#noel's house party

[kidcore-nostalgia]

"Blobby, blobby, blobby!"

[charactersmashorpass-2]

"I'm sorry"

[wouldtheybecomeafearavatar]

Would Mr Blobby from Noel's House Party become an Avatar of The Spiral?

[unusualmuffin-art]

Anyone likes Mr Blobby 💕✨️?

[tollboothsoup]

more ‘scary kids show characters’ I LOVE YPU NOBODY HEART EMOJI !!!!!!

[acquiescest]

irt the lrb what would you say if i said liam & noel spent new years 2023 together in paris

what would you say if i said liam bought the house in france (the one with noel's name carved into the walls) in march 2023 and that month noel talked about wanting to spend several months in paris

which could mean nothing

[gins-stim-emporium]

self indulgent mr. blobby (noel’s house party) stimboard !! >_<

balloons / bow tie / small mirror

jelly cake / 🍧🎁 / cake mix

rose quartz hearts / boba spill / lava lamp

[sbnkalny]

Mama luigi, children at your feet in a plastic bag...1977 and we are mercenaries who are only five hundred people, all of whom will spend their lives bumping into each other, dripping slightly

[letsallgotothelobby]

BLOBBY BLOBBY

[garagepaperback]

i recieved a gorgeous tag from @citrusses along with the additional gift of holiday updates from her harry's and draco's, so here are most of mine:

this heaven of mud: first holiday back together, or, actually together? foal-hoofed shaky. draco deeply under-buys on gifts, relying mostly on memories of harry's relationship to getting presents in school and harry vastly over-buys with a similar warped reasoning. intimacy born through the exhale, in the shivered cracking open of a smile whenever they catch each other out in this sort of moment—wrong but, an attempt. it's lovely and perfect in every single not-quite-right

coyote ugly: sloppy phanaeng curry flavored blowjob in malfoy's stifling, terrible, weirdly comforting loft bed

ready, able: the one year anniversary for the office holiday party where they—well. everyone knows now, anyway. the night is spent blatantly and half-sarcastically holding hands, eyes rolling in endurance of every clumsy joke about the sweet, stupid day in the office after when they had to admit draco didn't in fact need the antidote, since they—well. even more often, it confirmed the rumors about their coat closet hookup the year prior, so there's a few unsubtle mentions about that. eventually draco's cheeks get tipsy-pink enough that the showy hand-holding becomes a steady leaning on each other, fingers threaded loose and sure at their sides, the simple affection too easy and ordinary to avoid

isn't a kingdom: the crashing ocean surges steadily through every glass pane in the house, the hum like breathing. draco falls asleep to it, wakes to it, all while curled against a second wonderful, enormous impossibility, another sublime thing. harry's the same as the sea. he doesn't seem to start or end, either.

a barely lit path: harry spends the week and most of actual christmas morning cooking. draco stays close, draped all over him. he's been back a week from his course, and they see each other every weekend (not to mention the owl's suffering leg strains from the sheer weight of draco's letters) but he's home. they're happy. in the afternoon they cart gratin dauphinois and buche de noel to ron and hermione's, though harry suspects it's mostly a flimsy setup so draco can talk about marseille without bringing it up himself. it's new and nice he wants to talk about it, anyway. charlotte puts her entire little hand in the yule log and babbles baby nonsense, which ron translates to: looks like actual shit, mate.

javelin (to have and to hold): nothing special, only they're together, which is impossibly, wonderfully even more so

-

okay tagging @eleadore (THE TIME ONE ESPECIALLY), @yiiiiiiiikes25 (CROWGUYS TOO), @flightspathfic , @tackytigerfic , @jtimu , @oknowkiss , @kamaela , @faiell , @hollyhawthorn + anyone else who wants to play

[biblical-chronicles]

Sober up

__________________________________________

where Liam looks after a tipsy reader at a Christmas party, only for her to accidentally confess her love while he’s helping her sober up.

__________________________________________

Gem’s house was alive with Christmas chaos—laughter ringing out, someone yelling over the music about what song should come next, and glasses clinking in a never-ending loop. You’d lost count of how many drinks you’d had, but it didn’t seem to matter when everyone else was equally far gone.

The evening was a blur of conversations and laughter, and somewhere in the haze, the drinks had caught up to you. It wasn’t until you stumbled slightly on your way back from the kitchen that you realized the room was spinning just a little too much. You gripped the counter for a moment, then straightened up, the thought flashing through your mind: Find Liam.

You weren’t sure why, but in your dizzy, slightly tipsy brain, Liam felt like the solution to everything. Reliable? Maybe not the first word you’d use to describe him, but he was steady in his own weird way. The kind of steady that came with teasing and eye rolls but always with a hand out to catch you if you stumbled.

It took you a minute to locate him. He was in the kitchen, perched on a barstool, pint in hand, holding court with Noel and Bonehead. His voice was unmistakable, cutting through the noise with some remark about how Christmas crackers were a scam because “Who wants a shite paper hat and a plastic comb, anyway?”

You shuffled over, steadying yourself on the back of his chair before leaning into him, your forehead resting against his shoulder.

