#but. anyway. maybe D-Sides isnt what you could call a ''traditional favourite'' of mine but.

[skeletalheartattack]

wait hold on now I am genuinely curious: Why is D-Sides your favourite Gorillaz album? I never vibed with it myself so I am interested in hearing what you like about it that I'm missing out on.

so, i haven't listened to Gorillaz in a long while, nor do i tend to listen to music that actively these days, but i re-listened to the entire album, side 1 and side 2, to try and come up with a reason why i like it so much. i do want to preface and say, yeah, the album (side 1 atleast) is very "plain", there's not a whole lot going on, nor are there any guest artists on any of the songs.

but in listening to the album again, a few things kinda appear in my brain regarding the album. one is that it brings back a set of memories of taking trips to and from Ohio to live with my mother and step-father during a few breaks between high school, and how a lot of the songs in the album i remember heavily listening to while trying to sleep in the back of their car (i'm 6'2", and sleeping horizontally in the back of a moderately small car was. not great). i had the main 6 albums before Humanz installed to my kindle, since Humanz hadn't come out yet as these trips were between... 2014 and 2016. i mainly remember hearing D-Sides the most i feel on those trips, whether it be intentional, or my sleep patterns would have me looping back around to D-Sides... that or i mostly started with D-Sides at the beginning of those trips.

another thing i'm kinda thinking about after having re-listened to the album is how much side 1 kinda reminds me of Boe, in terms of the vibes; there's a lot of somber vibes i get from some songs that fits well for him (Hong Kong and Spitting Out the Demons both being notable songs that remind me of Boe himself, and also of those long trips). side 2 on the other hand, it's remixes remind me a lot of the Sims 2, specifically the console version, as i associate a lot of Sims 2 with it's console selection of music... which is mostly a more heavy focus on the electronic tracks from the PC version; a lot of the remixes feel like something i could hear playing on the radio while i'm controlling my sim around and doing tasks.

last thing, maybe, is that i never hear folks refer to D-Sides as one of their favourites, so maybe that's why i have it as mine. out of respect perhaps.

[illidria]

Can you write 9 with Buccaneer who tells someone his hard childhood? You've got the choice for who is the somenone

Hey @juliaepavic, it is finally done :D

Sorry for the long hold-up, as always with fics like this I contacted my favourite guys to come over and explain things to me, so the fic can be vague, but not wrong or disrespectful. (Good news: they like my new ricecooker, bad news: I’m out of rice)

Should something have been “lost in translation”, be offensive because I used the english language wrong or didnt know a word had a second meaning, please write me, as english isnt my first language.

Warning for talked-about suicide and implied child abuse.

God, all of this sounds horrible, but I hope you like it anyway, even though it’s somewhat different from what you probably imagined.

Thank you for the prompt and.... have fun?

“Are you alone Ma’am?”

The voice sounded like it tried to soundforcibly calm, with a tension in it that spoke of fear. A man it was, clearly,but he`d heard steps of more people.

He heard his mother mutter, sounding scaredbeyond believe.

“WE ASKED YOU SOMETHING!”

The second man was fear personified,screaming at the top of his lungs.

“Please,I know nothing. I know nothing. What do you want?!”

He heard the tears in his mother’s voice,finally spilling now that he was well out of sight.

“WHAT ARE YOU SAYING …? SPEAK CLEARLY, YOUSPY!”

He did not know one of the words the mansaid, but understood that it wasn’t something nice. And he called his mother aspy, his father had explained to him what that was, but he knew his mothercouldn’t be one. She wore no trench coat, she never sneaked around. And shewouldn’t be so afraid now.

“Gardner! Keep calm! Maybe she doesn’tspeak amestrian? We should call in the translator!”

The first man spoke again, so desperatelytrying to keep calm. He felt afraid himself, wanted to protect his mother fromthese men, but she`d asked him to stay in the cellar. To not make a sound,whatever happens.

“Please,please, I don’t know what you want! Please, I don’t know anything!”

He heard steps again, softer, knew that hismother had moved. And then he heard a gun. Silently he hoped that his fatherand his brothers had returned, were scaring the men away.

“God damn Gardner! Are you out of yourmind?!”

He heard scrambling feet, the first manrepeatedly shouting at his partner to help him. He could hardly do anything inhis hideout, did not understand what was happening. Had his father returned,were the men so scared because of his big gun? And why wasn’t his mother sayinganything? Was she too afraid?

“Philip, now stop it! She`s beyond helpnow. Let`s get going!”

The other man retorted, angrily, almost asdistressed as his mother had sounded a few moments ago.

“You think this is a joke Gardner?! Didn’tyou see the toys? She was a mother, has kids, no drachman spy! Just someoneliving here, scared out of her mind! And you have my word, what you`ve donetoday, will not go without consequences!”

The other man huffed, screaming right back.He heard the fear, worse than before.

“Growing soft Philip? Just because you`vegot a couple of brats of your own? Try to have me demoted, I dare you!”

A scuffle, then the sound of the door. Hewaited for ten minutes, counted to ten as often as he could stand to and thenwent upstairs.

His mother looked like she was sleeping,but did not answer when he tried to wake her. There was blood, lots of it, onher dress and on her pants and on the floor. He lay down next to her, notunderstanding what was happening.

When his fathercame home an hour later, a man in a blue uniform with him, he hadn’t understoodwhy his father started to cry.

“Who died, thatyou cut your hair? Your dignity?”

He should`veexpected things to go this way, wondered why he ever thought that it could bedifferent. He`d been given the choice after this last school year: military orback to the “reservation”, working the mines. His father let go of the bottle,straightened himself up in his chair and looked at him, like he was a stain onthe wall.

The father ofhis childhood would’ve probably understood his decision. This one didn’t.

“A friend fromthe school. Anik, Apaata’s son.”

He held hisfather’s angry gaze. He’d wanted to utilize this visit, talk to his brothers,who’d chosen differently. Wanted to speak with the elders of the community,visit some friends. Cry together with Anik’s mother, mourn the loss of oneperson more claimed by the horrors of re-education. He’d be trained in NorthCity soon, had been given family-leave by a Major, too understanding forBuccaneers liking. Time to visit would be sparse, the will to, too.

“He heard thatyou turned traitor? Probably died of the pain that it caused him! Anotherbrother of his, willing to shoot up innocents!”

His anger rose,but did nothing more than take his heart and strangle it. He`d chop firewoodlater, would relieve himself of this feeling that way. Forcefully he pulled hiseyes away from where his mother had lain. His father’s moods he’d lived withfor years, was accustomed to them when met with the teachers and “caregivers”at the boarding school. Though silently conforming in all horrible situations,he’d learned never to forget who he was. Silent rebellion, his oldest brotherhad said with a conspiratorial smile. The last two years without them, had beensilent hell.

Staying calm,something he’d never managed before to such an extent, he felt his resolvestrengthen.

“He hunghimself in the schools’ chapel.”

There was nomalicious intent inside of him, only the desire that his friends’ death shouldbe respected. And the knowledge, that his own decision was right. Anik had alwaysloved to be outside, had longed to see the sky, suffocating inside the stuffyrooms, the strange clothing, the constant disrespect to their gods. Theknowledge of what was happening to their parents and loved ones back home, howit changed them, sometimes seemed to force hands. The differences too much to take. Anik hadunderstood, that he hadn’t wanted to go back.

His father tookanother swig, silenced.

“I think there’ssomething under your feet.”

He stoppedwalking, lifted one foot after the other and looked at his soles. Turningaround to her, he shrugged.

“Nothing out ofthe ordinary.”

She let it slide,sure she’d seen something, but willing to wait until she had him close. Watchedhim walk around, towelling his long hair after a shower, pulling on someboxers, shaving with the bathroom-door ajar. When he finally plopped down nextto her on the bunk, she didn’t even try to hide her goal.

He laughed.

“There’s nothingstuck to my feet, Liv.”

Making sureanyways, her fingers ghosted over thin scars, looking him in the eye, an unsaidquestion in them that he could decline without a problem. He sat himself downmore comfortably, watched her like a hawk when she settled against the otherside of the bed, watching him equally as closely.

“You already knowthat I went to a boarding school, thanks to an education act, endorsed by themilitary?”

She nodded,remembering their talk well, stuck in a cave with him and some other cubs,their patrol seeking shelter from a sudden snowfall. A flask had made therounds and some talked, among them Buccaneer and one of the cubs, both ofmountain-tribe descent.

All children ofthe tribespeople were to be schooled in boarding schools, schedule and contentschosen by the amestrian military. The lands of their families were heavily cutback, fenced and their usual income, caribou breeding and herding, seized. Hisfather worked in a mine now, as had the other cubs. Access to alcohol, usuallyreserved for high festivities, became plentiful. The depressed episodes ofmany, started through the fighting that brought on these changes, theoccupation through the military and the many deaths following it, deepened withan addiction adding to them.

Word of mouthwas, that the boarding schools were hell. But that day they hadn’t talked aboutit, the cub panicking at the notion alone. She`d made it possible for him totalk to a psychiatrist in North City, after pulling some strings. Miles andBuccaneer had alerted her to more cubs, in need of help. She’d done her best tomake it possible.

“They did that?”

She tried to keepa neutral tone, wanted him to tell his story in peace. Did not want to colourhis words with her emotions, expectations.

His usuallycheerful voice, sounded uncharacteristically grim.

“We had to get upat a certain time every morning. If you weren’t up, they`d hit your feet with acane. I overslept sometimes.”

She felt sick toher stomach, understanding how deep, how hard they must’ve hit, for the scarsto be so stark against his skin. And to think that he was a kid at the time.

He shrugged.

“It’s not theworst thing, really. Are you sure you want to hear more?”

She wasn’t, but nodded anyway.

Braiding hisson’s hair was one of his most favourite past-times.

They’d raisedtheir kids like the wild mix they were, running between traditions and culturesand their best interests. Valentin right now, was no exception. With the thickblack hair of his father, so tall that he already towered over his mother, yetwith a face more angular, softer and beautiful, that many turned in the streetupon seeing him. He usually shied away, not liking the attention,self-conscious beyond believe since hitting puberty. He was their second, theirmiddle one, fifteen and old enough to ask about and understand the bad things.

The scars on thesoles of his father’s feet. The trips to his grandfather, living close to theborder, his father and uncles always flinching when he opened a bottle ofwater. Why a certain street in North City was avoided and why they took part inrituals to free trapped spirits at least once a year.

Why his fatherhad been so staunchly against sending him to a boarding school, even thoughhe’d desperately wanted to go.

They’d talkedabout that, often while he braided his son’s hair, proud that the boy knew somuch, wanted to know so much, understood his father’s past. Took what helearned and in turn thought on a broader scale, discussed more informed andwanted to help those that had to endure such things. He was a compassionateboy, would grow up to be a good man and a good person.

Halfway throughthe long mass of hair, his son’s questions started to pour.

“Someone atschool asked me today, why I don’t cut my hair short.”

A slight smilecame to Buccaneers face, the sob-smile his wife called it, content andsentimental all at once.

“And what did yousay?”

He saw his sonshrug.

“That we only cutit short after a great loss, when someone we love dies for example. Or whensomething bad for the whole community happens and you want to show that ithurts you, even though it might not afflict you directly.”

Buccaneer nodded,approvingly. His son had listened and understood. Yet, he’d not gotten to hisquestion.

“You rememberthat well. And what is it that you want to know?”

His son squirmedbefore him, seeming like an adult a moment ago, now more like his littlebrother, equipped with more energy than a normal human should probably have.

“Grandpa told me,that when you joined the military at sixteen, you cut off all of your hair.”

He heard the“why?” in his son’s words, took his time before answering. Calmly he spoke,pausing often, taking care with his words. Making sure to answer all asked, andun-asked questions.

“Father probablydoesn’t remember, as it was so long ago. A friend of mine died, after we werefinally discharged from the boarding school. I choose the military, because Ididn’t want to live in the occupied lands. Didn’t want to become a miner,either. Maybe I was equipped with a good portion of idealism too.”

Chuckling, helistened to his son laugh, somewhat raspy, voice breaking often at the moment. Hespoke some more, putting the finishing touches to Valentin’s braid, the boysurely wanting to get going soon.

“My brothersthought that I’d forsaken our way of life, cut my hair because of that. I thinkfather thinks that to this day, but that wasn’t the reason. My friend, Anik washis sacred name, committed suicide. He could not piece together the things hisparents had taught him, with what the people at the boarding school taught him.He couldn’t fathom that he was right just the way he was, not some abominationbecause he was a tribesman. I’d tried my very best to help him, but it hadn’tbeen enough. He hung himself, in the school’s chapel. I shaved my head afterthat. Do you understand now?”

Cutting of yourhair meant mourning, shaving it off signified guilt, Valentin knew that.

“Sometimes we can’tdo anything, even if we want to, right?”

His son turned,braid finished, taking it in his hands, playing with it. Avoiding his father’sgaze after his wistful question.

Buccaneer nodded.

“Sometimes you can’tdo anything, sometimes you shouldn’t do anything, and sometimes, you just shouldbe a friend and listen to what people say, ask if they are alright and do whatyou can.”

And finally, theblue eyes of his son, so much looking like his mothers, found his. He smiled atValentin, who smiled back slightly. Before he could say something, the boythrew his arms around him in a tight hug.

“Thank you, Dad!”

He hugged himback just as tight.