#2docweek

[galletaspunk]

day 2: .tragician. frank iero

[kyrianna]

Omg...

Did anyone notice Murdoc going for 2D when he realised there would be an explosion in the new G-Shock watch video?

[alienskeletito]

[xxkaibutsukoxx]

2doc week 2019 💚💙

Day 2: Favourite Album

[tailsylennon]

2Doc #1- Favorite Song 

I have mix feelings about them being together in the early years due to Murdoc just being a rude nut but through time it gets better

My personal favorite song is “every planet we reach is dead”

I imagine 2D calling out to a friend/ lover wanting to comprise over their hard ships. But this was also a time when Murdoc was really rude to 2D but ‘D still wanted to understand him a bit better. It’s a really emotional wave in the album. 

[hwayeh]

2Docweek Day 1
Favorite Song:Tomorrow Comes Today 
耶~我趕上了XD說到Gorillaz最喜歡的歌我真的很難抉擇!最後選了Tomorrow Comes Today ,這首伴我度過許多低潮QQ

[supposed2bfunny]

It’s a collaboration for Murdoc’s big day!! @trashfrog99 and I worked together to produce this art and story to celebrate our favorite Satanist! Also, I must credit @elapsed-spiral for the concept of Murdoc’s gift being a sort of “Kong 2.0″ (her words, her story Yearz). That chapter was a huge inspiration for what this story would morph into. Rating: T Warnings: None Murdoc’s grand plan to sleep until approximately four in the afternoon was dashed by the tentative knock on his door around lunchtime. “Boss?” Ace’s voice called, “you up?” He fumbled around blindly until he found a bottle opener on his bedside table and threw it at the door to communicate his annoyance. “I am now,” he growled, sitting up and smoothing his disheveled bedhead as best he could. “Give us a tic, you twat, I’m not decent.” After the pre-birthday celebration that he’d had with Stu, that was a wild understatement. The cap to a bottle of lube and a veritable parade of condom wrappers scattered across the floor as he threw his bed sheets aside and groped around for something to wear. A full two minutes later, he was zipping up a pair of jeans and trying to sort out his rattiest Prince tee-shirt, which seemed determined to remain inside out. “Yeah, what do you want at the ass-crack of dawn anyway?” he asked, opening the door and half-expecting Ace to have vacated already. But the American stood there, sunglasses hanging from the neck of his tee and a smile on his boney face. “Happy birthday, bossman!” he replied, punching Murdoc’s shoulder (he was strong for such a scrawny guy; it hurt). “Fifty-three, bet you never expected to make it that far, huh?” “That’ putting it mildly,” he responded, but he smiled, and he knew that of all people, Ace felt no discomfort with the cryptic humor. “Now can I go back to sleep, or did you want to sing that insipid birthday song to me?” “Actually,” Ace ducked forward to look over Murdoc’s shoulder, then back the way that he had come up the stairs to make sure they were alone. “I wanted to give you a little something. Something the rest of the crew might not appreciate too much, if you catch my drift.” “Gang stuff?” Murdoc asked, perking up and feeling awake for the first time. “Is it drugs?” “No!” the younger man snorted. “You know I don’t do that shit no more. Now hold out your hand.” Murdoc agreed, expression suspicious as Ace reached into his back pocket. A moment later, he dropped something cool and heavy into the bassist’s palm. He withdrew his hand and Murdoc’s eyes widened in amazement. “Brass knuckles? The Gentle Green Giant owns a pair of brass knuckles?” “Owned. Want you to have ‘em, boss.” Murdoc slipped them on, impressed at their weight. He’d never worn a pair before, though he’d known plenty of people in his life who’d owned them between his drug-filled youth and many days in prison. “You never used these,” he accused. “Same as your switchblade. It’s all for show.” “Used ‘em exactly once, actually,” he corrected. “Back when I had my crew in Townsville, some junkie came after one of my guys, Lil Arturo. And little Artie was just a kid, see? I had to protect him. I panicked: punched the guy once, twice, saw blood, ran,” he pushed his long black hair behind his ears. “You know I was never really much of a fighter. But these have been used to protect family, and that’s why I want you to have ‘em. After that experience is when I decided to quit the gang shit and pursue music more seriously. And opening for Gorillaz? That was my first official gig that landed me some cash so’z I could turn my life around.” He took a deep breath and pointed at the brass knuckles. “Those’re significant to me. And all you’ve done to let me stay with you guys, even after you came back from the slammer, well…it’s been significant to me too…” Murdoc could see that Ace was becoming emotional, and though there was a day where he would have laughed at the younger man, he instead placed a hand on his shoulder. “Pretty cool gift, I must admit. Not as great as some blow, but it’ll do.” “They’re not for violence, got it?” Ace looked at him seriously. “They’re symbolic. Using those things changed me, set the course of my life in a new direction!” “Right, right, great life changes and all that, got it, Ace,” he looked into the younger man’s eyes. “You’re uh, you’re all right. For a ‘guido’.” “I’m the one who taught you that word!” Ace snapped, misty eyes suddenly fiery with anger. “You don’t get to call me that! That’s practically a slur, you know!” “Right, riiight, if this little heart-to-heart is over,” he replied, “I’m going to go get some breakfast.” “It’s past noon. That’s lunch, you stupid old man.” “Youth is wasted on the young,” he replied, but he made sure that Ace saw him slip the brass knuckles into his pocket, a new treasure to keep close at all times. In the kitchen he was greeted first by the strong smell of frying bacon, and then by Russel standing at the stove, spatula in hand. “You’re normally up earlier’n this, Russ,” Murdoc commented, eyeing the sizzling bacon with interest. “Everything all right?” “I’ve been up, Muds. This is for you.” “What? A man turns fifty-three and suddenly everyone learns how they should have been treating him all along, huh? I quite like this worship.” “Don’t push your luck. But there’s beans in the microwave; get those out and grab a plate.” “Russel, I could kiss you.” “I can smell your breath from over here, man; you’d better not even think about it.” Murdoc cackled and did as he was told, fetching a plate and finding a Pyrex container of baked beans warmed in the microwave for him. As he spooned some onto his plate, Russel came over with the frying pan, offering him several slices of one of his favorite foods. “Bon appétit.” “Now you wouldn’t happen to have gone the extra step and made—” Russel turned back to the countertop and grabbed two mugs of coffee, sliding one over to the bassist. It was his favorite mug no less: one that had been sent to Stu from someone alleging to be his child, a tired ‘World’s Best Dad’ print across it either a deluded or a very ironic statement. They’d never determined which. While Stu had begged to throw it out, Murdoc had adopted it with glee, smirking every time the singer glared at him for using it. The drummer had a cup himself as well, and they each took a sip, nodding in approval at the taste. Russel had always been of the philosophy that no one should have to eat a meal alone, so he kept the bassist company as he ate, a comfortable silence falling, interrupted only by the sound of silverware scraping the porcelain plate. “We’re getting old,” Russel finally said, watching Murdoc push his plate away with finality although he hadn’t cleared it. His appetite, which had never been big, was even smaller these days. “Yeah, well, not like we’re slowing down,” he countered. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Not when there’s still so much left to do. I mean, you’ve got that bloody non-profit for immigrant kids who want to learn tambourine or whatever.” He pulled a face. “Crass, Murdoc, very crass. But yeah, I have a lot of work cut out for me with the Kids with Drums foundation. I was also thinking that we still have a lot more music to create.” Murdoc paused, clicking his teeth against the ceramic rim of the mug. It was the first time that Russel had been the one to propose more music. “You thinking another album, big boy? Gorillaz or…solo?” Russel smiled enigmatically. “I’m thinking sky’s the limit. But hey, I have a lot to do before tonight’s big dinner, so I’ll leave you to your coffee.” He rapped his knuckles against the table and pushed himself up to leave. “Oi, Russ?” He paused, mid-stride. “Yeah?” Murdoc poked at the remaining beans on his plate with a fork, watching them slide through bacon grease. “You’re the only one in this bloody house who isn’t afraid to fry this shit to a crisp. Well done.” The drummer shook his head. “See you later, asshole.” Once he’d finished his coffee, the bassist carried his dishes to the sink, looking out the small window and into the backyard. First Ace talking about the past and how he’d changed careers, then Russel being all vague about making new music. It felt like they were giving him subtle warnings of change to come, and the bassist felt apprehension begin to coil in his gut. They were offering clues to him, clues that seemed to suggest change. He wasn’t ready to retire yet, and it wasn’t until he dropped his mug into the sink, causing a harsh clatter, that he realized his hands had begun to shake. “Snap out of if Niccals,” he muttered. He was jumping to conclusions, that was all. He hoped. He double checked that the mug had not cracked, and, satisfied, left the dirty dishes for someone else to take care of. He made his way to the screen door in the back of their house, hoping a smoke would calm his nerves. Before he could make it outside, a pair of arms wrapped around his middle from behind and he jumped slightly. “Happy birthday, Dad.” “I appreciate the sentiment, luv, but you only call me that about twice a year.” “Christmas and birthdays, right?” The guitarist asked, squeezing him just slightly, reminding him that in spite of her small stature, she was strong enough to snap him in half if she wanted to. “Proper submarine daughter you are, popping up to show face then disappearing again for six months. Relax, I haven’t written you out of the inheritance yet.” She laughed and turned him around to hug him properly. “Your breath stinks.” “So I’ve been told,” he said with a shrug. “If you think I’m going to brush my teeth on my birthday you’ve got another thing coming. Live with it.” She pretended to gag, but grabbed his wrist, placing something small and metal in it with a simple “here’s your gift.” He looked down to see a house key and again, a wave of nervous energy hit him. “You changed the locks?” he looked at her. “Noods, what happened? Everything okay?” “I can’t tell you all the details; it’s not my story to tell,” she replied, patting his arm. “But don’t worry. I promise you’ll be happy when you hear the whole story. Just don’t lose this key, okay? I have no patience for you tapping on windows asking me to let you in at four in the morning after a night of revelry.” “That only happened once or twice!” he cried in indignation. “Once or twice that you can remember,” she corrected, crossing her arms over her chest. “Happened way more than that. Lucky for you, I forgive you for disturbing my beauty sleep.” “Very generous of you,” he said, pulling out a pack of Lucky Lungs and placing one between his lips, offering her one as well. He really didn’t love that she smoked, but he knew there was no stopping Noodle from doing what she wanted to do. “I’m good,” she replied, holding up a hand. “Care for some company, or was this Murdoc Meditation Hour?” “Was actually looking to sort my thoughts out if it’s all the same to you,” he answered, nodding towards the door. No need to risk slipping up and showing the poor girl how unsettled he was on a day that was supposed to be happy. “Seems that everything is starting to change, have you noticed?” “Change doesn’t have to be bad, Murdoc. Issun saki wa yami. You’ve got the support: whatever comes your way, it will be kind.” “No idea what you just said, but it sounds nice. Thanks, pet.” “Looking forward to dinner tonight,” she said brightly, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “Don’t make yourself sick with cancer sticks: the restaurant is supposed to have amazing desserts.” “I don’t—” “Desserts so good even you will like them!” she corrected herself as she headed back upstairs, presumably to find her partner in crime, Ace. Murdoc sighed and headed outside, enjoying the warmth as the sun broke free from the clouds for a moment. He took a seat on one of the aged folding chairs on the patio, lighting his cigarette and trying to control his thoughts. Something was coming, and he was terrified. Even more upsetting than the promise of unwelcome change however was the fact that he hadn’t once been able to speak the words he wanted to say. To Ace, to Russel, to Noodle. They’d all spent time with him, they’d all been so kind. This time last year, he’d been certain that his moments of fame had ended. Alone in prison and with no contact from his mates, he’d listened despondently as news came through that Gorillaz were producing a new album without him, and he’d smuggled in enough technology to be able to watch in real time as many fans took to social media, celebrating the band’s new bassist and suggesting it was a new era for Gorillaz. A better era. Murdoc shuddered at the memory of his cot in prison, of the time spent reflecting on how quickly the world seemed to forget about him. He’d thought frequently of his father, who had died alone and miserable in his home in Stoke, no one to mourn him, no one to express sympathy for his passing. He’d been so certain that he was destined for the same fate, and that he’d been delusional to hope for a better outcome. Murdoc stubbed out his first cigarette, having smoked it down in record speed. He lit a new one, eyes fixed on the grass sprouting up between cracks in the patio. Stop it, he willed himself. Stop working yourself up. You have to put on a show for the others in a couple of hours. For the love of Satan get it together! The sound of the screen door shuttering open and closed startled him from his thoughts, and he heard someone approaching him. He recognized the ungainly gait by sound alone instantly and searched his anxiety-rattled brain for a dry comment to make. Stuart beat him to it, singing softly, looking ahead at the backyard rather than at his boyfriend. “Why you rolling waves over me now, that’s all I need, dreaming,
waiting on a lover, come find me, be forgiven.” Of course. That bloody song. The most overt declaration of love that the singer had ever offered him, the one that had signaled to Murdoc that their relationship was not irreparable. A fucking beacon of hope when he’d been at such a low point in prison. The bassist drew his lower lip between his teeth and stared doggedly ahead, not wanting to break down although he felt his walls crumbling under the soothing sound of his lover’s voice. “I’ll be a regular guy for you, I never said I’d do that,
why you looking so beautiful to me now when you’re so sad?” Stu turned to look at him as he sang, and although he still didn’t look at the singer, Murdoc felt his eyes grow damp, felt the wetness hanging on his lower lashes, threatening to spill over his cheek. Pathetic. “I will always think about you.
That’s why I’m calling you back
on my way through. I wanna stay with you for a long time, I wanna be your stone, love. 
I wanna see it lay in your eyes when I’m leaving with your love. I will always think about you.
That’s why I’m calling you back
on my way through.” Murdoc sighed, exhaled gray smoke through his nostrils. This man was going to be the death of him, really. He was simply too perfect. “Why you looking sad to me now, on the day of your birth, luv?” he asked, wording it so he could maintain his cadence. “Enough with the damn singing mate.” He grit out, relieved when his voice didn’t crack or waver. “Seriously, answer the question.” Stu replied. “What can I say? Your voice is so angelic it moves me to tears every time.” “Bullshit,” Stuart reached over and plucked the cigarette from between his fingers, taking a puff for himself. “Muds, you were fine this morning. What’s wrong?” The bassist took a deep breath and blinked rapidly until he felt certain he wasn’t going to loose any tears. “Just, feel like a lot is happening these days. Between you and me, I think Ace is getting ready to move on from the band.” Stuart handed him back his cigarette and furrowed his brow. “That makes no sense. He’s signed a contract to remain a studio musician for us for the next few years. I think he’s happy here. Don’t think he’s going to be leaving anytime soon.” The bassist shrugged. “Just a sneaking suspicion. He opened up a bit to me this morning and was being extra nice. And Russel too!” The singer actually snorted at that. “You think Russ is leaving too? What, he and Ace gonna start a new band?” “Mate, I don’t know, but he was being all friendly and chatty with me too. The man is up to something. These Americans, I swear to Satan they’re hard to understand.” “That’s why you were out here sulking? You’re afraid we’re all drifting apart?” The younger man took his boyfriend’s hand, laced their fingers together in the way that always made Murdoc melt a little. “I think you’re just assuming the worst.” “Even Noodle was acting off. She gave me a new house key. You know anything about that, by the way? Why’d she have to have our locks changed?” “She didn’t change the locks on the door.” “Then why this key?!” he snapped, reaching into his pocket and showing it to the singer. Stu looked at it, then looked at his high-strung bandmate. “Muds, why don’t you come inside?” he suggested. “Sure you don’t want to break up with me first, just to keep things fresh?” “Don’t joke like that,” he said sternly, standing up and offering his hand out to the older man, who took it, allowing himself to be pulled up and into a hug. “Murdoc, babe. It’s okay.” “I’m just mental, aren’t I?” he asked. “I feel like a bloody spring about to snap and I don’t know why!” “I think there’s reasons why you might be upset,” the singer argued. “You’ve got a lot of bad memories from last summer. We all know how susceptible you are to PTSD. Are you nervous because this time last year you were alone?” The connection made perfect sense as soon as the singer said it, and Murdoc felt like an ass instantly. “That’s it!” he practically shouted at the poor singer. “That’s why I’ve been so off. My brain is doing that fucking thing that it does. Shit, I’m such a mess!” “Hey, I’ve told you to be kinder to yourself,” the taller man chastised. He had a habit of talking like a therapist sometimes, the result of all the therapy sessions he’d attended. At first it had been annoying, but sometimes Murdoc secretly felt safe in the knowledge that Stu could help him navigate his mind a little bit. “You’re not a mess. You’ve had a tough year. That’s part of why we’re going to celebrate tonight,” he paused to kiss Murdoc with no warning, and the bassist gasped against his mouth in shock. “Gonna spoil you rotten,” he promised gently. “I…” Emotion was flooding through Murdoc’s system once again, but this time, he didn’t feel as panicked. He needed to speak, needed to say what he’d been meaning to say all day. “Oi, old man,” Stu interrupted him, “have I told you today that I love you? Because I do, you know. More and more every day.” “Thank you,” Murdoc garbled. It was somewhere between a prayer and a sob. “Thank you, Stu.” “Of course,” he murmured, stroking the older man’s bangs out of his eyes. “Murdoc. Let’s go inside now, okay?” The bassist allowed himself to be led back inside, his hand gripping the singer’s so tight it had to hurt a little, but Stu didn’t complain. In the living room, he found the other three, Noodle and Ace both splayed out on the couch, occasionally holding up their phones to show the other memes. Russel sat back in his recliner, smiling when the two came in. “There’s the birthday boy.” “All hail,” Ace commented without looking up from his phone. “Har har,” Murdoc responded. “So let’s cut to the chase: is it terminal? Will I live, doctors?” He tried to keep his voice light as he joked, but his hands had begun to shake again, and he could feel Stu’s fingers tighten around his even more, a silent I’m here. “Yeah, we’ve got a big surprise for you,” Noodle said, sitting up straight. “In case you were too dumb to figure it out, the key I gave you isn’t for this house.” “It’s for our new one,” Stu said, letting go of Murdoc’s hand so he could instead wrap an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. “Our what now?” “Rumor has it that back around 2007, Kong Studios burned down under ‘mysterious circumstances,’” Russel said. “And knowing a thing or two about criminal activity, I can confirm that that’s code for arson,” Ace quipped. “You cashed in on the insurance money and produced an album,” Noodle continued coolly, and Murdoc tensed at the allusion to Plastic Beach. “And due to its history of zombie invasions, shitty weather, and a whole lot of burned garbage left after Kong was melted down, local governance has had an unbelievably hard time selling that chunk of land that you abandoned.” “So recently, I had this idea, and I think you’re smart enough to fill in the rest.” Stu finished, pressing a kiss to his temple. Everything clicked, and a shiver of excitement ran up Murdoc’s spine. “You mean to tell me you’ve bought the property? The hill in Essex? It’s ours?” “Oh Murdoc, don’t sell me short,” the singer said with a pout. “Not just the land. I spoke to EMI. Well, they want me to call them Parlophone, but it’s EMI, right? They wouldn’t grant me a pence without some sort of contract, so I’ve agreed to their terms. Something in the ballpark of six tours and two albums over the next eight years or something. Pretty manageable by our standards, frankly. Some merch, here and there. I’ll leave that up mostly to Noodle and Ace since they know what the kids like.” “EMI gave us money for this?” Murdoc clarified, feeling dizzy with the news. “Murdoc, darling, they’ve built us a new studio,” he said gently. “We’re going back to England, and we’re going to do amazing things there.” “That key I gave you,” Noodle said. “It’s for our new home. Just like at Kong. It’ll be our living space as well as our music space. We need to make up for the year we lost without you and El Diablo.” “Holy shit…” he reached into his pocket for his Lucky Lungs, only to realize that he’d left them in the backyard. With nothing for his hands to do he could only tremble, too overwhelmed to meet his bandmates’ eyes. “This is too good to be true.” “It’s true,” Stu promised, hugging him tight, doing all he could to comfort him physically. “Happy Birthday, Murdoc. Ready to start the next phase of our lives together?” “Y-yeah, alright,” he agreed, voice watery. “We’re going to get it right this time,” the singer assured. “We’re gonna go back to where it all began.” “We’re ready to crash the music scene with you once again, boss,” Ace promised. “I’ll be there to help out, but this band needs their number one bassist back.” “The goal is to move back by the end of the summer as long as you’re okay with it,” Russel explained. “That way you have time to pack and say goodbyes. And maybe start writing down new ideas so we can hit the ground running.” “Are you happy?” Noodle asked, seeing the bassist’s tense body language. “Yes,” he said quickly. “I think he’s a little overwhelmed,” Stu explained, stroking the older man’s hair. “Give us a minute?” “We were here first—” Ace started, but Noodle smacked his arm and they both rose to leave the house. “Fine, fine! We’ll go. By the way, check out Twitter and Insta, Muds. Hundreds of hits from fans drawing you in your skivvies with cake. It’s hilarious!” “We’ll be back in a few hours to get ready for the dinner reservation,” Noodle promised, shoving the American out the front door and blowing a kiss. “I’m gonna take a walk around the block,” Russel said, patting the bassist’s shoulder as he passed them. “Start mentally preparing to say goodbye to America again.” The front door clattered and the two were left alone, Stu’s hand still smoothing the bassist’s hair as Murdoc took deep breaths to keep himself calm. “Too much?” The singer asked once he was sure they had privacy. “No! This is…this was all…” Murdoc waved his hands, lost for words. “I can’t understand why you lot would do all this for me.” “I mean, it’s really for the whole band,” Stu reasoned. “We wanted it to be a surprise for you though. Because you’re a vital part of the band, and we want you to know that. I know you doubted it, even if you don’t ever admit that out loud. I hope this proves how serious we are about keeping you in Gorillaz, Muds. The reason they were all so nice to you on your birthday…it’s because they all care about you, same as me.” The older man smiled up at him. “I guess I should have thought of that,” he admitted quietly. “But! I can’t believe we get to go back to the place that started it all. Out of the ashes, Gorillaz will rise again like a bloody phoenix!” “Like from Harry Potter?” He was able to laugh now, leaning up to kiss Stu in all his quirky glory. “I’m ready to start again, do it right this time. With my soul mate.” The singer’s cheeks turned pink instantly. “I love when you call me that.” “Yeah,” he stole another kiss. “I know.” “Hey, give me one more! That was too fast!” So Murdoc smiled, wrapping his arms around the singer’s waist and pulling him in for a slower, deeper kiss. “It’s like the song goes,” Stu whispered, arms wrapping around the bassist’s shoulders. “I’m calling you back.” “But what came first, your grand plan to rebuild Kong, or Souk Eye?” They both laughed, giddy with the prospect of a fresh start, of more music. Of more time to learn to say the things they’d been feeling for many, many years.

[super-fast-octopus]

Final day day seven - first (real) kiss. I HC that there were some drunken kisses early on, but only one really heartfelt (and sober) kiss that sealed the deal when Murdoc returned :)

[chibiuniverse2000]

2doc week day 3 - 2doc AU

I've been meaning to draw fan art of @xxkaibutsukoxx and @trashfrog99 2doc aus for awhile. I felt those would be perfect for this. Also a bonus kaleido star au pic (this one i made myself cuz i fucking love aus)

[sweetzieart]

2doc Week Day 1: Favorite Song

I couldn’t decide so I drew the three main songs that got me shipping them and into the fandom:

•Feel Good Inc

•Broken

•Busted & Blue

[puxiaa]

Magic city

[tothedarkdarkseas]

2Doc Week 2019, 6/6: Birthday

Really wanted to contribute something before the week was over and scrambled to put this together! This is a little day 5, but mostly day 6. Apologies for being a bit short and probably shaky quality! And apologies for… not breaking canon exactly, but bending it. (This assumes that the car from Saturnz Barz was transported back to London before Murdoc’s incarceration, which seems like more effort than they’d probably make.)

Warnings: Smokes ‘n swears, and one UK-specific traveller slur. Moderate angst, but by my standards I’d say this is actually pretty tender.

AO3 Link

Everybody cool down, ev—

Pause. Select channel 3, playback 80%.

—rybody see yourself. Everybody on time, on t—

Pause. 78%.

Murdoc’s sat at the near-buckling desk in his bedroom, overloaded with sound equipment and empty cans, papers and postage cluttered under his laptop. The corkboard hanging in front is stuffed to capacity, with the overflow beginning to pour from the walls to the desk to the floor. It’s not a proper studio, not even close, but it’s got what he needs for now: a mixer open with the recent touring tracklist queued up. He slows the bass track, clips notes, tries to match Ace’s recording more to his own pacing and it just doesn’t work. Accounting for his style throws everyone else’s rhythm off; he’d heard it in every city for that last leg and he hears it now. His mouth sinks at the edges as he bumps it down and plays it again.

There’s an unsubtle shuffling behind him, has been for a minute or two, but he doesn’t bother turning to greet Stuart. He can feel him idling in the doorway and reckons that’s on purpose. It’s gone on past seven now with no “best wishes” or formalities, and Murdoc thinks he’d do well to keep skirting it ‘til midnight. He doesn’t exactly want a conversation, not about them, not today. He doesn’t want a pardon for the day’s sake, doesn’t want an obligation to it from Stu.

He doesn’t really want a birthday.

Stu’s hands fall on his shoulders, almost big enough for the tips of his outstretched fingers to meet over Murdoc’s sternum. His breath is hot and foul against the side of his face.

“Hey.” The stink of sweat is practically steaming off him, and Murdoc’s throat tightens. “Got you something.”

He smirks as he leans his head further on his shoulder, reveling in that awful balmy feeling of skin on sweat-slick skin. “You can leave it in the back.”

Stu huffs a nasally laugh right in his ear and pushes off him, muttering something under his breath. Turning to face him properly, Murdoc notes his reddish face and neck, his unwashed hair, his white tank gone yellow around the edges and stained, overwide jeans.

“Look at you. Is your prezzy coming in my room at night good an' dirty?” He lets his mouth hang open just enough to see him tongue at the back of his teeth in consideration. “S’not the worst you could do.”

Stu cranes his neck and juts his jaw forward, clearly fancying himself a real stud. “I’ve been working on your caddy.”

Murdoc’s brow tics as he pulls a cigarette from the pack on his desk and lights it, his eyes still stuck on the discolored spots beneath Stu’s bony collar.

“Pikey drove up in a brand new Cadillac?”

“Yeah, balls to you,” he quotes back. “Can’t really leave it to sit pretty this long without some engine problems. I cleared out the coolants and the oil, checked the spark plugs, swapped out the coils for smoother suspension in the rear.”

“Mm, now say you stuck your fingers in the tailpipe,” Murdoc mutters around his cigarette.

Stu grins. “You’ve got a little corrosion on one of the belts. I’ll have to fetch another in the morning, I haven’t got a replacement.”

He doesn’t entirely understand the point of this, hasn’t got much need for the car to run in London, but telling his bandmates to fuck off for making efforts is something he’s made efforts himself not to do recently. It’s good that it’s something small and familiar; he’d rather this than something heavier hanging over his head.

“Awful rugged of you. Tell me we’re on the part where I say I’m strapped and ask if there’s any other way I can repay you.”

Stu ignores him and nicks the cigarette from his mouth, then presses it to his own and burns it down, down, down. He stares indiscreetly at his laptop screen and ashes into an old cider can. Murdoc wordlessly minimizes the mixer.

“I’ll fetch a belt in the city tomorrow, was heading out anyway. I rang in an appointment at Snippers ‘round eleven.”

Murdoc pauses his crafty maneuver to grab his fag back and sizes him up. Stu’s shaggy hair hangs nearly to his nape, thinning and unflatteringly wet, the one-time shock of blue faded with sparse silver strands throughout. He’s always been a man who cared for his appearance, but he typically favored looking like he didn’t; either Russ or Stu himself have cut his hair as long as he’s been living outside his mum’s house. He frowns in suspicion.

“Just decided you’d pop in for a trim?”

Stu toes off his trainers, shrugging distractedly. “Yeah.”

“Are you going somewhere?” He hesitates. “Am I going somewhere?”

Stu starts to strip off his jeans, the seams worn to nothing and the waist at least a full size too big, nearly falling to his thighs as soon as the belt’s off. The denim pools on top of his flat socked feet and he keeps silent as he kicks them off, then digs through the wash pile and rummages out a bright red pair of joggers to replace them. Murdoc watches without comment, dread pooling in him. Stuart sits on the bed to keep from toppling as he stretches back past his shoulders and pulls his shirt up over his head, inelegant, the cigarette still dangling between his lips.

He thumbs the damp fabric in his lap, then tosses it aside and sits up a bit taller.

“I don’t know, figured I’d ask first. Maybe somewhere quiet for a bit, somewhere in the countryside. Maybe…” He works his jaw, eyes hooded and downcast, looking at the space between Murdoc’s out-turned ankles more than Murdoc himself. “Maybe someplace in the Cotswolds or somethin’. Or a girlie bar in Soho, topless one. I’d like to look sharp either way.”

Murdoc sits stock-still. He watches Stu smoke and swears he can hear ticking from the space between them.

“…You don’t have to do that.”

“Funny thing about me, I don’t have to do much of anything. ‘Hafta’ wasn’t really the point.”

Murdoc brings a thumb to his lip, tries for indifference as he prods a cracking spot with his nail and makes the split worse. “Can’t imagine there’s much to the synth scene in Gloucestershire.”

“Think I can pull through. It’s not forever, s’just a holiday.”

He fights the urge to look behind him at the corkboard, pinned from corner to corner with tickets and magazine clippings and a single seaside postcard. If he tries he can still remember the shadow of flat palm leaves against a blinding afternoon sky, the taste of rum and seabreeze, the lap of easy waves over soft, warm sand. He remembers the way Stuart laughed, dizzy and near-drowning and too drunk to know it.

But when he looks at it now, that’s not what comes to mind. He thinks of the beach and he hears crashing, and then gunshots, and then nothing. He smells dissolving cellophane and rot, the biting ocean air acrid and chemical and clawing up his nostrils into his brain. He sees pink.

He sees a sprawling, melding, mile-deep labyrinth of pink.

Stu eyes him and takes another pull of smoke.

“You could stand a cut yourself. Your flop’s starting to flip.” He makes a swooping gesture with the cigarette down his forehead.

Murdoc palms his fringe down while he studies Stuart.

“I’m about 20 years past my sell by date, s’not gonna make a difference—”

“Well I’m not,” Stu interrupts. “I’m not, alright? Halfway isn’t the ‘too late’ mark for me.”

For all his supposed cool, Murdoc can’t help but see the exhausted folds above and below his eyes and the red lines lingering across his forehead.

“The fuck’s that even mean, why’m I counting your marks?”

“It means it’s not about you.”

“On my birthday, my present’s not about me? It’s about you?” He almost laughs despite himself. “Now that sounds more like you, Stuart.”

“Your present was me fixing the bloody car you left rusting while you were banged up. The holiday’d be for me.” He’s as near to a hiss as the smoke will let him go.

Murdoc tries to keep straight-faced as he swallows, feeling his tongue and all his excuses too acutely. “Why?”

“Because it’s not staring at another pissing wall in another pissing studio in another pissing country, it’s… you know, it’s quaint. It’s just picturesque bollocks and I really shouldn’t have to explain why regular people might enjoy that.”

“Fuck’re you even saying, Stu? Had a poor time out in Cali, so we should just… what? Run off in a sodding lobby painting? I don’t—” his stomach twists, and he tilts his head nearer to the board. “C’mon. I don’t get that.”

“And I don’t get that,” Stu replies, eyeing the postcard without pretense. “If it makes it easier, I don’t bloody well care whether you’re up at night; point is that I didn’t get to keep it. You owe me that much.”

He sounds harsh, but he doesn’t look it. He just looks tired. Stu leans over and stubs the already burnt-out cigarette on the rug. He rubs his hands over his face, scrubs his dirty fingers against his eyelids and the bridge of his nose.

“M’sorry. It’s—it’s been a long year for me too, Murdoc.”

“Thought you said Hollywood was alright,” he says, knowing it doesn’t help.

Stuart runs his knobby fingers through his hair. Murdoc knows he tries to hide it by keeping his bangs long and scattered, but pushed back like this, it’s clear to see how far his hairline’s receded. Slick with sweat and with grime, it looks like his hair’s being weighted down, just slipping further back on his skull so the ends can pool at his nape. He’s still handsome, of course—still something half-divine in Murdoc’s eyes—but he’s looking his age now.

“A trim would do you good,” Murdoc offers quietly.

“Yeah. I think it would.” He hasn’t got the energy to pull a face, to look like anything but what he is. “I think it might do you good too.”

Murdoc drops his head forward and swipes at his upper lip, back throbbing from his confinement at this desk. He wants to do better this time, but it’s clearer to him than anyone how wrongly the better Murdoc fits with what Stu’s made.

He feels how Stu’s worn eyes stay on him.

“Look, this doesn’t have to mean anythin’ with bells and whistles. It just means I’d like to take a drive and I’d like to stand on a hill and drink whatever shite they peddle, fucking toffee ale or summin'. I’d like to have a different sort of day.”

“It means you want to go inland,” he murmurs like he’s got a right to think it.

Stuart exhales loudly, his already sunken chest deflating further.

“It means I know that you…” Murdoc glances up to catch how he looks at him with a muddled sorriness, an acknowledgment without a reward. “It means I know. And it means the knowing’s fine, alright? I’d just like to see something different. Or at the very least I’d like to see some tits.”

“Go back to the mechanic talk and you can see some right now.” They share a small smile. Murdoc wets his lips, tries to stay present. “Y’really think she’s up for a drive? Car’s older than I am.”

“You doubting these hands?” He spreads them wide and gives his knuckles a cheeky crack, then jokingly winces.

“Only entirely.”

Stu braces against his knees and lumbers to his feet, gaze never wavering as he crosses the distance to Murdoc. He stands in front of him, all peaks and angles and towering shapes, sweat dried to his skin. He just watches him, no posing and no pleading, just stays there with his bare torso level to the other’s face.

After a moment Murdoc reaches out to twist his fingers in his waistband, bunching the red between his wrists and pulling him close. Stu lifts a hand to the back of his head to grab a handful of thick, choppy hair and crane his neck back. He stares at Murdoc’s chin against his navel for another beat before bending, kissing Murdoc hard and brief.

Their hands keep their place after they separate.

Every word that occurs to him to say feels like running, or wallowing, or something devaluing to what Stu’s willing to let them be. It all just feels too big—feels like more than it needs to be, like it makes it matter less.

“Yeah,” is the best he can manage.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

[xxkaibutsukoxx]

2doc week 2019

Day 6 + 7: Birthday = First Kiss

Well first happy kiss after they dated anyways uwu

[candidcanine]

Chances and Cherry Blossoms

My lone entry for 2doc week, for Day 6- Birthday (and for Day 5- Vacation, I’m too lazy to create separate entries so I fused them, shhhhh). Happy birthday to Murdoc, my favorite pickle man!

Fic Summary:

Murdoc gets lost in Kyoto with 2D. It isn’t the worst birthday he’s ever had, but it’s certainly shaping up to be his most interesting.

Not gonna lie, this is just a poor excuse to write tooth-rotting fluff about these two going on a (not so) romantic date in Japan. Sue me.

“Alright, so if we take a left turn at this corner, we should see a bus stop. Then we hafta board the bus going… clockwise, which is the number 34 one. It’ll take us to a street which should be a twelve minute walk away from the temple entrance… Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Murdoc echoes, crossing his arms as he watches 2D wrestle with an extremely rumpled map. “You’re not sure? Can you at least check the map on your mobile instead of using that rubbish? It’s the 21st century, Stuart, ever heard of GPS?”

“I’m saving the battery, I forgot to charge it yesterday. It’s for emergency calls.”

“Call Noodle.”

“No.”

“Then for the love of all things unholy, please tell me we’re going the right way.”

“It’s hard navigating in a foreign country,” 2D says defensively, his eyes firmly glued on the map. His strides lengthen as they near their supposed destination. If Murdoc wasn’t so exhausted, he would’ve found 2D’s misplaced determination to be downright hilarious. “We’re not lost, I promise.”

“Really? Because you keep saying that, and I end up getting disappointed every time,” Murdoc pants, struggling to match the other’s strides. Eventually he gives up and leans against a telephone pole, trying to soothe the burn in his aching muscles and lungs. He watches in amusement as 2D’s lithe form speeds away without him.

“Slow down, Stu, not everyone has the same freakishly long legs as you. I feel like I’m taking two steps for each one of yours.” 2D looks up when he hears Murdoc’s complaint, jogging back with an apologetic grin when he sees Murdoc had stopped walking. They continue at a slower pace.

“Sorry, I just got a little excited. I think I found the street, we just need to go left and we’ll be at… the bus stop…”

When they round the corner, they find no buses nor bus stops. Instead of seeing a busy street filled with hordes of people, they were greeted with a dead end road lined with small houses, shops, and convenience stores. There were barely any signs of life, save for a stray kitten splashing around in a rain puddle and a group of kids chatting and playing video games. One of them looks up and stares at Murdoc and 2D, unsure of why foreigners were in their little neighborhood.

“Erm…”

“…Well? Where’s it at?”

“It’s supposed to be right here.” 2D scratches his head in confusion. He consults his map and points out a clearly-labelled bus stop for Murdoc. “Maybe we’re at the wrong place? What street is this? Muds, can you check if there’s a sign—”

“There is one. But I can’t read it,” Murdoc says flatly, jerking his thumb at the unreadable characters on the sign. “It’s in Japanese. Y'know, because we’re in Japan?”

“What? They always have English signs ‘round the touristy places—”

“D'you see any tourists around?”

2D huffs, clearly displeased with how unhelpful he was being. He stalks away from Murdoc, his gaze flitting around as if he’d see a hint in the area that pointed to the right direction if he looked hard enough. When he approaches the children, the whole group dispersed like a flock of pigeons encountering a cat. Murdoc bites back a laugh when 2D returns with the most petulant look etched on his face.

“Those kids are so mean, I just wanted to ask for directions. Maybe they got scared off by my looks?”

“Stu, the chances of them even speaking a lick of English are next to nil. Of course they can't— or won't— help. Just admit it, you can’t read directions to save your life. Give me the map so we actually have a chance to get to wherever the hell it is we’re going.”

“No!” 2D clutches the map to his chest like a lifeline. “I can read a map, just give me some time—”

“We’ve already wasted hours of my precious time today because of you. I have to draw the line somewhere, 2D. I don’t appreciate being led around blindly like a dog on a leash. Let me take a look at it.”

“I told you, I want our itinerary to be a surprise. It’s more fun that way—”

“Oh, some fun we’re having, right? Spending over an hour in a cramped train from Osaka to Kyoto instead of taking a bloody cab, taking the wrong trains and buses and having to double back when we miss our stops, eating watery ramen at a dodgy noodle shop 'cause we couldn’t find somewhere better to eat…”

“At least we got to Araishiyama, and we got to see that bamboo grove,” 2D protests weakly. “It was pretty.”

“It’s pretty, I’d give you that. But there’s only so much you can do at a sodding bamboo grove, Stuart. We spent all of five minutes in that forest before you got bored and told me you wanted to leave.”

“Well, I thought you were bored, so I wanted to move on to somethin’ more interesting…”

“…Where did you even get the idea to go all the way to Kyoto without Noodle? Hasn’t it occurred to you what a terrible idea this was?”

“Well, err—”

“We’ve never been to Kyoto before,” Murdoc continues. “So how the everliving fuck did you expect to get around with your sense of direction? It would’ve been better if we went sightseeing with her. Maybe you should’ve scrapped this whole trip altogether. Think about it. We could be back in Osaka with Noodle, roaming Dotonbori and having a pint or two, or eating grilled crab legs—”

“I’m a vegetarian—”

“But no, we had to go at it alone, and spend the better half of a day running around Kyoto like headless chickens. I think I’ve seen enough of Japan’s railways and bus stations to last an entire lifetime.”

2D’s face falls with every word that came out of Murdoc’s mouth.“I’m– I’m sorry, Murdoc, I really am. I think I was too focused on givin’ you the best birthday to think about specifics. Maybe… maybe we should’ve just stayed in Osaka with Noodle. You’re right, let’s head back.”

2D’s voice quivered as he spoke. By the time Murdoc had realized his mistake, it was too late. 2D silently walks back the way they came from, looking almost like a chastised puppy.

Don’t be a grade A twat. You’ve changed, remember? he tells himself, following after 2D. He winds an arm around the other’s waist and pulls him close in an attempt to mitigate the damage he had done.

“Wait, Stu, I didn’t mean it like that. I know you worked hard on this day trip, and I appreciate it, I really do. It’s just… you didn’t really have to go through all that effort for my birthday, y'know? There’s loads of things to do in Osaka.”

“I know, I know, 2D says, but the look of dejection on his face doesn’t disappear. "I guess… I just wanted to impress you, just a tiny bit. I wanted to give you a better birthday than last year.”

“What d'you mean?” Murdoc asks, confused. “I spent my last birthday in sodding prison. The bar isn’t set that high. We could’ve spent this entire day watching paint dry and it’ll still be better than the hell I went through last year.”

2D winces at Murdoc’s blunt honesty. “I mean, I wanted to make up for last year. I know I didn’t even greet you on your birthday—”

“No cards, or letters, or anything, while you an’ the rest were off having the time of your lives without me—” Murdoc adds unhelpfully. He couldn’t help it, he still felt a bit betrayed.

“I’m sorry, Muds, I was still really angry at you then. I won’t ever ignore you like that again,” he assures. “It’s the whole reason why I wanted to make up for it. I mean, I practically jumped at the chance when Noodle told me she wanted to go back to Japan to visit a friend. We haven’t been outside Tokyo yet, and we haven’t had a vacation in ages. It seemed like the perfect way to spend a birthday.

"But I didn’t like the idea of spending all our time with other people. I wanted us to have some… alone time.” 2D’s face flames. “So I started planning a little side trip, just for us.”

“Wait… are you saying this trip was all just some elaborate ploy to get me away from Noodle and her friend?” Murdoc wonders aloud, smirking at 2D. “Wanted me all to yourself, didn’t you?”

“Maybe,” 2D confirms with a bashful smile. “It’s been a while since it was just the two of us out in public. I wanted to spend the whole day with you. I planned it down to the second, but it didn’t really pan out, did it?”

“No, it didn’t,” Murdoc chuckles. “Well, you didn’t have to get us stranded in a foreign country if you wanted to spend a day with me. I’m sure if you asked Noodle, she would’ve let us explore Osaka by ourselves. No need to go all the way to Kyoto.” 2D makes a noise at the back of his throat, turning his head away and mumbling an inaudible reply to Murdoc.

“What?”

2D repeats it reluctantly. “I said, I wanted to go to Kyoto… because I read somewhere that the scenery here was better. They have prettier gardens and pavilions and temples here, and rows of cherry blossom trees too, it’s beautiful…” his voice trails off when he sees Murdoc’s grin.

After a beat of silence, Murdoc erupts into fits of laughter. “Oh, you sap. You romantic. You cheesy—I see what this is. Pffft— Let me guess what you wanted to do. Did you want to hold hands while exploring the temples like newlyweds? Frolic in the pavilion gardens and smell all the flowers? Take each other’s pictures while we kiss under a cherry blossom tree?” Murdoc guffaws when 2D’s face turns red again.

“Did you want to ride one of those two-seater carriages we saw back in that bamboo grove?”

“Muds,” 2D says, hiding his face behind his hand.

“How about hanging one of those charms in a shrine? You know, one for luck, good health, love—”

“Muds.”

“Or maybe pick sakura petals out of each other’s hair, like we’re in one of those goddamn cartoons. What’s it called again? An anime? But it’s not even the right season for—”

“MUDS!”

Murdoc laughs and pulls him in a tight embrace, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Sorry, I’m just playing with you, D. I didn’t know you’d be so sentimental.”

2D frowns. “Stop making fun of me. I know it’s cheesy, but I just wanted the both of us to have a good time, alright? Those were all on the lists of couple-y things to do in Kyoto when I searched it up.”

Murdoc snorts, deciding not to comment when 2D shoots him a glare. “Didn’t say I didn’t like it, bluebird. I just never expected it from you. Sure I’d love to do all those things with you.”

“Yeah, I would’ve, too,” 2D says bitterly, growing more and more despondent. “But then I got screwed over by Japanese public transport, and now it’s like past five in the afternoon and we haven’t done anything. This is probably your worst— err, second worst— birthday ever.”

2D falls silent again, his eyes downcast. Murdoc sighs when the silence stretches on for far too long.

“Stuart, look at me.”

When 2D meets his gaze with inquisitive eyes, Murdoc takes the chance to press his lips against the other in a kiss so tender and feather-light that they both barely feel it at first.

It held no heat, was a spur-of-the-moment decision by Murdoc, and was over as quickly as it had begun, but it seemed to do the trick in comforting 2D. The other man, who had frozen when Murdoc had kissed him, soon melts like putty. When they finally draw away from each other, 2D blinks at him dazedly as if he was still under a spell.

“Bluebird, any day I get to spend with you is great. Whatever I’m doing on my birthday— whether it’s staying at home, getting plastered at a bar, or yes, getting lost in Kyoto for hours on end, it’s better with you there. No, it’s bloody fantastic. So it's not the worst birthday I’ve had, not by a long shot. In fact, today might just be in my top five.”

2D’s lips quirk into a smile. “Top five?”

“Okay, might just be exaggerating a lil’ bit. Top ten for sure. And besides—” Murdoc hooks an arm around 2D’s waist again and leans against the other man. “—It’s nice to get away from the tourist traps sometimes, don’t you think? It’s quiet here.”

“Yeah, it is.” 2D smiles more fully, his arm slinking around Murdoc to rest at the small of his back. “So… I guess we don’t need to follow the rest of the itinerary then? Since you’d rather be in our hotel room in Osaka and we’ve spent enough time in Kyoto? D'you want to go back?”

“Thought you’d never ask. Yes, I want to go back. If we hurry, we might be able to catch up with Noodle.”

They continue walking in amicable silence, taking in the unfamiliar scenery that they hadn’t been able to enjoy in their mad dash to the bus stop. The train station that they had left behind creeps into view, the hustle and bustle of tourists and locals alike growing louder. When they reach the steps of the station, 2D suddenly pauses as if he remembered something.

“Just one problem,” 2D says after a moment.

“What is it?”

“Well, I don’t really have any way of getting home from this stop. Err—I didn’t think we’d quit halfway through our trip, so I don’t know if there’s a shortcut from here.” 2D looks at him with a sheepish grin. “Should we just double back again?”

“Oh, for chrissake. Would you just swallow your pride for once and fucking call Noodle already?”

2D only nods in embarrassment, fishing out his phone and scrolling through his contact list.

It would be ten minutes before Noodle picks up, twenty five minutes before 2D and Murdoc figure out Noodle’s instructions, a full hour and a half (and several attempts) before they get it right and board the train to Osaka, and three hours before they finally arrive at the correct station and walk back to their hotel.

By the time they reach their room, Murdoc’s too exhausted to do much else other than drink all the beer in their minifridge and snog an equally drunk 2D, passing out cold on top of him after a long day of accomplishing next to nothing.

It was a happy birthday, indeed.

[weirduwusstuff]

Day 3: Au

"Mermaid!Stu & Sailor!Murdoc"

Based on @xxkaibutsukoxx "Siren Au", I just, I love it

[hwayeh]

2Docweek Day 2 Favorite Album:Demon Days 終於畫了Day2_(:3>L)_今年能不能補完全部天數呢?呵 Demon Days是最經典的一張專輯,對我來說也是很重要的一張專輯 從這張開始入坑的,一跌進後就在坑底待了10年嗚 另外也很喜歡Humanz,可惜到了這張就沒有網站可以玩了 以前放學回家都泡在kong studios玩小遊戲哈哈