“Liam,” you mumbled, your voice muffled by the fabric of his parka.

He turned slightly, glancing down at you. “Oi, what’s this? You alright, love?”

“I’m so drunk,” you admitted, gripping his sleeve for dear life.

Noel barked a laugh from the other side of the counter. “And you came to him for help? What, was every other adult in the room busy?”

“Shut it, Noel,” Liam shot back, though he looked more amused than annoyed. He turned his attention back to you, tilting his head to get a better look at your face. “Jesus, look at the state of ya. Who let you near the tequila?”

You groaned dramatically, burying your face further into his shoulder. “Help me.”

Noel leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his face. “You’re asking Liam Gallagher for help. That’s like asking a fox to guard the henhouse, darlin'.”

“Go on, take the piss, Noel,” Liam shot back. “The damsel in distress clearly came to me for a reason you jealous bastard."

Noel rolled his eyes but didn’t bother with a retort. Liam, meanwhile, slipped off his barstool, steadying you with a hand on your back. “Alright, come on, let’s get you some fresh air before you start decoratin’ Gem’s floor.”

He guided you through the crowded living room, his hand firm on your back as you weaved through the throng of people. When someone called out to him, he waved them off with a quick, “Busy here. Got a rescue mission.”

Once outside, the crisp December air hit you like a slap in the face. You wobbled slightly, but Liam steadied you, pulling your coat around your shoulders.

“There,” he said, tugging it snug. “Feel better already, don’t ya?”

You nodded weakly, your grip still firm on his arm. “Me shoes,” you mumbled, glancing down at your bare feet. At some point in the night, you’d ditched them, though you couldn’t remember when.

“Bloody hell,” Liam muttered, crouching down to grab your boots from the porch. “You’re a disaster, you know that?”

He plopped down on the bench and motioned for you to sit beside him. “Right, foot up,” he ordered, tapping his knee.

You complied, giggling as he wrestled one boot onto your foot. “You’re like me fairy godmother,” you teased, your words slightly slurred.

“Yeah, except instead of a magic wand, I’ve got these grimy boots,” he shot back, holding up the other one. “Could’ve at least worn somethin’ decent, but nah, you went for these clunkers.”

“They’re vintage,” you argued, laughing.

“They’re knackered, love.”

Once your boots were on, he leaned back on the bench, shaking his head. “Proper piece of work, you are.”

You turned to him suddenly, throwing your arms around his waist in a tight hug. “Thank you, Liam,” you mumbled against his chest. “You’re the best.”

He stiffened for a moment, clearly caught off guard, before his arms came around you hesitantly. “Alright, alright,” he said gruffly, patting your back. “Don’t get all mushy on me.”

You stayed like that for a moment, your head against his chest as his fingers found their way to your hair, smoothing it down gently.

“You’re a proper handful,” he murmured, though his tone was softer now.

“I know,” you whispered, smiling slightly.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hand still resting on your shoulder. “You soberin’ up, or do I need to chuck you in the snow to wake you up proper?”

“I’m okay,” you said, though you didn’t move from your spot. “Just needed some air... and you.”

His expression softened further, his teasing grin giving way to something quieter. “Yeah, well. You’ve got me, don’t ya?”

He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a bottle of water he’d snagged from the kitchen. “Here,” he said, handing it to you. “Drink this. Can’t have you passin’ out on me.”

You took the bottle gratefully, sipping it as Liam leaned back against the bench, his arm draped lazily across the backrest. The porch light cast a soft glow over the two of you, and for a moment, the world felt quiet and still.

“Thanks, Liam,” you said again, your voice steadier now. “I mean it.”

He shrugged, but his smirk was warm. “What can I say? I’m a proper saint.”

You laughed, feeling a little more like yourself as the fresh air and Liam’s steady presence worked their magic. He still had that teasing smirk on his face, though his arm stayed comfortably slung along the back of the bench, fingers brushing your shoulder.

“You’re a right lightweight, y’know,” he said, eyeing you with mock seriousness. “Couldn’t hack another hour in there, could ya? Party like a rockstar, my arse.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, but there wasn’t any bite to it. You leaned back, your head resting against the bench. “You’re mean to me.”

“I’m mean to everyone,” he shot back, grinning. “Don’t feel special.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, and he chuckled, shaking his head. But just as he opened his mouth to say something else, you suddenly sat bolt upright, panic flashing across your face.

“Oh my God!” you exclaimed, grabbing at his arm.

Liam startled, his pint nearly toppling over. “Bloody hell, what now?”

“The presents!” you gasped, clutching at his sleeve like the world was ending.

He squinted at you, clearly baffled. “Presents? What presents? It’s a party, not Santa’s grotto me little lunatic.”

You shook your head frantically, your words spilling out in a drunken flurry. “No, no, no, you don’t get it. I had a present! And it was all supposed to be perfect. Like, I had this plan, right? I was gonna give you the gift, and then I was gonna—” You cut yourself off, throwing your hands in the air. “Oh God, it’s ruined! Dead ruined!”

Liam blinked, a slow grin spreading across his face as realization dawned. “Hang on a second. You had a plan?”

“Yes!” you wailed, not noticing the way his cheeks were turning a faint shade of red. “I was gonna give you your gift, and then I was gonna—” You stopped again, waving your hands dramatically. “It doesn’t matter now. The moment’s gone!”

He leaned forward, trying and failing to hide his amusement. “What were you gonna do, then? Gimme me present and then, what? Serenade me?”

“No,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I was gonna confess me love, obviously!”

The words tumbled out so fast that you didn’t even realize what you’d said, far too focused on your lamenting. Liam, on the other hand, froze, his eyes going wide as his brain scrambled to process your drunken confession.

You, oblivious, started fumbling in your coat pocket. “I had this whole thing planned. I even wrote it down in a card, see? So it’d be all nice and festive and perfect.”

“Right,” Liam managed, his voice cracking slightly. “Festive. Perfect. Sounds... sounds good.”

You finally pulled a Christmas card from your pocket, holding it out to him with a triumphant smile. “Here it is! Merry Christmas, Liam!”

He stared at the card for a moment before taking it, his fingers brushing against yours. You watched expectantly as he opened it, your head tilted like you hadn’t just dropped the world’s biggest bombshell in front of him.

His eyes scanned the card, and his expression softened as he read your handwriting. It wasn’t just festive and perfect—it was heartfelt, sweet, your words spilled across the page, messy and sincere, detailing everything you loved about him.

By the time he finished, Liam was quiet, his grin replaced by something softer. He folded the card carefully and slipped it into his pocket, looking at you with an intensity that made your tipsy brain do somersaults.

“C’mere,” he said, his voice low, as he pulled you into a tight hug. His arms wrapped around you like he never wanted to let go, and for a moment, you just melted into him, your face buried in his shoulder.

“Thanks,” he murmured against your hair.

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him. “For what?”

“For... everything,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. Then, before you could process his words, he leaned in and kissed you.

The world seemed to tilt for a moment—not from the alcohol, but from the sheer fact that he was kissing you. His lips were warm and insistent, his hands cupping your face like he couldn’t believe you were real.

When you finally broke apart, you were both a little breathless, your foreheads resting together.

“I blew it, didn’t I?” you mumbled, your cheeks heating up as the realization hit you. “The whole plan. The card. I ruined everything.”

Liam chuckled, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You blew it a bit, yeah,” he teased, his grin returning. “But I dunno... I reckon it worked out alright in the end.”

You groaned, hiding your face in his chest. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Yeah, but you’re my idiot now,” he said, his voice warm and teasing. “So I reckon I can live with it.”

You laughed, your arms tightening around him. The night air was still cold, but with Liam’s arms around you, you felt warmer than you had all evening.

“Come on,” he said, standing up and offering you his hand. “Let’s get back inside before Noel starts wonderin’ if I’ve chucked you in a snowbank.”

You took his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. “He’s gonna give me so much shit, isn’t he?”

“Absolutely,” Liam said, his smirk widening. “But don’t worry, love. I’ll tell him you’re mine now. That’ll shut him up.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop smiling as he laced his fingers with yours and led you back inside.

__________________________________________

Figured I’d throw a bit of Christmas sparkle on this one since Noel’s already had his festive story—can’t be leavin’ Liam out in the cold, can we?

hope whoever requested it likes it as well as all you lovely lot !! xx

[leaawrites]

This is better

Noel Gallagher x fem!reader

Summary: when Noel misses a New Year's party she can't explain it to herself, so she goes to find him.

Warnings: mentions of drinking, bit suggestive, language, fluff

Wordcount: 1k

Masterlist

Stumbling through the crowd, she felt her head spinning, the heels of her shoes pressing into her feet the longer she walked in them, blisters forming on her skin. New Year’s celebrations were supposed to be fun, but with no one around to have fun with it seemed rather boring to her now.

The idea was nice at first, inviting to leave her flat for one night and not stay with her family longer than the Christmas holidays. Liam had asked her if she wanted to come around, spent some time with Noel since ‘he wasn’t such a massive cunt whenever she was around’ as he told her over the phone. Back then she could hear Noel in the background, telling him to shut it and not tell such bollocks. Though it made a warm spread in her chest, the thought that Noel was acting different around her. Easier, nicer.

It was a nice thought to think about at night.

Though now she doubted it as she looked around the room, searching for one face in particular and not finding it. Noel Gallagher was nowhere to be seen. Whether he was already off with some new bird or never even there, it made her chest ache.

Catching Liam’s back as he awkwardly moved to the beat of the music, she made her way over to him. Tapping his shoulder and making him turn to her. “Hey, love.” He slurred his words as he greeted her, a lulling smile on his lips. “You enjoying yourself?”

“Would be if I got someone by my side,” she answered, laughing at his state. “Liam, do you know where R'kid is?”

“Oh, yeah, ‘bout him. Fucking cunt stayed in the studio, saying some bullshit about having an idea.” He waved it off as ‘typical Noel’ before turning around again and continuing flirting with the girl pressed against his front.

What the fuck? What was Noel doing in the studio at New Year’s?

What did she have better to do? she asked herself as she stumbled down the street. Her shoes still hurting, trying to find an excuse to turn around and not enter the building she now stood in front. Not even the secretary sat at her table anymore, a sign that nobody else should here. Still she was, walking towards the soft guitar strumming she heard coming from one of the studios.

Pushing the door open, she watched Noel for a bit. His back turned towards her, his eyes looking out the small window that showed him the fireworks already going off in the distance. He wanted to go out there and have fun, so why was he sitting here?

“Why you still here, Rock star?” she asked, breaking the comfortable silence with her voice and the closing sound of the door behind her. Walking over to the small couch she could finally tear the heels from her feet, relaxing her body into the cushion. “Shouldn’t you be partying like anyone else?”

“Shouldn’t you be too?” he asked, ignoring her first question and making her roll her eyes as a smirk spread on his face.

She was here with him instead of somewhere else, he thought. Why was she here with him?

“It was boring without you,” she answered, the alcohol making her speak her mind than what was reasonable to tell him.

“Boring without me? I barely do anything on these type of parties. Liam’s more fun,” he answered, strumming again.

“I don’t think so.” She shook her head. “You’re loads of fun, Noel.”

Patting the empty space beside her on the sofa, she pouted her lips to make him feel guilty and go over to her. At the sight of her plum lips almost begging for him, he couldn’t deny her anything. She could’ve asked him to buy her a house and he would’ve said yes in a heartbeat if she only looked at him like that.

Once he was sat beside her, his body stiff, she threw one of her legs over his lap, cuddling into his side. It made him relax momentarily before he realised what kind of position they were in. He could feel her breath on his neck, fawning down his skin. Her lips close to his ear, making a shiver run down his spine.

“Oh, love,” he whispered, the nickname not being a new one. Still it made her chest erupt with butterflies at how it sounded now. So soft and delicate, almost like he was begging.

“What?” she asked, smiling as she felt his hand running up and down her leg. Letting out a little yelp as he pulled her closer, making her straddle his lap, laughing at the action and it’s suddenness.

“Why weren’t you at the party?” she asked once more, her fingers running over his cheek, down over his jaw. Holding her finger over the pulsing skin of his lips. Feeling at how soft the felt.

“Couldn’t see you kissing some bloke at midnight,” he confessed, overwhelmed with the sudden closeness to her. His eyes travelling down from her eyes to her lips, a smile forming on them.

“I was waiting for you,” she said, explaining her own reason for leaving. “Wanted you to kiss me at midnight.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his eyes widening.

Nodding her head, he made his mind up. It was now or never. Brushing a piece of hair from her face behind her ear, he held her face in his hand, feeling her lean into his touch. Her lips brushing over his palm, moving down his wrist she left little pecks on his skin before she leaned forward, capturing his lips with hers.

A soft moan leaving his lips at the contact.

“It’s not midnight yet,” he reminded her, mumbling against her lips between kisses.

“I don’t care,” she said. “Are you sad you missed the party?”

“No,” he said. “This is better.”

His hand travelled down her face, over her chest and to her waist. Softly grabbing her skin there with one hand, the other one lingering just beneath her breast, pulling her closer.

[paulgrossaddict]

Vidéo

[noel-fielding-web-page]

‘The fact that I’m still here is amazing’: Noel Fielding on Bake Off, booze and the Boosh

He has gone from cult niche to smash hit and he still can’t believe it. As Bake Off returns, the comic talks about his ‘feral’ upbringing, his party years – and the day Hammond fell out of a hammock

Noel Fielding’s highlight of the new series of The Great British Bake Off wasn’t a show-stopping cake. In fact, it wasn’t any type of baked goods. It wasn’t even a shot of a squirrel with outsized testicles. It was his co-host Alison Hammond falling out of a hammock.

“I’ll never be able to unsee it,” he says. “What I love about Alison – and I mean this with the greatest of respect – is that she’s an absolute klutz. If anyone’s going to fall out of a hammock, it’ll be her. She also fell backwards off one of the workbenches while showing off. Don’t worry, she was OK. No Hammonds were harmed in the making of this series.”

As the autumnal fixture returns to our screens, Fielding promises a 15th series on peak form. “It’s a belter,” he says. “There are some very special bakers in the tent this year. Somehow the standard keeps getting higher. These unbelievable young bakers are way better than they should be for their age. It’s a vintage year. One of the best yet.”

By stealth, the surrealist goth has become a Bake Off veteran. This is Fielding’s eighth series at the helm, meaning he’s now served a longer stint than original hosts Mel Giedroyc and Sue Perkins. “Who knew that was going to happen?” he marvels. “Maybe Paul Hollywood’s hypnotised me. I can’t escape the tractor beam of those blue eyes. I loved that original lineup, with Mary [Berry], Mel and Sue, as much as anyone. When me and Sandi [Toksvig] took over, we were terrified. We knew it was a massive risk. We said: ‘Let’s see if we can last one series.’ The fact that I’m still here is amazing.”

A family affair? … (from left) Fielding, Alison Hammond, Paul Hollywood and Prue Leith. Photograph: Mark Bourdillon/Channel 4

Toksvig later admitted “I felt my brain atrophying” after three series of glazes and ganaches. How does Fielding keep it fresh? “Sandi, as we know, is a massive brain. She went to Cambridge, she’s super-smart, she writes, she does politics, she needs to be stimulated. She never stays anywhere too long, except QI which is the perfect show for her. The difference between us is that I’ve always really enjoyed hanging out with the bakers. I befriend them and get them to open up. Nobody expected that to be my strength. I assumed it’d be the sketches and banter. In fact, I’m fascinated by the people. I feel protective of them. If Paul and Prue [Leith] are hard on them, I’m absolutely livid. It’s devastating when they leave. This year I was particularly fond of one baker. When I had to send them home, I cried.”

Hammond is his third co-host. “It feels like I’ve done three different shows,” he says. “First with Sandi, under enormous pressure but we pulled it off. Then with Matt [Lucas], which was a privilege because he’s a comedy genius. Now I’m enjoying it more than ever. Alison’s not a comedian, so she’s not as neurotic about jokes as I am, but she’s a brilliant improviser and instinctively funny. She slotted right in. Paul and Prue are very fond of her. Even my kids adore her. We’re having a blast.”

Judges and presenters refer to “the Bake Off stone” – a tendency to gain weight during each 10-week run. In her sophomore series, Hammond valiantly attempted to resist. “She tried to eat less this year but Alison’s quite childlike. She said: ‘Noel, stop me eating cake, I want to be good.’ The next time I saw her, she was literally like [he mimes shovelling in cake]. Alison has a good time all the time. You don’t want her to not be eating the cakes.”

Fielding, now 51, had a “feral” upbringing in Croydon. Hammond was raised in a Birmingham council house. He relishes these “two working-class kids galloping around Welford Park”, the Grade I-listed Berkshire estate where the marquee is pitched each summer. “If you’ve grown up in a working-class environment and go to a stately home, you’re like: ‘Woah! This is like Willy Wonka’s factory.’ We’re like urchins in front of Dame Prue. I permanently feel like I’ve come to sweep Prue’s chimney.” He describes Bake Off’s star quartet as “a funny old family”. Who’s who? “Prue and Paul are Mum and Dad, obviously. Alison’s the wild daughter. I reckon I’m the cat. Or am I the dog? Paul would say I’m the teenage son who’s secretly a vampire.”

‘We knew it was a massive risk’ … Fielding with Sandi Toksvig on the 12th series of The Great British Bake Off. Photograph: Channel 4/Love Productions/Mark Bourdillon/PA

The last time we spoke, Fielding reflected on his 00s era as a hedonistic scenester. “I took partying to its logical conclusion,” he said. “When you’ve been partying with Kate Moss and Courtney Love, you’ve gone as far as you can go. A few friends ended up in rehab. I was sick of partying anyway and lucky enough to have my family at the right time [he has two daughters with wife Lliana Bird]. It was like: ‘This is what I was looking for!’”

He returns to the theme today, pondering how Bake Off arrived at the right time. “When I got this job, I’d just had my first child, I was painting a lot and had a different lifestyle. This show fitted that phase. You want to match your career to where you are in life. It’s mainstream, family-friendly and my kids love it, so it suits me. I love not partying – and I never thought I’d say that.”

A fellow comic turned artist provides career inspiration. “I’d love to concentrate on art more as I get older. I love what Vic Reeves [Jim Moir] is doing, making art documentaries and his Painting Birds series. Vic and Bob [Mortimer] were a big influence on me. Now he looks genuinely happy. I’d love to do something similar.”

Claudia Winkleman jokes that she gets mistaken for Fielding. Does it happen the other way round? “I did see a trailer for The Traitors out of the corner of my eye and go: ‘I swear I didn’t film that.’ But no, Claudia looks like a beautiful 60s model. I look like a melted candle. A wax model of Roy Orbison that’s been left too near the radiator. It’s flattering for me but harsh on her.”

Earlier this year, Fielding scored a streaming hit with The Completely Made-Up Adventures of Dick Turpin. After wrapping filming on Bake Off, he’s off to shoot the highwayman sitcom’s second series. Has he learned to ride a horse? “I can get on and off, that’s all I need. Luckily it’s a comedy, so I don’t need to look impressive. One thing I enjoyed was that it’s made by Apple, so there’s a bit of a budget. With The [Mighty] Boosh, it was always a financial struggle to bring your vision to life. If you do fantastical stuff, you’re forever going: ‘We want an underwater race with people riding porpoises but that’d be all the budget gone.’ We’d end up using bits of animation to work around it. With Apple, they go: ‘Yeah, we can do that. Fine, let’s blow up a carriage.’ I’m like: ‘What, really? It won’t be a model?’”

He has formed an unlikely double act with Hugh Bonneville, who plays Dick’s thief-catching nemesis. “You can never predict who you’ll have chemistry with. I’ve learned a lot from Hugh. He’s a really skilful comic actor. And Mark Heap, who plays my dad, has the best timing of anyone ever.” As well as starring, Fielding has a writing credit. In the pilot episode, Heap tells him: “You always were a bit weird. Drawing, coming up with funny ideas, wearing strange outfits.” Was that line autobiographical? “I did write that scene, yeah,” admits Fielding.

Slice of history … Fielding (left) with his Mighty Boosh co-star Julian Barratt Photograph: Martin Argles/The Guardian

He also drew the amusingly rubbish “Wanted” posters that appear in the show. “I’d send them to the director and he’d go: ‘No, not bad enough, do another, make it more ridiculous!’ I’d end up doing them left-handed in about 10 seconds.” There’s even a role for his brother Michael, who played Naboo in The Mighty Boosh: “I put my brother in everything I can. He’s not only very funny but it means I get to hang out with him all day.”

While we’re on the Boosh, was he aware that this year marks the 20th anniversary of the comedy troupe’s TV incarnation? “Does it? Oh wow. Me and Julian [Barratt, his comedy partner] were proud of everything the Boosh did – the live shows, radio series, TV show. We probably should have made a film. People wanted more and that would’ve been a nice way to finish. Julian’s the funniest person I’ve ever worked with, hands down.” Of today’s comedy crop, he rates James Acaster highly.

Would the duo ever reform? “What we had together was so special. Comedy double acts are such rare beasts, like unicorns. I’ll probably never meet anyone like that again but I loved it while it lasted. We stopped at the right time, before the quality dipped. The Boosh was all-consuming, like being in a band. It’s difficult to recreate that when you’re older. You don’t have the same drive and energy. As much as I’d love to get back together, I wouldn’t want to do something that wasn’t as good.”

Going from Boosh to Bake Off has been an unexpected journey. “When the Boosh ended, because it had been a cult hit, I wanted to make something more avant garde and experimental to satisfy my art school side. So I did [Channel 4 sketch series] Luxury Comedy. After that, I didn’t know what to do with myself, then Bake Off came along. It was a huge curveball for me. I love that it’s old-fashioned TV. Millions watch it weekly. People come up and talk to me about the latest episode. It feels like being part of British culture. There’s so much choice now, thousands of shows on streaming, but shows like Strictly, Gogglebox and Bake Off somehow still cut through.”

After dismal weather all series, the sun even came out for this year’s final. “It had been raining and storming but as soon as we went to announce the winner, sunshine started beaming down.” Fielding grins. “Bake Off’s like that. There’s something magical about it.”

Guardian, 14.09.2024

[imaginesbymonika]

From the dining table | Part 2

Pairing: Damon Albarn × Gallagher! Reader

Plot: Everyone's favorite topic during the '90s and 'OOs; Y/N Gallagher. The mysterious and beautiful younger sister of the two loud brothers rarely spoke during interviews but played the guitar like no one else. And even though she never said a word about her dating-life, the list of her rumored boyfriends kept growing longer with each passing year. Yet, there was one name in particular that just kept on popping up...

Part 1

(2024)

It took a lot to convince Noel to give out Y/N’s number. There was a lot of swearing, ranting, and tons of “fucking knew it” involved before he sent it to Damon over Whatsapp. He is staring at the numbers as if they’re going to disappear the second he blinks.

“I haven’t heard it yet.”, Noel says after a moment, his voice much calmer now:” The song, ya know. You’re sure it’s about you?” The blonde sighs and tilts his head back. His bare neck made contact with the cold leather couch:” I’ve got this feeling in my stomach.”

There’s a long pause before he hears the older musician chuckle into the phone:” I always had my suspicions that it was you my sister was seeing. Couldn’t prove it. But it made sense in a way.”

“We both knew that if one of you would’ve found out you’d have me killed.”

“Oh yeah.”, Noel answers without hesitating and scoffs loudly:” That’s our baby sister, we’re talking about. Right now, I still want to kill you.” Damon softly giggles:” Can’t blame ya.”

“So…”, Noel pauses and Damon hears how he lights up a cigarette on the other side. The crackling sound of the lighter fills the peace. “What are you going to say to her?”

Damon bites his lip and shakes his head:” I don’t know. There’s so much I want to say to her, but I just- it’s suffocating yet. The truth of it all, I mean. I was stupid back then, immature and naive…and well, primarily doing coke.” “We all did that, I suppose.”, Noel reassures him and takes a deep breath.

“Yeah, obviously.”, He glances down at his bitten nails:” But well, you know… your sister, she’s the love of my life. I should’ve done something about that sooner.”

“Oh, wow.”, Noel mutters softly, there’s a new layer to his voice Damon cannot place:” Love of your life, huh? You mean that? Y/N never spoke to us about her love life. I get that. But I’ve been to her parties and I heard all those rumors… She said it herself “I am no man's peace”. Remember when Daily Mail plastered that quote everywhere?” He laughs quietly.

“Yeah, yeah. The first thing she ever said in an interview. How could I forget that? Well, Noel, for what it’s worth she used to be my peace.”, the singer replies and licks his lips:” And I haven’t stopped missing it since I lost her.”

“You know…”, Noel begins:” I shouldn’t be doing this, I really shouldn’t. But a few months ago Y/N moved to the coast. A sweet little house in Hampshire, I’ve seen it- gorgeous. Anyway, if you truly care that much about her…I’ll give you the address.”

[starssaroundmyscarssblog]

𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄

pairing: 90s!liam gallagher x fem!tennis player!oc

summary: in which they probably shouldn't have ever been a thing, but liam and lottie don't really care that much

word count: 2.19k

warnings: swearing, allusions to sexual content, fade to black smut bc it makes me uncomfy sorryy ++ links to the 'fern and noel' saga

he didn't know how it ended up the way it did, but fuck was he happy about it.

when they were younger he would stand on the side of the court behind a net at the tennis centre twenty minutes away from burnage on the train for her county matches. now he sat in guest boxes and spent time not rehearsing and recording plane hopping from open to open, tournament to tournament watching the way her agile feet jumped along the clay staining the soles of her white tennis shoes red.

she acted in turn thought and for that liam was thankful. watching her launch the ball from serve to return over the net was exhausting, but he knew the training and flying to catch the occasional gig was worse and he didn't know how she did it: give a blinder of a performance at the wimbledon grand slam finals and then land in lisbon to see him perform after her hours of press campaigns.

in liam's eyes, lottie could do no wrong; she was perfect in every sense of the word back when they'd started dating in secondary school. she'd offered to help him to pass his ppe's at the pleasure of his mam, she didn't smoke or do drugs at house parties, wouldn't touch a drop of alcohol until she was of legal age and even still it was rare enough to see her do it.

training took up every week night as well as all day saturday, she worked at the bar at the boardwalk in the evening (ironically she was a dab hand at making a blinder of a cocktail) and dedicated sunday to her homework followed by perfecting her serve stance and follow through.

lottie had everything going for her, something that she made clear she wished he had too. many a time she'd be sat with liam late at night, after her shift at the boardwalk, in the middle of the grassy patch in the children's play ground. "someone'll notice you eventually, i know they will. everyone who's seen you loves you."

liam pulled a handful of grass up with his hands out of frustration, a half burnt out cigarette hung between his lips that she couldn't keep her eyes off. "dicks aren't writing about us, though. no-one south of hale or north of oldham knows who we are."

three weeks later, liam had interrupted her training session. he cut off her backhanded serve and pulled her shoulders to him to kiss her soundly as lottie's tennis instructor yelled at him to leave. liam pulled away, grinning brighter than she'd ever seen him, "we've got a record deal, lotts. creation want to work with us, they've signed us!"

a grin split her cheeks right in two. lottie flung her arms around his neck, stood right on the tips of her toes to keep a balance her instructor would have been proud of had he seen it out into action in another other given situation. he blew sharply on the brass whistle hanging on a loop around his neck, hands on his hips as he glared lottie down. she withdrew and whispered a select congratulations in his ear and pushed liam away towards the gate he'd bulldozed through, with a kiss to the pulse point on his neck

lottie was training for the french open when she was called over to the reception desk, hot and sweaty with her hair stuck to the back of her neck, to take a phone call. "hello?" she questioned down the line, rolling her ankles so she could jog back to the clay courts and hit the ground running. she nearly lost her grip on her racquet, slipping through her fingers to collide with her trainers, when liam laughed down the line. "hey lotts, you wouldn't mind paying out my bail would ya love?"

"i thought you were going to belgium," she managed to splutter out, "what did you do to get arrested on a ferry?"

"bit of a long story, babe, but can you pay it?"

she sighed and pinched her nose. "fine, yes. but seriously, liam, this is the last time i'm going to do it. if i find out this has anything to do with you snorting one before boarding you'll be out of my flat and onto your arse faster than you can blink."

on the other end of the line, standing against a pay-phone in a belgian police station, liam adjusted has stance against the pillar. he sat down on one of the wooden slated benches lining the concrete walls and tried to cover his crotch. he chewed his lip in thought, laughing fakely at something bonehead shouted, and his voice turned sombre. "it's not. promise. just had too much to drink an' all that, having a bit of fun before r'kid turns into commander and fuckin' chief."

he heard her heavy sigh and his heart sank. liam had no doubt in his mind that he would be out on the end of astrid's boot in a second if he didn't clean up his act. "i mean it, li. one whiff of cocaine being found in my house and the confederation won't let me compete. i'll phone alan and tell him i'm paying out your bail. you can call me when you get back." lottie hung up on him and handed the receiver back to honey, who was sat behind the desk and messing with the crucifix around her neck pretending like she hadn't overheard any of the conversation.

out on the courts and with little under two months until her first match of the french open, lottie bounced from service to base line, firing fuzzy balls back to over the net while the red clay stained the hem of her whites. she scratched her racquet more times than was necessary to lunge for the ball, while shooting up and zipping around the boxes as she worked harder against the machine.

sometimes during their rigorous training jamie, her coach of seven years, would start loud shouting conversations while lottie was working her arms and thighs. he argued it helped her maintain good breathing regulation and improved concentration, because viewers in the stands could be distracting at the best of times. "so what's new with the rock star, then?"

she grunted as she sent another ball flying over the net and into the wire fence surrounding the court, skidding on her toes in pursuit of the next only an arm's stretch away, "nothing. the twat's only gone and got himself arrested because he got pissed on an over night ferry. 'this is the last time, babe, i promise'", she mimicked in a high pitched voice, "like hell it is."

"ah." jamie ran a finger over the hair he was trying to grow out on top of his lip, "has the brother been in touch yet?" a cold wind shot through the air and he pulled up the zip of his tracksuit closer to his neck. lottie's back flared up in goosebumps but she kept moving, running around the court and rounding up the balls to pour them back into the funnel of the dispensing machine. "no, but i'm expecting a call soon. when one phones the other usually follows suit."

astrid pounded at the treadmill in the gym of her hotel in paris, five minutes away from the large clay court stadium she'd thrashed each of her opponents on. she'd played her way to the final three days and came away relatively unscathed, apart from a strain in her serving wrist that a quick round of physio patched back up. lindsay, an american who was in the running for the doubles championship, was using a bike next to her.

between the two of them they shared an earbud each, stemming from a cassette player settled on the window sill and balancing in the middle of their sponsored water bottles. all of a sudden liam's voice crackled through her ear, and lottie shook her head as she cranked up the incline under foot. lindsay looked at her out of the corner of her eye, cycling as if her life depended on it. "not a fan?" she inquired, bringing down the gears to loosen the tension burning in her calves.

"it's not that," she panted, pushing through the blister forming on her heel, "i just can't believe you are. they're bastards, all of them."

lindsay gradually brought her legs to a stop, taking a moment to bring down her breathing before swinging over the seat to stand up, "i thought you were going out with one of the brothers."

"oh, i am," the incline increased again, "but it doesn't mean i can't call them that." lottie brought the treadmill down until she was walking on a flat line, and took a large sip of water. she looked at her watch and checked the pedometer hooked over her shorts by her hip and started to gather her things. lindsay moved to grab a skipping rope and stretched out her arms behind her back.

"and speaking of whom, i'm off. they should be here by now, good luck for tomorrow if i don't see you."

"and you, lotts. i've heard martínez is training hard, she won't give you an easy run."

lottie zipped her fitted jacket halfway up and tucked her thumbs into the loops around her wrists. "i know. see you on the podium." she left the gym with the two plaits her hair had been tied in laying over her shoulders. in the lift, lottie brushed her eyebrows back into place and checked her watch again, sidestepping a confederation official on the way out into the lobby.

she rocked back and forth on her heels near enough away from the reception desk so as not to look like she was loitering, but close enough to be saved if there were any photographers crouched in a bush with a long-range lens.

as lottie was attempting to push back a cuticle on her nail, she heard liam first rather than seeing him. his loud voice disrupted the peace of the hotel, earning him a disapproving glance from the bellboys and an even dirtier look from noel who was sulking behind, face like thunder.

liam sauntered into the lobby with his sports bag slung lazily over his shoulder, and his eyes were drawn to the dip of lottie's tits first before her smile. she wrapped her arms around him and sighed heavily in content, taking his congratulations on her progress in the open to heart. then she drew away and went to hug noel, who visibly recoiled.

"what's up with you?"

"nowt." he grumbled, shuffling around with room keys.

liam scoffed. "like fuck it's nowt. you're just in a mard because fern broke up with ye'." noel looked like he was ready to hit his brother square on the nose, but was restraining greatly. lottie tried not to sound too sympathetic when she consoled him.

"look i don' want to fuckin' hear it from you either, lotts, no offence. now is there an offie 'round here, i'm dying for a cig and i haven't got nowt."

lottie furrowed her brow in thought and tried to ignore liam looking at her out of the corner of her eye as if he wanted to jump on her right there and then in the glossy lobby.

she crossed her arms under her chest to push up her tits more, just to wind him up. liam discreetly adjusted the way he was standing. "err, yeah. i think there's one just down the road."

"cheers."

noel had sped away before he could even ask someone to take his bag up to his room. liam grumbled out 'lazy cunt' as he made a show of hauling it over his other shoulder, herding lottie into the lift with a hand over her chest.

as soon as the mirrored doors slid shut and they felt movement, liam was attacking lottie with a kiss so searing she felt breathless within seconds.

"missed you so fuckin' much," he mumbled, moving to ravage her neck.

when the lift doors slid open again she dragged him back to her room with her hands on the back of his neck, pushing noel's bag off is shoulder and leaving it abandoned outside his room. liam's hands were roaming over her arse and he withdrew the room key from her back pocket, scanning it before shoving her inside.

"all that time away from you was fuckin' torture," he groaned as her nails dragged down his stomach and traced the low-hanging waistline of his jeans, "need you now, babe." he sighed against her chest as lottie slowly unbuckled his belt, his hand weakly climbing her torso to palm at her tits through her tight jacket.

lottie smirked, "if being this far away from me turns you into this much of a mess, liam," at this she walked him over to her bed to sink down between his legs, following the seam of his jeans up his thighs and to his exposed boxers, "i'm going to have to get competing more often."

🪩⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊🎤