#I say this like its rampant but it really made the murder scene comedic more than anything. DONT! SHOW! THE MURDER! and also the end scene | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

michaelmilkers · 5 years ago

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I saw in one of your tags that you mentioned how 21 pilots made emo pretentious and im actually curious about why you say that (not hate i just never knew about them that much)

my friend you have asked me about a topic i am very knowledgeable and very angry about so prepare yourself for what you have wrought

it isnt just twenty one pilots but theyre just the biggest and most popular example

like. take my chemical romance in the early-mid 2000s aka the peak of emo. it was very melodramatic and theatrical, the way emo should be. there was a presence of “we are not like other people” in a lot of the songs, but it was never just that. it was more of a “we have been cast out and we kinda suck but thats okay.” one of the best examples of this is, ironically, i’m not okay.

take, for example, the opening to the mtv music video:

[Ray] You like D&D, Audrey Hepburn, Fangoria, Harry Houdini and croquet. You can't swim, you can't dance and you don't know karate. Face it, you're never gonna make it. [Gerard] I don't wanna make it, I just wanna...

this immediately establishes the song as being about social outcasts and people who dont fit the mold. the fucking tag line of the song is “i’m not okay” ffs, that really tells you all you need to know about the song. but the important thing is it doesnt take itself too seriously either. the music video takes place in a private school, and shows scenes of the band members eating lunch alone, being bullied by jocks and preps, etc., but it ALSO shows scenes of frank putting swim goggles on in chemistry class and ray drawing on his test with a crayon and then licking it, and at the end they all ambush and beat the shit out of a guy in a mascot costume. all of this is cut up by text saying things like “if you ever felt alone” “if you ever felt wronged” “if you ever felt anxious”

do you see the juxtaposition here? the music video could very very easily be a fake deep bullying psa, but its not, because while theyre getting bullied and playing their music in a garage they are also, unequivocally, total fucking losers for obvious comedic effect. it is a very exaggerated and lighthearted version of real phenomena, which makes it more relatable to a wider audience.

the same can be said about the song itself. it has some pretty heavy and angsty lyrics (”i’m not o-fucking-kay”) but the instrumentals are punchy and energetic and catchy and gerard’s vocal delivery is very theatrical but also very deliberate and he still puts real emotion in the words. it sounds like its taking the piss out of not being okay, which is exactly what i as a clinically depressed 13 year old needed, and i bet a lot of other people can say the same. i’m a loser and thats okay. i fucking suck in school and thats okay. i feel shitty and thats okay. i’m not okay and that, in itself, is okay.

with twenty one pilots, on the other hand, there is no theatrics, theres no taking the piss, theres no over-the-top melodrama that made emo what it was.

take, for comparison, the opening lines of heathens:

All my friends are heathens, take it slow Wait for them to ask you who you know Please don't make any sudden moves You don't know the half of the abuse

and this presents, immediately, one of my biggest criticisms of twenty one pilots: their rampant appropriation of mental illness.

because my first thought when hearing this is as an abuse survivor and someone with ptsd they can kiss every single square inch of my ass.

Welcome to the room of people Who have rooms of people that they loved one day Docked away Just because we check the guns at the door Doesn't mean our brains will change from hand grenades You're loving on the psychopath sitting next to you You're loving on the murderer sitting next to you You'll think, "How'd I get here, sitting next to you?"

they try to do the same kind of nuanced poetic lyrics that my chemical romance did and in my opinion is just doesnt fucking work because they take themselves SO. FUCKING. SERIOUSLY. it sounds JOYLESS.

and the song closes out with this:

Why'd you come? You knew you should have stayed (It's blasphemy) I tried to warn you just to stay away (Away) And now they're outside ready to bust (To bust) It looks like you might be one of us

this is what i mean by pretentious. there is a clear separation of the person/people from whose point of view the song is told and the people the song is meant to be listened to by from the greater population, but theres no high energy or comedic self deprecation to counteract it.

now take some lyrics from heavydirtysoul, a song i actually really like the sound of, im not just shitting on this band bc its not to my taste yall:

There's an infestation in my mind's imagination I hope that they choke on smoke 'cause I'm smoking them out the basement This is not rap, this is not hip-hop Just another attempt to make the voices stop

Nah, I didn't understand a thing you said If I didn't know better I'd guess you're all already dead Mindless zombies walking around with a limp and a hunch Saying stuff like, "You only live once." You've got one time to figure it out One time to twist and one time to shout One time to think and I say we start now Sing it with me if you know what I'm talking about

right back at it again with that appropriation of mental illness symptoms! and some dumbass critique of our generation that doesnt fit in with the rest of the song at all, closing out the verse with “we are not like you” shit. the vocal delivery at least has more energy than heathens, but the lyrics just feel like a mishmash of different points theyre trying to make that have nothing to do with each other.

the best line of the song is undoubtedly “death inspires me like a dog inspires a rabbit” but its poetic just... for the sake of being poetic? its one of those lyrics that sounds like someone came up with and was like “bro we gotta put that in a song” but then couldnt actually figure out how to fit it into a song in a way that would flow. another example of this is “i cant drown my demons they know how to swim” in bring me the horizon’s can you feel my heart. not shitting on bring me the horizon, i really like sempiternal, but thats another line thats just poetic for the sake of being poetic. and to be put on t-shirts. i know this because when i was 12 i had a shirt that said “i cant drown my demons they know how to swim” on it.

i could do more analysis on other mcr songs, namely welcome to the black parade and famous last words, but i would be here for literal hours and idk if people actually care that much.

to sum my points up:

they take themselves too seriously. they appropriate and romanticize mental illness (forgot to mention that top’s website, at one time, described their music as “schizoid pop” lol). they pull a lot of “We Are Not Like Other People..,.,.,,...” shit.

that last point is not inherently a bad thing, for example the new slipknot album is literally called “we are not your kind” but the song that contains that line as a lyric is all out life, and corey taylor is screaming that entire song and the instrumentals are reminiscent of speed metal with how fucking energetic they are. its edgy and its GREAT. twenty one pilots just sounds like they think theyre the shit.

also, and i want you to read the following sentence in a bass boosted voice to best understand how i feel when i say this:

the twenty one pilots cover of cancer is an embarrassment that completely misses the point of the original song and changed it into a weird amalgamation of lo-fi synth pop.

emo music is dead. thank u and goodnight.

#Anonymous

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demytasse · 6 years ago

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[Shizaya] Firsts and Seconds

Super belated, but anon, it’s finally your lucky day! But wait! It’s double belated because it’s ALSO a Christmas fic. ( ´ヮ`);;

———

It was was one of those days where the wind nipped colder than the atmosphere — lips bluer than depression, fingers red just as the prior autumn pantone. Where huffed breath upon frozen fingers made one a tempered dragon, the heat sufficient enough to ease the nipped pain, but hardly enough to actually matter. And the lowered sun lifted a blanket of fog from the rooftop to continue what poured from a set of asynchronous lungs; a duo of students just shy of center stage. The scene perfect for a captivated audience.

All to which was a was shame, that one teen’s emotions would be given in vain while performed above his slumbering peer.

“Obnoxious fool…” Izaya jabbed the other’s down-turned nose which scrunched the same agitation as his own.

Collected, a comedic parody of his normal cacophony, Shizuo looked a victim of poisoned murder. The chainlink bowed at his curved spine, his body slumped into its clothing, while his features rested as if it were their final. Though the only thing dead was his cigarette burned up to his knuckles, as well as his conversation with Izaya that was killed before its arrival.

“Was the nicotine really worth the vulnerability?”

As for Izaya, he crouched adjacent the scene of the crime like it’d be accurate to frame him. Disgust etched his face in response to his follow of an easy rise and fall of Shizuo’s chest. Mildly annoyed, he tried his own breath against the dry air to which he blamed his chapped throat on the beast before him. The very same whose temperature he checked the with the back of his hand behind an overhang of blond, as if that was the intent to touch him.

“At least that hot-head is good for something.”

The strands fell out of their lay, overgrown yet not long enough to comply with any style Izaya tried to correct. It was curious to see the catastrophic mess up close unlike what he couldn’t from afar, which he combed the dirty colours together to examine the way it shined under new light. Izaya’s trial of intimacy turned into a pattern of habit. Easy, the way he worked natural oils into the ratty mop, and wove locks into silk at the will of his nimble fingers, while his admittance twisted around neurons and continued the process until it prickled awkward.

What a relief that the root of his feelings remained a conundrum to ponder over, rather than certainty that bode trouble.

Though the answer seemed similar to the bangs that finally accepted his coercion: unobstructed; and his conscience became well aware as warmth nestled into his palm.

Izaya was struck. He worried over that drop of sick in his stomach which tied up loose ends into a knot of an accursed notion.

It wasn’t love. At least he was wise enough to discern budding feelings from developed; but it certainly was a troubling mind contagion, a flirtatious dip into a ponderous subject he wasn’t privy. His knees shook, balance wobbled, his coherency wavered.

His coat of confidence billowed with the icy breeze while he enviously wished for the clear mind that Shizuo slept with — unaware, without a care, completely ignorant of Izaya’s transfixion. It was desire that he fed with a curious cup of Shizuo’s winterized cheeks and it fluttered his insecurity as he drew closer to count uneven breaths that quickened; may it be his own reverberated pulse or a combination of their two, he was roused the same. Izaya wished to be suffocated by his rival’s wafted heat; he pressed onward to share his own dwindled temperature with parted lips that unknowingly offered themselves. The feeling rode a wave sent down his spine while his rampant heart spread stifled oxygen through his veins and it overruled his mind. Innocent emotion or not, in that moment it matured. Technically Shizuo was coerced into a kiss, but for something initiated without consent it came easy. Stationary lips participated too well for them to be considered a puppet — it was odd, but hardly off-putting. It was audacious for a comatose participant.

Perhaps what Izaya played with was a doppelgänger: a Shizuo that mirrored the version that bumbled around his dream world and moved just like him with rough motion. His unplanned tactic of bruising emotion hurt Izaya’s chance of escaping, as if he’d want to, but it was ever more impossible as arms draped across his back and locked him in place. That musk piqued his senses in between held breath, only so much as an occasional taste, that’s when he rose his count of shallow intakes to make it a constant indulgence.

Devious hands weaseled around the tail of Izaya’s knitted scarf, once a taut obstruction around his neck now cast aside to expose the crook of his neck. His hair bristled as a clumsy massage worked at deep tissue; it was enough pleasure at mere touch, but the dig at sensitive muscle gave him to Shizuo’s lap in a tangle of his own legs.

He twisted into a straddle while avoiding their disconnect; situated his posture to grind into the other, well braced by the thighs that’d slid up to support his back.

The pace was set too inexperienced to be beautiful; it was raw teenage hormones that created tipsy sensations of a lightweight drunk. Still the honesty was persuaded out of them by the trick of blackout inhibitions. Izaya dug into Shizuo’s scalp, raked and knotted the unruly hair.

Shizuo trekked the path of Izaya's arched spine to the edge of his jacket and beyond to yank his shirt. Exposed to the elements he shivered — gasped as warmth quickly replaced cold, gurgled when hands travel beyond his waistband; a murmured giggle responded to the caress of his soft skin.

But it was an alarm, that ring of delight. It flashed Shizuo aware and disturbed their ecstacy.

With shocked momentum, Izaya was thrown onto his back, his skull struct the ground upon accident. Instantly on guard, he shook; he didn’t want to pay for his actions, but Shizuo was often a harbinger of repercussion. The chill of concrete matched what dead eyes shimmered with sleep — what uncertain scowl left no room for a yawn.

“What the hell, Izaya?” his voice quivered.

“I could say the same to you, minus my name,” Izaya squinted to shade his widened pupils from the blinding sun, “but goodmorning all the same.”

Shizuo yanked him forward by the scruff of his shirt, “don’t steal from me while I sleep, you scumbag.”

They were inches from where they once conjoined — the quick switch of blood flow harshed Shizuo’s cheeks, his features pinched from the ache at his head. Izaya welcomed his refocus with a wry smile.

“Oh? Was that your first kiss?”

Intuitively Shizuo slicked his lips, “yeah...” a curse hid just under his breath.

“Not shocking.”

Though he was shocked that no immediate retaliation was cast. Izaya watched the other puzzle out his thoughts; he remained neutral in expression while he tallied the remaining leaves on distanced trees. To read Shizuo’s mind required a tilt of his perspective; from a different angle he was still unreadable, and it increased his worried with the past time.

“...'s alright,” he struggled with his voice.

“Is it?”

Shizuo nodded, far-off and dejected — perhaps in denial.

“Is it?” Izaya stressed.

“Maybe.” “...maybe isn’t definitive, Shizu-chan. Try again.” Izaya hid behind his glib. Without an ounce of his usually abundant emotion Shizuo shrugged, his lost eyes realigned with a peculiar design.

Self-pity filled Izaya’s veins and within an instant he thrust that weakness against the brute’s chest. “Get off me.”

Though it was hard to convince himself that it was what he wanted; it was increasingly difficult to counter his pin to the ground, what was an immovable force that imprinted the texture of tile onto his skin.

“Can we just,” Shizuo pressed, “...talk?”

“Funny, this is coming from the one who can barely form a thought. I don’t know why you’re asking me, of all people.”

“...right.” Shizuo seemed shocked by the reminder of his own confusion, the concept lost on his absent mind. Likewise, Izaya was baffled by his rival’s even keel.

“Are you going to answer me then?”

“Answer what?” Izaya sighed, “If you’re alright.”

“With what?”

“Is this Twenty Questions? If you want to be a detective so bad, consider this practice and figure it out for yourself, Akechi-san!” His eyes widened, “I didn’t tell you tha—” “Never mind.” Izaya curled his fingers tight around Shizuo’s forearm, his stare was stone. “Are you alright with this?” he punctuated each word as if extra time allowed him to determine what ‘this’ meant to him.

“...not sure.”

“Just answer me.”

“STOP FORCING ME, ALREADY!” “Then let me reiterate: get off.” The terse sentiment made Shizuo comply and let Izaya throw him off to the side.

Adept in his ability to flee, he hopped into a dash on the balls of his feet, sliced through the air with his loosely bladed hands; he staggered when blood refilled his calves and it threw his scarf off behind him to pile on the ground.

Izaya was aware of his cowardice, but he only cared enough to tsk himself as he reached the rooftop door. His knuckles bruised as he missed the handle, but hastily found it in a blind panic.

In between an annoyed screech of hinges and what would become a heavy clap of metal, a rasp addressed his wake — just as his feet hit the decline of stairs. The words were jumbled when he first received them, but after he reworked the order they formed a message that made sense.

“Merry Christmas Eve, Izaya.”

Unpredictably the words caused Izaya to hate himself; he was a master of hidden language rendered useless. With his mind lost, most certainly for the rest of the day, he exited the school grounds early and allowed himself the holiday.

He sighed defeated and embarrassed.

“Merry Christmas Eve, Shizu-chan.”

At least he’d finally deciphered his own word.

———

Perhaps it was a little late for Shizuo's response; it had been delayed far beyond a fair expiry, in fact. A year overdue without a fee, but an unconscious nag that reminded him of what he hadn't. Or maybe it was the tension that built between him and Izaya that counted as his just reward of negligence.

Their remainder days of school ran them through a myriad of stilted interactions that set a tough row of hurdles to constantly jump in early adulthood. Hardly avoidant of the other, they forgot to tiptoe around the other’s triggers, rather intentionally set them off for a taste of that passion they once grasped. That, in concept, wasn’t any different from what it’d ever been, their exchange on the rooftop only an agitator for their stir-crazy emotions. Outside the bounds of concept — in the torn up glory of flesh and blood — their interactions differed from questionable friends and spoke of a long term relationship that neither were part of, just yet.

And they were at the butt of Shinra’s tease, relentless as he was a sap; his casual prod and hinted wisdom would eventually lead to Izaya’s watchful eye upon him as well, the asshole duo both in pressure of Shizuo and he didn’t feel he earned it. That annoyance could’ve brought the end of his ridiculous avoidance, yet he continued to grimace through lies. If he did spill the beans, he wouldn’t by any means connect it to those bastards’ badgering.

Truth, however, was usually found at the tip of Shizuo's tongue just behind raucous curse words that he served Izaya in plenty, all the while honesty slipped further in the queue behind each mention of pests and scum; drowned in the dregs of his trashed compliments and recycled hate from when it actually meant something.

Which brought him to the present day dilemma, filled with nervous excitement. Twas the city’s hyped day of romance, one familiar to his history with Izaya, and what Shizuo marked as the deadline to make a move that he should've in Christmas past. It was a confrontation that he’d strategically planned for hours equal to the count of days he’d pussyfooted.

Yet further he waited out the day — just as twilight fell into the brink of night, right when the young informant left his final meeting. Obviously tuckered out, Shizuo noticed how Izaya still held a perk stature; in stride to an unknown destination, he casually perused the congregation of couples for interest whilst Shizuo did his best to remain incognito.

Opportunities to approach his target at the perfect moment passed him by coincidence. One body-check of a slunk punk interrupted his poke of Izaya's open shoulder, which naturally wound up unfortunate for the careless prick. He was knocked from concentration for two blocks, as a duo of rugrats darted through and around his legs with literal bells on, to which his warning growl shot them off to their mom who scooted them to safety. Over the course of three more streets his racing heart dissuaded him while the two separately plunged deeper into the city.

Finally able to move forward, he efforted breath of fresh confidence to godspeed his heel which aligned his final step with Izaya’s halt. He gathered his surroundings in mirror of the other. Priorly blind, he was unknowingly lead to a festive plaza dimly lit by a twinkling spectrum of colour and full of romantic opportunity — Shizuo thanked karma with a smile just as bright as the strung LEDs. How advantageous it was, that impromptu Christmas Eve date that Izaya decided to take himself on.

He cleared his throat, but the conversation starter failed to stand out above the hushed city roar and random phrases snipped of their context. He rubbed nervous energy from his neck to try again, but choked on his greeting when he looked back up.

Nonchalantly posed at the base of the tree, Izaya was bathed in the spirit of Christmas, completely mystified by the beauty, but unaware of his own glitter. The joyful atmosphere seemed to reverberate within the young adult, which edged him closer to the seasonal smell of dying pine; his aura beamed in fashion of his natural charm, perhaps a hair more childish with his peppy hum in perfect tune of yuletide carols.

Unabashedly Izaya was a halved couple, but really he was a far-cry from lonely, especially as his performance garnered at least Shizuo’s undivided attention.

The scene was the season’s loving showal of support — it should have made his gift giving easier, but as he was cemented in stance, he could only lean forward on a hinge. His arm mid-reach and vocal chords prepared, he was beaten to the punch.

“Were you seriously waiting for this exact day?”

Shizuo’s fingers twitched in the open air, his mouth agape even more than before — he shrunk embarrassed behind his scarf. “If you were hoping for Christmas luck to bring us a prosperous relationship, Shizuo…” Izaya turned only the fraction needed to connect his gaze, “you could have spared the wait and answered when I asked you so generously.” Poised and delicate, his ring-adorned finger pulled the bulk of his own scarf to chin level, his lilted smile followed the curve of the fabric. At the height of his cheeks, a tease crinkled his eyes with some form of relief, the release of held breath that left behind a cloud. It was stunning the way that light payed Izaya such favour, it set him a glow yet cast shadows that melded with his dark locks and clothing. He was the true highlight of the night, what everyone and no one should have been observing.

He gasped, “...wow…”

Shizuo couldn’t fathom what phenomenal deed he’d done to gain so much of a blessing from the universe. Suddenly he felt that the pricey gift loose in his fingertips was wrapped up in worthlessness.

A sprinkle of snowflakes shook from Izaya’s hair while he chuckled, “that’s your answer?”

“Yeah…” he was still caught in the awe, “I mean no,” he juggled the small box around his fingers until he noticed that his nervous tick caught Izaya’s wide-eyed attention — hooked on a panic. “A-ah! It’s not what you think! It’s somethin’ dumb not anything like...that.”

“I was going to say...it’s certainly not the confession I would’ve expected. In fact that would be a question, wouldn't it?” He swallowed nerves, “though you are unpredictable.”

Shizuo’s fluster befell him, his inspiration collapsed with the lid of his giftbox that was too weak for his grip. He felt the question of Izaya’s stare upon him as he shuffled from one uncomfortable pose to another. It was stupid, really, he’d experienced two years worth of work stress while only half a year out of highschool — he felt inexplicably older than he should, yet it contradicted how his current mentality felt stuck in the halls of Raijin.

Mutually known feelings didn’t matter much if his act didn’t pop into gear and the more Izaya’s humour began to bubble in his features, the more his body shook from a held back laugh, the angrier Shizuo’s temperament grew.

“Will you stop it, Izaya!” his spat aligned with Izaya’s explosion of laughter; he followed with a scoff. “It’s not fuckin’ funny!”

The pest gathered a small audience until they got used to the scene and moved along just as Izaya died down.

“Do you need me to do the honours, Shizu-chan?”

The remainder of Izaya’s chuckles hiccuped his shoulders while he took the few steps forward to cut further chase. They were close, but their distance didn’t close the air off from wrapping their bodies. Eager proposal splayed across Izaya's features as he rocked upward a few inches onto his toes like their height difference deemed it necessary. Shizuo read the setup clearly.

“...’s alright…” blood rushed to his cheeks.

Izaya hummed, “Is it?”

Nodding, he slid fingertips along the brunet’s presented jawline, trepidatious, but lacked the fear he once had when Izaya softened under the delicate motion. Like a tug of an invisible string that connected them, they were simultaneously pulled together. Chaste, but enough, the kiss mostly sealed some unspoken deal they’d written with fate. Honest to the duo, they were satisfied to just share the moment that dazzled with the holiday magic. Kinetically, they fulfilled their bond, breathed in the resurgence of their past; rested from their marathon of stubborn feelings. Not until Izaya tapped Shizuo out of his trance did they part — with a whole-hearted smile he delivered a sentiment he’d long reserved to be intimate.

“Merry Christmas Eve, Shizuo.”

———

AN: My dweeby ass took the opportunity to mention Shizuo’s dream of wanting to be a detective; also...replaced my initial ‘Sherlock’ with ‘Akechi’ to honour Edogawa Ranpo. =w=;;;

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