My old fics are so cringey
Here ist ein fic I think I posted on my old account. It's noelian. *#~SHIP4LYF~#*
It's all angsty and painful but a little bit hopeful in the fact that at least Ju gets to spend time with the man he loves. You know what? i'm not going to put a disclaimer because none of you are stupid enough to think i'm julian barratt making a diary entry. and the men themselves aren't excatly going to sue me are they?
I tried as hard as I could. I really did. The dig of my nails into my palms dug cruel red crescents. My breath was held so far in that I could barely feel it in my body, and the lack of it made my head spin. I held myself into a shape so rigid that lights were starting to pop behind my eyes, my lips clamped together with what felt like pneumatic force. It was all wasted when I saw you. That single gasp escaped my lips, leaving them open.
It was gloomy in the cramped, low budget dressing room, but your pearly skin shone against the darkness. Eyes ringed with thick black kohl, heavily mascara’ed lashes brushing your cheek bones as you blink at me. "Do I look alright?" you say quickly, nervous fingers plucking the black silk, stretched tight against your skin. I love this, this side of you that so few get to witness. But most of all I’m honoured that I do. Like a nervous shadow, your teeth graze against your perfect bottom lip, your head turning slightly to the side, eyes towards the floor. Always the same. Your fans would be astounded. Cocky, confident Noel, always in the limelight, always dolled up in attention grabbing attire. They wouldn’t believe this unsure Noel, desperate for the reassurance of the frigid, unstylish friend. It still makes me glow somewhere deep inside that that friend is still me.
"You look fine, as always, can we just go now?" I manage to stutter, but mentally I’m cringing. Why could the praise that usually tumbles so easily from my lips, never come when you need it most. You will always be told you are beautiful, but secretly we both know you need it from me to believe it. "You know what I mean Julian!" You look suddenly mortified, your cheeks backlit with rose, and I know it’s my fault. I’m struggling now. "It’s not like you haven’t done it before, it’s the 21st century, nobody’s going to be shocked if a completely effeminate comedian shows his ankles, nobody’s going to faint Noel." It’s your turn to gasp now. You turn completely to the side, tears pooling in your eyes. "I can’t believe you Julian, what’s wrong with you? I thought you understood!" The volume of your voice starts to rise. "It’s not as easy as it looks, I thought you knew that, it’s difficult to put on a bunch of stupid fucking clothes and stand up in front of a load of people I don’t know! Do you think I’m comfortable with the way I look right now? Would you be? Maybe we should stick you in the fucking dress next time and see how you..." "You look so fucking beautiful in that dress Noel, and you know it." My sudden outburst shocks us both. Your mouth hangs open slightly. Your eyeliner is running a little in the heat but I can’t feel a thing.
"Oh, umm ok." Your arms swing lightly at your side in nervous embarrassment. But, oh you do, you just look so beautiful. The dark fabric clings tightly to your slim frame, accentuating your ghostly pale skin, curving around your girlish hips and lightly caressing your waist like the hands in my fantasies. It swoops into a sudden V around your neck and past the small of your back, the line of fabric closing tightly at your throat. The temptation is too much to run my thumb gently against your hip bone, to feel the way the lush fabric brushes over your skin, even though I could see your eyes widening "It’s perfect Noel, that’s all I’m saying. It suits you, now can we please just get on stage because we’re late." Swallowing your embarrassment you tip your head back in a familiar routine "Eyes" you say, a shake barely escaping your voice. I comply with this ordinary habit and press my thumb, quivering with tension, lightly against your lips and your tongue darts out to wet it. As usual I wipe it under your eyes to clean off any makeup that is out of place. "Perfect" It comes out as a whisper.
I follow you silently from the room watching the way the silk tautens over your hips as they swing from side to side. I can’t believe how much of my life is taken silently watching and waiting for a non-existent window of opportunity. My eyes are dark with the sleepless nights, spent running over the same thoughts with that fervent desire that borders so frequently on despair. My quiet sigh comes out as a frustrated hiss as I cast my eyes over everything I want and everything I can’t possibly have. Though I still manage to smile silently as I muse internally, that I would probably like the front half too.
It's all angsty and painful but a little bit hopeful in the fact that at least Ju gets to spend time with the man he loves. You know what? i'm not going to put a disclaimer because none of you are stupid enough to think i'm julian barratt making a diary entry. and the men themselves aren't excatly going to sue me are they?
I tried as hard as I could. I really did. The dig of my nails into my palms dug cruel red crescents. My breath was held so far in that I could barely feel it in my body, and the lack of it made my head spin. I held myself into a shape so rigid that lights were starting to pop behind my eyes, my lips clamped together with what felt like pneumatic force. It was all wasted when I saw you. That single gasp escaped my lips, leaving them open.
It was gloomy in the cramped, low budget dressing room, but your pearly skin shone against the darkness. Eyes ringed with thick black kohl, heavily mascara’ed lashes brushing your cheek bones as you blink at me. "Do I look alright?" you say quickly, nervous fingers plucking the black silk, stretched tight against your skin. I love this, this side of you that so few get to witness. But most of all I’m honoured that I do. Like a nervous shadow, your teeth graze against your perfect bottom lip, your head turning slightly to the side, eyes towards the floor. Always the same. Your fans would be astounded. Cocky, confident Noel, always in the limelight, always dolled up in attention grabbing attire. They wouldn’t believe this unsure Noel, desperate for the reassurance of the frigid, unstylish friend. It still makes me glow somewhere deep inside that that friend is still me.
"You look fine, as always, can we just go now?" I manage to stutter, but mentally I’m cringing. Why could the praise that usually tumbles so easily from my lips, never come when you need it most. You will always be told you are beautiful, but secretly we both know you need it from me to believe it. "You know what I mean Julian!" You look suddenly mortified, your cheeks backlit with rose, and I know it’s my fault. I’m struggling now. "It’s not like you haven’t done it before, it’s the 21st century, nobody’s going to be shocked if a completely effeminate comedian shows his ankles, nobody’s going to faint Noel." It’s your turn to gasp now. You turn completely to the side, tears pooling in your eyes. "I can’t believe you Julian, what’s wrong with you? I thought you understood!" The volume of your voice starts to rise. "It’s not as easy as it looks, I thought you knew that, it’s difficult to put on a bunch of stupid fucking clothes and stand up in front of a load of people I don’t know! Do you think I’m comfortable with the way I look right now? Would you be? Maybe we should stick you in the fucking dress next time and see how you..." "You look so fucking beautiful in that dress Noel, and you know it." My sudden outburst shocks us both. Your mouth hangs open slightly. Your eyeliner is running a little in the heat but I can’t feel a thing.
"Oh, umm ok." Your arms swing lightly at your side in nervous embarrassment. But, oh you do, you just look so beautiful. The dark fabric clings tightly to your slim frame, accentuating your ghostly pale skin, curving around your girlish hips and lightly caressing your waist like the hands in my fantasies. It swoops into a sudden V around your neck and past the small of your back, the line of fabric closing tightly at your throat. The temptation is too much to run my thumb gently against your hip bone, to feel the way the lush fabric brushes over your skin, even though I could see your eyes widening "It’s perfect Noel, that’s all I’m saying. It suits you, now can we please just get on stage because we’re late." Swallowing your embarrassment you tip your head back in a familiar routine "Eyes" you say, a shake barely escaping your voice. I comply with this ordinary habit and press my thumb, quivering with tension, lightly against your lips and your tongue darts out to wet it. As usual I wipe it under your eyes to clean off any makeup that is out of place. "Perfect" It comes out as a whisper.
I follow you silently from the room watching the way the silk tautens over your hips as they swing from side to side. I can’t believe how much of my life is taken silently watching and waiting for a non-existent window of opportunity. My eyes are dark with the sleepless nights, spent running over the same thoughts with that fervent desire that borders so frequently on despair. My quiet sigh comes out as a frustrated hiss as I cast my eyes over everything I want and everything I can’t possibly have. Though I still manage to smile silently as I muse internally, that I would probably like the front half too.