/J
Summary: Julian watches Noel's appearance on Let's Dance For Comedy Relief. Enough said.
Word Count: 800
Rating: G
Warnings: Contemplation, Eyeing Up Noel, Mad Dance Skills
Disclaimer: I do not own the Mighty Boosh and make no profit. Fun was had. No rights were owned.
Author's Notes: Sorry to double-post, but this HAD to be done today!
* IN CASE YOU LIVE ON MARS & HAVEN'T SEEN NOEL DANCING... *
[ WATCH IT FIRST! ]
There he was.
A rolling mist and a flash of intense, worried blues in a sea of red flowing from side to side.
Julian laughs out loud.
That hair.
It had to be the hair that did it.
Julian runs his hand down his face and laughs again, turning up the volume, thumb digging hard into the buttons.
For a second it all looks too surreal; the moon, the trees, the song. Julian gets a flash of Pat Benatar in his head and feels old.
It’s not even him, Julian thinks.
Noel’s features lend themselves flatteringly well to drag, but the roses make him uncomfortably believable.
A close up of his evocative stare into the lens makes Julian shift forward on the couch, his own shameless smile keeping pace with Noel’s ludicrous sneer.
The last time he’d seen an incarnation of Noel wear red lipstick was touring Old Gregg. This was infinitely more satisfying. Possibly more arousing.
Noel starts throwing shapes and the camera zooms in on his flailing fingers & pouting lips.
It’s definitely him.
Julian doesn’t acknowledge the fact that he hadn’t spoken to Noel about the show before airtime.
He doesn’t acknowledge the fact that he wants to know why Noel didn’t do an obvious Jagger swagger number & make things easier on himself.
He just wants to know if Noel wins.
The flourishing of his limbs seems to take up the entire stage. He’s a square jawed senorita dream; a pointier Florence Welch incarnate.
He should call him, after the show he thinks, regardless of whether or not he wins.
The advent of Noel being home resting his strains and muscle aches is highly unlikely however. Noel fights recuperation like it was the poison, not the cure.
He’d deliberately stay up for days, work through evenings as if his entire career depended on it. Julian rubbed his socks back and forth on the plush carpet and adjusted the volume up a few more notches.
It was as if didn’t understand the natural correlation between age and energy run down, Julian thought. The speed of his life defied logic. It defied every plan Julian had made for this middle-aged stasis. It kept everything efficient and beautifully manic, but he felt like it stopped him from sitting down for 10 years.
Julian had always though he’d feel some sort of schadenfreude the day Noel hit the wall. Noel does a cartwheel across the set, seemingly to spite him.
Pots clank in the kitchen; a tiny voice says something inaudible over the music on the television.
No one was denying that fact that Noel would rip through again soon enough; Julia was already battening down the hatches.
Like a breathy, idea-filled tornado he’d steal him away. Julian would be off with the momentum, caught up in Noel like they’d just met, synchronized like clocks.
Julian thinks about what kind of house he’ll buy in America.
Noel falls to his knees, eyes to the sky, arms lock in absurd, endearing emotion.
He’s on the ground, clawing at the audience.
Julian rubs his sweating palm against the knee of his slacks.
He wonders if Noel would still be wearing the red nail polish tonight, or if his lips would still be smeared red in the corners.
He’d probably let the polish naturally peel over the course of the week or would begin flaking it away as soon as he left the studio. He bases his assumption on past experiences watching Noel fidget and scratch off black chunks as he was trying to read. On tour, Julian had never finished a Times crossword without it raining of black flecks from above. He’d lift the newspaper into a funnel and pour them into Noel’s orange juice. It was a particularly sweet silent victory when Noel would drink it without noticing.
The tattered dress circles around him as he spins. Julian rubs his hand up his thigh and leans back against the sofa.
Noel mouths for the girls to get out and prances over to the judge’s table; Julian squints up his face into a wheezy chuckle, all eyeteeth.
Lee Mack looks flustered, leaves on his head. Julian touches his tongue to the outside of his bottom lip and stares at the screen. He looks over at the chordless charger on the side table.
I'm so cold, let me in-a-your window
Oh it gets dark, it gets lonely
On the other side from you
I pine alot, I find the lot
Falls through without you
Noel descends into the fog one last time, a triumphant painted hand cutting through the haze.
Julian feels like he’s able to exhale for the first time in 2 minutes.
He laughs to himself again & eyes the judges.
He reaches for the phone, but is interrupted by a clank and thump. One of his boys trips in another room and he can hear the preliminary sounds of a cry beginning with a drawn out whine.
Julian walks to the hallway. He picks him up, tells him he’s OK and goes to look for a Band-Aid, TV still blaring in the background.
The audience screams.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 06:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 07:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 07:09 am (UTC)with the urge to create some written prose,
and I thought "Man, WTF is
I shall craft exactly what they are thinking, as a living homage to my love for them."
& that's clearly what happened here ♥
(NO RLY, WHAT GOOD BOOSH FAN IS NOT THINKING ABOUT LET'S DANCE TODAY???)
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 07:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 07:47 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 07:13 am (UTC)(Also speaking of brainwaves, I hope you don't mind that I'm as we speak like a third of the way through writing a porn also involving the aforementioned dance routine - OH NOELLY YOU SEXY LADY)
no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 07:24 am (UTC)"Someone has to write a fluffy version of Julian at home...
AND SOMEONE HAS TO WRITE SOME GREAT PORN FROM THIS AMAZINGLY SEXY CROSS DRESSING."
Ergo, write on.
no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 07:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 07:52 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 07:59 am (UTC)Now all I can think is that Noel was singing it to Ju. Which is equal parts amusing and lovely.
Actually I think that sums up this little gem - equal parts amusing and lovely. Thanks for sharing.
no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 08:14 am (UTC)Haha! Great descriptor. I definitely wanted the humour of it as well as the bizarre hotness that was Noel.
I'm infinitely sad he can't dance with Ju. Next year's Let's Dance: ALL PARTNERS.
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 08:20 am (UTC)and so sad that Julian's desire to connect with Noel is interrupted by real life!
no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 08:38 am (UTC)I always think that the crazy world they're created is so far removed from real life that downtime must seem surreal opposed to being involved with the Boosh.
no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 11:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-28 05:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 02:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-28 05:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 07:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-28 05:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-28 01:10 am (UTC)I thought the song choice was really...interesting. Cathy Pining for her Dark, Gruff, Yorkshireman. *sigh*
Hopefully the first of many...
(Oh crud. I think I just gave myself a bunny.)
no subject
Date: 2011-02-28 03:28 am (UTC)Thank you for pointing out the lyrical stuff.....yeah, Cathy, outside, in the cold, pining, dark Yorkshireman. I'll put this up on my LJ and see if anyone says anything XD
no subject
Date: 2011-02-28 05:56 am (UTC)Ohhhhh- Please let that become a raging bunny that gets posted here. I implore you. (I thought the same thing. The mad slasher in my head could only see Julian. What have I become?)
no subject
Date: 2011-02-28 01:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-28 05:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-28 09:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-28 09:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-28 11:11 am (UTC)And he is a square jawed senorita dream <3 <3
no subject
Date: 2011-03-01 04:40 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From: