#2doc week 2020

[supposed2bfunny]

Ayy, 2doc Week is now on AO3 for anyone who wants to check it out there!

#2doc week #2doc fanfiction #beck's fics #2doc week 2020 #niccalpot

[greywindys]

I had a fic I was working on for 2Doc week, but it betrayed me and turned angsty when I wanted something softer. So instead, I thought I could share a fic I never published, and I believe the first fic I ever wrote (dated in Google as complete on June 17th, 2016. Holy moly!)

It fits into day 3′s prompt of firsts - the first night the spent together on good terms. The beginning of the bond, I guess. It could also be considered the first head massage (lmao), as I like to think 2D is good with his hands in various scenarios 😉. (I adapted the head massage into scenes in later fics, but this was the first time I worked with it as a concept.)

If there are any “M” or “D” I apologize! When I was starting out, I was too self-conscious to write their entire names (lmao @ me). Oh, how things have changed. Hopefully, I corrected them all, along with most of the typos...

The rating here is T. Essentially, Murdoc encounters 2D late at night when he can’t sleep, and ends up watching a movie with him. They begin to form a tentative bond, head massages are had as much needed sleep. Takes place during P1.

Also happy bday again, Murdoc 😭

For Murdoc, sleeping is a daunting game of chance. First, there are the good nights, when he drinks enough to remain in a complete stupor until daylight. Then, there are the bad nights when his body’s need for genuine slumber catches up with him. On these nights, he dreams. More often than not, they come to him in the form of nightmares ranging from painfully specific to vague and unsettling. Like a flood, all of the emotions and thoughts he had intended to leave behind in Stoke return.

Tonight is one of those nights.  

This one, in particular, is the reason he’s left the grimy safety of his Winne, head still aching. He intends to rummage through the studio mini-fridge for the half-consumed bottle of rum he started that morning. (after all, his anxiety wasn’t going to fix itself). Instead, he's thrilled to discover the fridge has been restocked, and he's about to grab an unopened bottle of rum when he's interrupted by a crash coming from the direction of the lobby.

The noise is coming towards the kitchen now in slow, shuffling steps. Murdoc presumes it could either be one of the wayward demons he summoned the other day, or it could be another one of the building's many intruders looking for a blank wall to vandalize. Nothing he wants to deal with now in his anxious state. Murdoc considers making a run for his Winnebago but decides against it. ‘You’re Murdoc Niccals” he thinks to himself, ‘Bass god and creative genius. You're not ten anymore and you don't get scared.' With that, he braces himself and he turns to face the unknown figure that was now in the doorway.

“Oh...Hi, Murdoc.”

It’s 2D.

“I've got half a mind to lob you through another car window,” he says trying to mask his surprise. “What the hell are you doing walking around with the lights off in the middle of the night?” That must have been the source of the noise. Typical. It’s as if 2D is intentionally searching for a way to get injured.

2D scratches his head. “No need to get so steamed up about it. I, uh, well, I guess I was trying to keep to the ambiance and all that. I didn’t think anyone else would be awake right now.”

“I don’t know what’s so unexpected. I get more done in a night that you would in a year,” Murdoc replies. He takes a sip of one of the bottles of rum he’s assembled on the counter. “So long as there are still songs to write, the siestas can wait.”

“Not sleeping well then?” 2D asks blithely. Murdoc can’t tell if the singer has seen right through him or failed to comprehend a word of what he just said. He finds him very unreadable at times, and in the most infuriating way.

“No. I was working. Being productive. You ought to try it once in a while,” Murdoc grumbles in response. “Anyways. What’s all this about the ‘ambiance’?” As if 2D is that deep. “And why here?”

“That new zombie movie, you know the one I was telling you about? Well, it arrived today,” 2D says with a grin. “And now I’m watching it. It’s a lot scarier when you do it the dark.”

“Well you have a TV, no, THREE TVs in your room,” Murdoc retorts, exasperated. “Just go away and watch it there.”

“Yeah, uh, l thought about that, but the special effects in this one are supposed to be wicked good and the screen in the lobby has a clearer picture than the screens in my room. I would have watched it this afternoon, but Russel said Noodle shouldn’t be watching all the blood and guts, so I waited until now. It’s better watching scary movies late at night anyway, you know?” 2D is looking at Murdoc now, a tinge of hopefulness in his voice. “A couple blokes on this forum I was reading were describing it like a Romero meets Raimi type film, really over the top.”

“Sounds like a real Oscar winner you have there,” the sarcasm in Murdoc’s voice is palpable.

“Actually, it was a straight to video release, but you should check it out,” 2D says. “I’m only about ten minutes in now...if you have...time,” he trails off awkwardly.

The band had faced many inexplicable and absurd situations, but it is 2D’s consistent attempts to be friends that confounded Murdoc the most. His first inclination to tell the singer to fuck off. Yet the thought of the solitary journey back through the car park gives him pause. He isn't sure he can handle being alone right now. He needs an immediate distraction, a mood lifter, and making fun of 2D has the potential to be a two in one solution. At the very least, it was a safer gamble than going back and running the risk of falling asleep again.

Murdoc makes 2D wait for an answer in uncomfortable silence before replying. “Fine,” he says, “This better be entertaining.”

2D brightens at his response. “Just let me grab some snacks and then we can go back.”

“Yeah, yeah. Oh, and this time turn on the damn lights.”

With some newly acquired light and a bag of crackers in hand, 2D leads Murdoc to the lobby. A collection of pillows and blankets litter the floor. All the while, and to Murdoc’s annoyance, he takes the time to tell him every detail of the conception of his setup. He had been in the lobby for the past four hours watching movies. According to 2D, doing so in such an open area was much scarier than in his room or even in the building’s cinema. He was also sorry because they would have to turn the lights off again when the film starts. “Because well, you know, Muds. The ambiance.”

“Just start the bloody movie will you,” Murdoc replies from his spot on the floor. The size of Kong is intimidating at night, and it’s not helping him calm down. He hates how much his dreams still affect him. Physically, he had left all the bad energy behind ages ago, but mentally it follows him like a low-hanging mist, threatening to completely engulf him daily. He couldn't seem to make it go away, but he could control how much he thought about it. Alcohol was typically his mainstay but right now, that job belonged to an unwitting 2D. If he didn’t start the movie soon, Murdoc was going to set his entire movie collection on fire.

“It’s the little triangle that does the trick, right?” 2D asks as he studies the remote. “Never mind. I think I have it. There we go.”

The scene starts with a group of young adults in their twenties hiking through the woods as night falls. Occasionally, the camera switches angles. It shows the group from alternate perspectives such as the bushes or the tops of trees.

“The director wanted to flip the whole slow zombie portrayal on its head,” 2D explains. “There’s already been talk of fast zombies in the indie horror community, but he wants to take that one step further. In an interview, he said that not only were his zombies going to be fast, but they were also going to fly.”

“That’s stupid. And you thought this was worth the twenty or so quid you blew on it?”

“He’s ahead of his time. You’ll see. Look,” 2D says through a mouthful of crackers. He points to the current scene. One of the protagonists had wandered away from his group in search of a good place to set up camp. “See what he does with the camera there? We’re watching the main character from the perspective of a flying zombie. The director wanted to make a movie about an outbreak that emerges in the wilderness, not because of some virus. It's meant to add to the impossibility of the situation. How do we fight against something not man-made? Watching the film through the eyes of the monster emphasizes how alone and insignificant we are in the face of well, everything. Man versus nature, nature versus man.”

Murdoc grabs the bag of crackers from 2D. “Oh please. This is hardly cutting edge. We all know they’ll all be dead in the end because nature is bigger than man. Duh.” He takes a handful for himself and continues watching.

2D ignores him and continues his reflection. “It makes me wonder whether it would be better to be a zombie at the end, rather than survive. Not sure I would want the loneliness that comes with it.”

Murdoc is beginning to realize that 2D is in one of his chatty, philosophical moods. He attempts to tune out the singer’s blathering with another drink from the bottle of rum he brought with him from the kitchen. He came here to watch a ridiculous movie. Instead, he's stuck listening to banal musings about the true nature of humanity from someone with a half-functioning brain.

“Well if there’s ever a zombie apocalypse here, I’ll be sure to let them eat you first if you’re so eager. You’re already halfway there anyway, and certainly no better off than these divs on screen.”

“Thanks, Muds. If I ever get infected, I’ll make sure not to bite you...unless you want me too,” 2D replies.

This time, it’s Murdoc's turn to ignore him. “Anyways, as far as I’m concerned, anyone who’s too pathetic to fight against a zombie apocalypse deserves whatever is coming to them.” He gets a twisted sense of comfort from blaming.

“I dunno...I don’t see any shame in being afraid of a monster bigger than you. That’s what makes these movies so scary. We all have our own monsters that seem impossible to overcome,” 2D says sagely. “It’s not anyone’s fault, it’s just how it is.”

Murdoc scowls. “Does watching movies at this hour always turn you into a half-braindead Socrates? Or Plato? Hippocrates? He's just naming names now. He fidgets.  

On-screen, another character screams as one of the zombies bites her arm.

“Are you alright there, Muds?” Why did 2D have to pick up on everything? “Movie too scary for ya?”

“No!” Murdoc snaps. “It’s not that… It’s just...” Neither 2D nor the rum he grabbed from the fridge earlier had done anything to dull his current bout of nerves. Instead, all the tension has been gathering at the base of his neck. The throbbing in his head from before is even worse. He groans in frustration.

“You just seem a little on edge, that’s all.”

“...It’s my head.”

“Oh, you have a headache,” 2D says, seemingly pleased that it’s an issue well within the breadth of his expertise. “Do you need any help with it? I was talking with my mum about mine just last week; she gave me something good.”  

Murdoc perks up. He could count on one hand the number of scenarios where he would place his trust in 2D. Pain medicine was one of them. A strong painkiller could change everything. “Do you happen to any of those buggers with you now?”

“Sure,” 2D says, smiling as he moves closer to where Murdoc is sitting.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m um, well for this to work I’m actually going to have to touch your head.”

Immediately, Murdoc jerks away. “You what?!”

2D shrinks back in response. “It’s just a head massage, Muds.  My mum’s worried about the number of prescriptions I have so we cut one of the stronger ones out and replaced it with this. We wanted to see if it made a difference. I’ve been going to a massage therapist for the past two weeks or so. It doesn’t quite do the trick but it works well enough, I picked up some technique myself, uh, I think.”

“You can take all that geeky zen rubbish and sod off,” Murdoc mutters.

“Okay, Muds...alright.”

They continue watching the screen as victim after victim gets infected. 2D continues to interject with overlong descriptions about symbolism, zombie lore, and film technique. Murdoc weighs his options. If he’s being honest, he’s at a point where he would accept anything that might make him feel better. But why did it have to be 2D? On the other hand, the singer wouldn’t stop talking. Considering it was just the two of them, and no one else would ever have to find out, Murdoc makes his decision. Allowing 2D to touch his head in this scenario was justified. Interrupting yet another explanation about the folly of man, he asks, “Hey uh...2D? You know that massage you were talking about? Will giving me one make you shut up for more than ten minutes?”

“Oh..uh,” 2D sounds surprised. “Yeah. Yeah, we can give it a try.” Hesitantly, he moves behind Murdoc and begins.

2D’s fingers send tiny sparks along Murdoc’s scalp as he kneads the muscles in his forehead, moving downwards along his hairline. He dwells on how amazing it feels but pushes that thought to the side with haste. He keeps his eyes locked on the screen and the excessive depictions of gore and chaos. It’s an apt representation of turmoil he is currently feeling inside. What he finds so maddening about 2D, even more than his inscrutability and empty-headedness, was his willingness to be kind to Murdoc. Murdoc had spent the past twenty or so years convincing himself that kindness was not meant to be a part of his life. There was something inherent to his existence that repelled it from him. And he had come to accept that until 2D had to come along and mess it all up. It had to be because he was just too stupid, there was no other answer. Murdoc wasn’t sure he would be able to handle any other answer.

As 2D moves his hands to the back of Murdoc’s head, he begins softly humming. He begins following along to the soundtrack of the movie but soon trails off on his own. Evidently, watching the movie without any sort of verbalization was not going to happen. However, the melody he’s come up with is wistful and soothing. Murdoc makes a mental note to ask him about it in the morning to see if it would fit with some lyrics he had drafting. Slowly, and a bit self-consciously, Murdoc feels himself begin to relax.

“How does it feel so far? Is it working?” 2D asks.

Oh, it was working. More than that, Murdoc realizes a significant amount of his tension had abated. The darkness of the lobby no longer looks so menacing, the unpleasant memories that were hovering over him seem to have floated away. He's never been able to settle himself down from a bad night without copious amounts of alcohol. It’s an unfamiliar but pleasant sensation.

“I think the movie is almost over. Didn’t quite live up to the hype but it was still pretty entertaining after all. How about you?” 2D asks, still looking for a response.

Murdoc yawns. “I’ll give this director you were so excited about some credit. He knows his way around a good death scene. I don’t think I’ve ever seen fake blood used that way before.”

“The fake blood actually cause a lot of controversies because some of it was real animal blood. I almost didn’t buy it myself.”

“Ah. A man after my own heart.” 2D’s hands are still kneading the back of his head when Murdoc moves to lie down on his stomach.

“Oh, are you going to sleep now?” 2D asks.

“No. Keep going.” He would have never considered it earlier in the night but, as the singer's fingers continue to run through his hair, Murdoc muses that sleep may not sound so bad after all. Even though it was just 2D, it’s comforting to have him there. 

“So I guess it’s been helping then? My mum will glad to hear,” 2D says. “But you might want to run a comb through your hair a bit more often, it’s all greasy...also a bit tangled in the back.”

“Just...shut up.”

So he does, returning to the reflective melody he had been humming just minutes ago. It’s the singer’s soft croon that sticks in Murdoc's mind as he finally drifts off completely.

-------

When his eyes open, the first thing Murdoc notices is the half-empty bottle of rum he had left by his side. The next thing he notices is that he's still in the lobby, surrounded by blankets. He must have slept there the entire night. 

“Oh, morning, Muds,” comes a familiar voice just to the right of him. “You’re awake.”

Turning quickly in the direction of the voice, Murdoc finds himself face to face with 2D. “What the hell are you still doing here?” M demands, mortified, “Why didn’t you go back to your own room?”

“Well, I was going to do that, but once you laid down, I wanted to lay down too, and you rolled over on my arm and wouldn’t budge. I tried to tell you, but all you did was try and elbow me. You missed though,” 2D mumbles. It sounds like he’s still half asleep. “Then I guess I just nodded off.”

Murdoc feels his embarrassment beginning to morph into anger but decides to ignore it. He's pretty comfortable right where he is. “You’re lucky you’re my lead singer.” 2D was also lucky that he gave good head massages. “Because otherwise, you would be on some really thin ice right now.”

“We’ll be lucky to see any ice at all this winter what with all the warm weather.”

Usually, an obtuse response from 2D would have earned him a string of insults or a swat on the head. Today was not going to be one of those days. Murdoc turns again so that he’s facing away from the singer, pulling the blanket over his head to block out the light. He was going to savor the moment a bit longer. Despite 2D being 2D, it’s rare that he’s ever felt so at peace.

“Hey, Murdoc? Wait,” 2D says, “You never gave me my arm back.”

“Too bad. I’ll check back in a couple hours,” Murdoc grins beneath the blanket. He still couldn’t pass up a chance to inconvenience the singer at every opportunity. It was too much fun.

“Don’t be such a wanker,” 2D says as he attempts to jerk his arm out from underneath the bassist. “I was nice to you!”

He was right. And he was probably nicer than he deserved, given their history. For that reason, Murdoc would roll off his arm soon enough. He still wanted to talk to him about that song he had been humming.

The singer had surprised him last night. Murdoc knew that 2D had an uncanny ability to figure out how to annoy him to maximum effect, but he never would have expected him to also know what to do to put him at ease. Underneath the covers, he ponders what exactly this realization means to him. He isn’t sure, but he knows it means something. It wasn’t going to eliminate the underlying resentment he still clung to, nor was it going to solve his infinite list of issues. But at the very least, he could rest assured knowing that he wasn’t completely alone.

#ficpost #2doc week 2020 #it's interesting to reflect on what's changed #anyhow! just a little thing to close out the week

[chibiuniverse2000]

2doc week day 6 - 🎉Happy Birthday from the Grave🎉

Yeah i skipped day 5 sorry ill do sumthin for it later

#artofchiu #artist on tumblr #2doc #2doc week #2doc week 2020 #murdoc niccals #murdoc gorillaz #happy birthday murdoc #stuart pot #stuart virus au #au #2doc au

[super-fast-octopus]

Day four: song machine

(May do a NSFW follow-up like I did with the humility pic last year)

#my art #2doc week #2doc #2doc week 2020 #2doc week day 4 #niccalpot #studoc #murdoc x 2d

[cyrofoamdeepsealandfill]

...we're trying. 'S not much more we can do.

// Margate, 2017

// day 6 - milestones

/ it seems trivial, but for them it definitely feels like a big milestone, 7 years after plastic beach

// alternate version – a deleted scene from Reject False Icons

#2doc #2doc week #2doc week 2020 #2doc week day 6 #gorillaz #2d gorillaz #murdoc gorillaz

[analidics]

“Will it hurt?”

“Course not!”

Day 4. Song Machine

#2doc week 2020 #2doc week day 4 #2doc #M2 #Gorillaz #murdoc niccals #2d #gorillaz 2d #gorillaz art #digital art #art

[quartzidot]

2doc Week 2020-Day 1 “Favorite Gorillaz lyrics”

“Baby, I just survived, I’m love-drunk, I’m sorry, Am I losing you?”

Fireflies is actually a very heavy song for me for multiple reasons. It’s very well written and composed as it also came from my favorite album. The Now Now as an album has implied a lot of mixed feelings Stuart had while Murdoc was in jail. I wouldn’t say these are my favorite lyrics, favorite lyrics come and go with me, but these lyrics have a huge impact. I love it most of all because it sounds like a string of reading off texts from a phone. I can picture Murdoc texting 2D as he got out of jail but 2D still has very very mixed feelings. I am going to upload a piece of artwork when I edit this later. I don’t have enough time to draw but I still love to share my feelings about this. Happy 2doc Week 2020 everyone!

#2doc Week 2020 #2doc #niccalpot

[2doc-week]

2doc Week 2020!

It’s that wonderful time of year! 2doc Week is upon us! A time where writers, artists, and general 2doc fans can follow any prompts they like to make a week’s worth of creative content for our favorite turquoise couple!

When? June 1-June 6

How? Simply create art, blurbs, collages, or whatever else you like for any or all of the prompts below, tag it “2doc Week 2020,” and it’ll be shared with the rest of the community! If you don’t see your content reblogged here, you can submit it and we’ll repost it, or you can send us the link in a DM so that we can reblog it.

The prompts are meant to be suggestions, so you don’t have to follow them too closely. Remember, the point is to have fun!

Day 1-Favorite Gorillaz lyrics

Day 2-Your favorite non-Gorillaz 2doc-inspired song

Day 3- Firsts (first kiss, first live performance, first “I love you,” etc)

Day 4- Song Machine (there have been plenty of 2doc moments in the three songs we’ve heard so far!)

Day 5- “Get Lost with 2doc:” what are these clowns up to during the quarantine? Give us a glimpse!

Day 6- Milestones! 2D’s birthday? Murdoc’s birthday? What other significant moments in their relationship do you want to explore? Use this as a free day if you’d like to get creative!

Questions? You can send asks or DMs to this blog or @supposed2bfunny​ if you have any questions. This blog will function as the official archive for all contributions this year, as well as in future years.

Special thanks to @greywindys​ for being kind enough to help with prompts and set up this blog, and for making all of this possible.

We hope to see your beautiful work in June!

#2doc week #2doc week 2020 #2doc #studoc #niccalpot #info

[super-fast-octopus]

Day three: first “sorry”

#my art #2doc week #2doc week 2020

[super-fast-octopus]

“I wanna be your girlfriend”

Day two 2Doc week!

#my art #2doc #2doc week #2doc week 2020 #niccalpot #studoc #murdoc x 2d

[chibiuniverse2000]

2doc week day 4 - Song Machine🎵 tea time🍵

Some quiet time for a few minutes

#artofchiu #artist on tumblr #2doc week #2doc week day 4 #2doc week 2020 #2doc #2d gorillaz #murdoc gorillaz #2d x murdoc

[supposed2bfunny]

2doc Week Day 4-Song Machine

It’s cloudy.

No, cloudy denotes clouds. Smoggy, then. All car exhaust and factory fumes. The water is still, but there’s enough movement that the waves slap against the side of the boat every so often, resulting in a familiar, pleasant, wet sound.

Murdoc lies on his back, hands folded atop his chest, ankles crossed, staring at the bright spot where the sun is attempting to bore its way through the grayish sky.

He and 2D have been sitting in the boat in silence, though the singer has been moving enough for the two of them, playing with his sailor’s cap, untying his neckerchief and stuffing it into his pocket, scratching his ankle, lighting a cigarette and ultimately flicking it into the water.

“So this is it, huh?” Murdoc asks at length when he gets sick of watching 2D struggling in his periphery.

“What?”

“This is what I missed out on?”

“Well I mean, it’s a little more fun when you’re driving around fast-like, but the sound of the motor gives me a headache. And it was fun with Damon too; he’s fun.”

“Yeah. Love that bloke,” he deadpans.

“Murdoc. Do you feel better now?”

“I feel like a million bucks, mate, never better, I haven’t felt this spry since that doctor prescribed me all that Vicodin when I slipped a disk lifting Noodle’s amp—”

“Muds.”

2D shifts, looks down at him, and when their eyes meet, Murdoc is forced to confront the fact that yes, they’re here for him. To humor him the way a parent humors a child after a particularly vicious meltdown. “Well, look at it like this: what did you think taking me out here on the boat after the fact was going to accomplish, sunshine?”

“I brought you here to make it up to you, you nob. Because you made such stink about not being invited last time even though you could have come along if you’d only asked, had my damn phone on me.”

“Stu, you can’t recreate an event that’s already passed by bringing me here like it’s a bloody date.”

He stretches his foot out, knocks it against Murdoc’s shoulder. “You sure? A date on a boat sounds kind of romantic.”

Murdoc sighs and hoists himself up into a sitting position: the garish lighting is hurting his eyes: he wishes he’d thought to pack sunglasses. He can only imagine what kind of migraine the bright glare is going to trigger for 2D. But now isn’t the time to play mother hen. “Does it? Cuz you don’t look nearly as relaxed or happy as you did in that Désolé video, mate.”

He draws his foot back, knees folding in towards his chest. “Muds, look. I’m allowed to have fun without you. There’s no rule stating that I can’t. We’ve talked about the importance of autonomy.”

“And I’ve also expressed my disdain for that bloody word. I’m too old to bother being my own person: I just want a little of whatever you’re doing.”

“So that’s how you really feel, huh?” he snaps, jumping to his feet. “Muds, how many times do we have to have this argument? That’s not healthy!”

“Neither is smoking, Faceache! Neither is drinking half my weight in forty proof before noon! Neither is dating me, so if you don’t want to deal with it, then tell me to fuck off, same way you did when you all fucked off through that portal without me!”

2D reaches up to rub his temples, almost knocking his captain’s hat off his head. It’s never as simple as Murdoc sitting down and confessing that he’s been hurt: it’s always violent waves, outbursts cresting until they crash against the shore. He brought Murdoc out here to see what all the fuss was about cruising around on Lake Como, but now he understands: Murdoc is more like the water than he is like a captain. He is aqueous, ever moving, flowing from areas of high pressure, knocking 2D to and fro as he attempts to feel settled, grounded. The solution to understanding him is seldom obvious at first glance, because his very nature is to change his tune like an ebbing and flowing tide.

This entire outburst was never a matter of feeling left-out, it’s been paranoia from the start, Murdoc’s absurd fear that his own band is set to leave him behind one day, that same paranoia he’s been nursing since The Now Now took off while he was in prison.

“I’m sorry,” 2D says. It used to be hard to say those words. He’s learning to push them out more often, especially because that small concession is, more often than not, enough to start soothing Murdoc. “I guess we both thought we were going to get something different by coming here. Muds, what I did was fly all the way back to Italy to sit on a stupid boat with you for the day. It was probably stupid of me to assume that you were going to have a good time here—”

“‘Stupid’ is a damn gargantuan understatement if you ask me,” he grumbles.

“Don’t interrupt! Look, I didn’t come here for a fun, magical time with you, you cranky old man. I came here to prove a point.”

Murdoc looks at him warily. “And what, my blue-hued compatriot, is it?”

A suave, quick-witted man would be able to weave together an elaborate story on the spot. Hell, if he were even adequately sharp with words, he’d be able to lay on the charm, distract Murdoc from the tension and the muggy heat and the miserable sun glaring down through all that pollution. The longer he stares at Murdoc’s tired features, though, the more it dawns on him that he doesn’t need to do that. He has something much more valuable: the truth.

“I did all this shit to prove to you that you’re worth it.”

Murdoc snorts. “Wow, so even you admit it was a crap trip then. Sorry to waste a full day of your time with my selfish needs, Stu.” He makes sure that his bitterness comes across acrid enough to drown out any traitorous hurt that leaks into his voice. He’s getting weaker around Stu; words slip out unbidden almost every day, truths he doesn’t need anyone knowing, feelings and fears that he’s spent his life concealing easily behind his bigger-than-bigger-than-Jesus personality. Honesty with his feelings around Stu has rapidly evolved into an unconscious mechanism, one he now has to strategize to neutralize at every turn. “Really don’t know why you spent money on a flight, all that time packing, renting the same damn boat, even, if you didn’t want to fucking do it. You’re a real headcase, y’know that?”

“You done with the pity party?” 2D asks. “Because you’re misunderstanding. I did all this, and I would have done anything else, to prove to you that at the drop of a hat, I’ll re-create any part of my life to put you in it beside me.”

There’s a familiar clenching feeling in his chest, a tightness. Dread. Sometimes he feels it when 2D starts to make him hopeful too, because hope is a dangerous bit of deception that leads to disappointment. Cousins, the two sentiments are. Or even twins. He hates hope as much as he hates dread: he’s not about to fall for that shit, no way—“Dents. What were you just saying about our codependency being unhealthy? Those don’t sound like the words of someone autonomous: best check yourself or your therapist is going to give you a right spanking.”

The singer smiles, knowing that he has Murdoc now. His attention, his optimism. It’s all there, in his grasp if he can make like the boat, rock with the waves but remain steady, solid.  “You’re wrong,” he says. “I won’t apologize for having come out to have some fun in February. We’ve told you why we didn’t trust you with the portal, but I still would’ve brought you along if I’d known how upset you were going to get. I had every right to have a good time with friends, but I am sorry that it sent you into one of your spirals, thinking I was rejecting you. Never, Murdoc. I would never. So here’s my compromise: for the moments you feel scared, instead of me trying to go back and re-create the past with you, let’s just make our own memories. Sound good?”

The bassist stares at him, dumbfounded. “Are you angry?” he finally asks. “That I’m being so selfish? Where’s your spine, Dents, your bloody vitriol?”

“You’ve always been a selfish prick: bit used to it by now.”

“But…but this flies in the face of all that shit about being more individualistic and—”

“Muds, I’m still going to spend time away from you,” he clarifies. “Have fun with Noods and Russ, might even give Ace a ring one of these days—”

“Oh sweet Satan, don’t call that idiot—”

“My point is, I’ll still do all those things. And then when I get back from my time away from you, whether you’ve done something productive with your life while I was gone, or just sat by the window waiting for me to get home, then we can do something nice too, maybe not a boat ride in Italy, maybe just like, having a few pints down at the Cock and Trowel, or going shopping, or trying that new cafe that opened up in SoHo to see how their pancakes rank on our Definitive List of Pancake Places—”

He’s interrupted by Murdoc lunging forward, arms going around his middle and head slamming into his chest. He grunts, hugs him back as the boat rocks with their sudden movement.

“How?” he mutters. “How are you always so nice to me? Every time I go and muck things up and say horrible things and tell you to break it off with me—”

“You’re a little dramatic,” 2D admits, nuzzling his chin against the thick hair pressed just below his head. “Pretty sure you told me I should call it off when you broke my favorite mug last week. It’s uh, not great. But I think when you say shit like that, it shows me that you really care about our relationship, that you value me, and you’re scared that I’m valuing you too much, because you don’t feel like you deserve it. I’m learning to understand when you’re just asking for help, idiot.”

“You really do spend way too much time with your therapist, Stu.”

“I’m not wrong, am I?” he teases, holding the older man closer, triumphant. “Stop throwing shit fits. Stop assuming everything I do is an attempt to push you away, and start looking at my behavior for what it is: a bloke who’s gone utterly mental and will fly you out to Italy at a moment’s notice to try and cheer you up after I saw you cry a little bit.”

Murdoc steels himself in 2D’s arms, braces himself to put forth the question he needs to ask. “And what do you get in return then, Romeo?”

“That bit’s obvious, Murdoc. I get to see you happy. That’s what makes me happy. I love you, remember?”

“I…” the words die on Murdoc’s tongue. What is there to say to that? He wants to talk 2D out of this…he knows he should. He’s being let off the hook because this idiot is convinced that they can keep going forward, that he somehow deserves 2D’s patience and love, even when he’s getting caught up in his own Twitter lies. Yet the singer’s words are guiding him out to sea, pulling him away with the strength of a rip current, and all he can do is succumb. It’s what he wants to hear. Maybe a part of 2D even believes these words himself, however ludicrous they are. “I…you already know how I feel about you.”

“Say it, twat. Or else I’ll keep you here on this lake all day just to torture you!” “Alright, alright, no need to get so Medieval on me! I love you, okay, Stu? I act out and cause a scene, and then I don’t even thank you for the impromptu Désolé 2.0 because I’m a shit, but I love you all the same. Maybe even a little more because you just keep…tolerating me. Happy?”

“Yeah,” he presses a kiss to the top of his head, and his tone tells Murdoc that he’s smiling. “So let’s go back to England, okay? This lake is pretty boring honestly.”

“It is dreadful, yeah.”

“Oh, while we’re here, maybe we should stop for pizza! Or some spaghetti or something?”

“Dents, we’re practically in Switzerland,” he laughs. “Why not hop the border and—wait, that’s it! I know the perfect spa we can go to together! Ever soak in a hot spring? It’ll change your life.”

“That sounds perfect!” he says. “Let’s dock this baby and get going—” he releases Murdoc and, ever-ungraceful, he stumbles as he makes his way towards the front of the boat. He yelps as his leg catches on the edge of the boat and his vision swirls first with the sights of the houses along the shore giving way to sky, and then the sky blurring as he hits water and starts sinking.

For just a moment, he processes everything as though it’s happening in slow motion, taking in the fact that his nice sailor’s outfit is surely ruined, that the water is colder than he expected it to be, wondering if any sea monsters lurk beneath the lake’s surface as he looks straight down into the black depths below him.

Then comes the irony. Yes, this is what time with Murdoc is like: filled with twists and unpredictable tumbles. Murdoc’s self-doubt and fears are still somewhat new to him: he’s spent most of his life assuming the man was fearless, only to learn that the bravado was a mask, that he’d been one of the few idiots to fall for it so completely. It’s something they must continue to work on, the selfishness, the manipulative words and the self-destructive explosions that follow them in Murdoc’s unhealthy attempts to self-punish.

How peaceful it is underwater, though. How familiar, this sensation, and how safe he feels.

His eyes have closed at some point to better absorb the feeling of being submerged, but he perceives motion right in front of him, bubbles.

Arms come around his waist, and he knows Murdoc has leapt in after him, that he means to swim to the surface, pull them both up onto the boat. He isn’t ready to come up just yet. Instead, he leans forward, presses his lips to Murdoc’s.

In the middle of the water, in the middle of a foreign country, they come together, holding one another tight, safe and soundless in the protective peace beneath the ever-lapping waves.

He always feels so complete like this, so blessedly whole when the warmth of Murdoc’s body is pressed flush against him. Time always seems to vanish in these moments as they share the last fo their breath, hair dancing around their heads like halos, bodies undulating with the motion of the water. For the first time that day, he feels calm.

#2doc #2doc week #2doc week day 4 #2doc week 2020 #niccalpot #2doc fanfiction #ooh this one is rushed but it was fun to write!

[supposed2bfunny]

2doc Week Day 3- Firsts

The bar is mostly empty, which means it must be going on three or so. Some locals remain, as do a few drunks who are too tired to move. There’s a couple sat at one of the front tables: the girl is crying; the boy is spinning his dead cellphone nervously as he tries to talk her down. ABBA is playing on the speaker over the booth where 2D and Murdoc are sitting.

It’s perfectly surreal, and it suits the musicians just fine. They’re sat across from each other, 2D’s sneakered foot is rubbing against Murdoc’s ankle every so often, and more than once, Murdoc has grabbed 2D’s wrist in his drunken excitement, pulled it across the table, and kissed the back of his hand, or his palm.

It’s nice.

“This bartender,” Murdoc says, flicking the empty shells of some peanuts that sit between them on the table, which 2D had munched on hours ago, “he reminds me of someone from our last tour. Who is it?”

“Umm,” 2D spins his tongue along the rim of his beer bottle, turning to stare none-too-subtly at the bartender. “Bald? Dunno. Sure he wasn’t a backstage techie?”

“No, not his baldness, dumbass, his nose and goatee. Reminds me of…someone.”

“Sort of looks like Count Chocula to me.”

“What?” Murdoc snorts, nearly choking on a sip of ale. “Who?”

“The bloke from that cereal! From America! Russel introduced it to us. He had a goatee, I think.”

“But a vampire? Mate, this guy doesn’t look like a vampire.”

“Then who’s he remind you of?” he challenges, kicking the older man’s shin lightly beneath the table.

“Dunno, he reminds me of someone from one of our tours. We were touring Humanz, I think.”

“Oh that was ages, ago, Muds. Don’t think I’d remember the backup musicians we had with us.”

“Pity, we had some top notch players for that tour. Vienna? We were solid!”

“The four of us really had our mojo on then too,” 2D agrees. “Remember you and Noods just riffing, trading bars, sounding crazy. Like Titans clashing on Mount Vesuvius!”

“Mount Olympus, but I appreciate the simile,” he chuckles, reaching for the singer’s hand yet again, pressing his lips to his knuckles. “You didn’t sound so bad yourself then, if my admittedly liquor-spotted memory serves.”

“Muds, you always say that I sound good live,” he giggles.

Murdoc sets his drink down, taps the table in his excitement. “Well duh, Tweedle-Dee, you were born to perform! With your looks and your voice, on a stage is where you’re meant to be. It’s like  seeing a king assuming his gilded throne!”

“I get a few drinks into you and you become a world-class flatterer, don’t you?”

“You should see what I’ll do after a few dozen,” he says with a wink.

2D’s eyes flit away from the bartender, whose visage could be similar to anyone’s at this point; they’ve lost interest in that conversation, in him. The singer scans the shitty decor, the dead bug-flecked lights and the vinyl discs displayed above the bar. It’s a real dive, this place, and it’s perfect. The ultimate destination to get lost with Murdoc for hours reminiscing, drinking, taking in the way the dim lights soften Murdoc’s features, to savor the way he smiles more readily when they’re in a place people won’t recognize or bother them.

“D’you really think that I’m still, you know, up to par when I perform live?” he asks after a moment.

Murdoc’s flirty smile shifts; his own mismatched eyes shunt from 2D’s restless hands to his face, to his hands again, trying to gauge where the conversation is going. “I wouldn’t bother saying it if I didn’t think it was true,” he says slowly, and if they were outside, he would be plucking a cigarette from his pocket. “I don’t bullshit, Stu.”

“That’s bullshit,” he can’t help but smile at the absurdity of the statement. “You spend ninety percent of your waking hours talking out of your arse!”

“Yeah, but not to you,” Murdoc clarifies, and, despite the staggering amount of alcohol they’ve consumed over the course of the night, and how it’ll be dawn before they know it, and in spite of the way the world keeps spinning them along at a speed that 2D struggles to comprehend sometimes, the moment becomes somehow sharper then, the intensity of Murdoc’s gaze sober, the gravity of his words like a planetary re-alignment.

Oh, 2D thinks, of course. That makes sense.

“Okay, well then…I guess I just ask because…that was 2017. And I’m not getting any younger. I don’t have the vocal range I used to, from the cigarettes, probably. Sometimes performing stuff live, I think of how easy it used to be to slip up into high octaves. And I had more hair back then too. Don’t know if I could really pass for a ‘pretty boy’ these days, not like it’s something I need to do. Do you know what I mean, Muds? Like, I still like performing live, but d’you ever wonder how much longer I can carry our image? Not a spring chicken. I’m—”

“Right, just going to go ahead and cut you off there, pet. I know the beginning of a downwards spiral when I hear it,” Murdoc interjects, and he realizes it’s true. A niggling fear that’s been in the back of his mind for months now. Since he turned forty, if he’s being honest. He leans over the table, wanting to be closer to the bassist, and Murdoc meets his stare placidly. “Stu, I’ve had a bit to drink, but I’m going to give it to you as coherently as I can: you’re a rockstar. That makes you timeless, legendary. Think of Gene Simmons!”

“I’d rather not,” 2D admits. “Ew.”

“Okay, well, think Paul McCartney or Mick Jagger! Those blokes make us look like embryos, and they still sell out MSG whenever they go on tour! It’s because of their charisma, their talent, their mojo; the old bags are damn immortal!”

“And you think Gorillaz are immortal, Muds? You’re not just saying that as like, a Satanist or whatever?”

“No, I’m saying it because I’m abso-fucking-lutely confident that after being in the music industry for most of my life, I know talent when I see it. I’m not just patronizing you because you’re my boyfriend, Stu, I’m telling you: you’re a natural-born performer, and that shit doesn’t fade with age. You’re a blue-haired legend!”

2D leans back, drinks in the sight of Murdoc, drunk, laconic, confident in his words. “You’re really serious about me,” he murmurs after a long pause, punctuated by the Blondie that is now pouring out of the shitty speaker wedged above their booth.

“Duh,” Murdoc snaps. “Have been since I rammed into that pretty head with my Astra, but glad you’ve finally realized that I meant it when I said I knew you’d be the ultimate cash cow—”

“No, no. Not about my talent,” he answers, because really, who gives a damn whether he’ll be able to sell out MSG when he’s sixty years old? “You just called me your boyfriend.”

He sees the realization as it flickers into Murdoc’s dark eyes; like flash cotton, it’s a burst of bright, embarrassed understanding, almost instantly quelled by a more casual mask that 2D is intimately familiar with. “Did I?”

2D smiles, lifts his long, long legs up to rest his feet on the tops of Murdoc’s thighs, making the bassist squirm a little. Maybe they’ve spent enough time at this dive bar. 2D is suddenly feeling electric, and a great deal younger than he was at the onset of their evening together. He’s a bit restless, wants to walk with Murdoc, to walk and smoke and find a sidewalk that will lead them along the water so they can watch dawn break as they’ve done countless times together.

“Yeah, you did. You’ve never said that word before.”

“Well, you are, aren’t you?” Murdoc grumbles, playing at nonchalant.

“Oh yeah, only been dating since, what? 2017? 2018?”

“Only been a little bit in love since what, 1999?” Murdoc asks, voice gone all quiet.

Gracelessly, 2D stands, fumbling for his wallet so he can leave a tip at the table and hasten the bassist out the door. He’s known Murdoc loved him for years, decades even. Neither of them has had any reason to hide it. But he’s never heard Murdoc refer to him as his boyfriend before, and didn’t even know the word was in his vocabulary.

“Hey, Muds?” he asks when his sudden movement makes the bassist blanch. “Walk with me? I want to slip my hand in your back pocket, but that’s pretty hard to do when we’re slunk in a booth.”

“Oh, oh yeah, sure,” words tend to abandon Murdoc when he’s serious, and 2D smiles, revels in getting to see him when he’s this raw.

Nodding at the bartender that might look like someone they’ve worked with and who might just look like himself, both men step out into the cool night, Murdoc’s hands instantly going for his pack of cigarettes and 2D’s arm instantly snaking around his waist, pulling him close.

“Nice night for a romantic walk, eh?”

“It’s not night, idiot, it’s well into morning.”

“Well then, good morning, starlight,” Murdoc chuckles, inhales a breath of smoke and hands the cigarette to 2D.

“Good morning, handsome,” he replies, feeling giddy, like a girl on her first date. Like a first date he’s played out a million times before, that gets better and better each time.

#2doc #2doc week #2doc week 2020 #2doc week day 3 #niccalpot #i love the idea of these two just getting drunk and talking all night long <3

[cyrofoamdeepsealandfill]

for all the sacred selfless days / only left with heartache

// day 1

#2doc #2doc week #2doc week 2020 #2doc week day 1 #every planet we reach is dead #it's the yearning that gets me #gorillaz #murdoc gorillaz #2d gorillaz #bruises tw #bruises cw

[supposed2bfunny]

2doc Week Day 2- 2doc Song

I never shut up about Republic of Wolves...so here’s “The Clouds,” which really sums up Murdoc’s mental state during Plastic Beach.

I’ve been waiting on a response for days There’s been a complication It seems your heart needed a break From pumping the blood through your veins And keeping the oxygen okay I still see your face in the day And I see your eyes in the bottle that was way too tall I finished it just to see if we could talk Now I’m speaking with your ghost again It’s telling me that I don’t listen Can we be friends in another lifetime I might pretend That we are night now

He’s nowhere. Nowhere in the United Kingdom. Which is fine, except that if you don’t find him, he’s going to die. The Black Clouds will find him and do what they did to Noodle, and then they’ll kill Russel and when they’ve shot up the entire band, they’ll come for you like they promised, come and make you die die die.

It doesn’t matter though, you’ll beat them to it. You just need to finish composing the album, recording the album, getting the album out there. As long as you can put it out into the world, it doesn’t matter what the Black Clouds do to you. All you need is to breathe life into the music.

None of it’s going to matter at the rate this planet is dying, anyway.

But back to the matter at hand: they will come for Stuart. You have to find him first. There is no other option. It’s find the idiot or bury his corpse. All you need is to find where his heart is beating, to isolate the continent, country, hotel lobby where he draws breath.

After all that went down with Noodle, it’s understandable that he’d want to travel, that he’d want to wind up as far away from you as possible. He’d put oceans, solar systems between the two of you if he only could.

Because he knows it’s all your fault

all your fault all of this is your faultyourfaultyourfault.

Whatever. You’ll seek him out anyway. Find him wherever the hell he is. Your destinies are intertwined, after all. No matter what happens, you’ll make sure he comes out of this safe, preferably cushioned by some cashflow from whatever the hell your magnum opus is going to be called (really should work on a name).

In the meantime, you have sources to track him down, to find him. There is black magic out there, and there are always those who will hunt down your prey for you as long as you’re willing to pay. He is a nightmare; something about the way he looks at you reminds you of your father. They call him The Boogieman.

I summoned demons from a dying dream I took a long walk off a short levee I drank the poison from a black moon seed And then I saw you

I felt your kiss in a dream I had I felt your skin in a monument

Then I went home to live a brand new life without you And buried all our things Beneath the giant shadows of the clouds And they still stay there underground But no matter what I do I never will stop talking to you

The Boogieman delivers on his promise, and Stuart is on the shores of Plastic Beach within a week’s time.

Even when you start leaving his door unlocked, Stuart doesn’t leave his room. Not at first, anyway. When he finally does, he goes straight to the beach, starts pacing around, collecting debris, excavating for signs of life on the artificial shore. You try to tempt him with music, sitting around with your cap pulled down over your eyes, strumming an acoustic. Other times, you use the speaker system you installed to play some of his favorite tunes. You leave the types of ale he prefers sitting out on the kitchen counter, order the Cyborg to let him know he can help himself whenever he’s thirsty.

Stuart doesn’t take the bait. He keeps as far away from you as possible when he’s not in the recording studio, and then, he only breaks his stony silence to ask questions about key changes or pronunciations when he reads your lyrics, listens to your demos.

You present countless opportunities for him to peak out at you, just a moment of eye contact is all you need to convey it all to him, that you did this for him. In the middle of the ocean out here, all you need is a second to get through to him that the two of you are alone out here not because of any inherent cruelty, but because of your genius, because you are destined to be together like this.

Staring out at the gray-blue waters, you think it might not be so hard to tell him that you felt your soul slip out of you a little bit the day you first beheld him with blood on his face and two black eyes staring out at you; it broke away from your body to twine around his, and you haven’t been a whole person ever since.

If he’d only look at you, maybe you could get these words out, even more coherently than you did when you condensed your life into a tattered composition book, and then condensed the contents of that book into a handful of songs.

Day after day, you will him to look up, to step closer to hear the confessions that bubble on the tip of your tongue, brine-tasting and thick. You’ve always been a coward with your heart, but you’ve been drinking enough lately to reason with yourself: it’s not really putting your heart on the line since it already belongs to Stuart. All you’d be doing is asking for a piece of it back.

I never did get the last word in And you said I always did

I never did get the last word in And you said I always did

#2doc week #2doc week 2020 #2doc week day 2 #2doc #2doc fanfiction #niccalpot

[super-fast-octopus]

(I know I mucked up the lyrics 😭)

#my art #2doc week 2020 #2doc week #2doc #niccalpot #studoc #murdoc x 2d