#you can't stop the disco | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iwilltransyourgender · 1 year

Text

Rant time.

Okay, look, we all know Viva Las Vengeance is a whole…. something that isn’t quite Panic! At The Disco, nor is it anything particularly amazing either because Brendon can’t write for shit, but I think one aspect in which we can cut it some slack is the beautiful musical disaster that is:

Sad Clown

What could possibly be the saving grace for this astronomical fuckup of a song?

Well, you’re absolutely right in that it is an underwhelming absolute lack of an orgasm after chafing your genitals for a fucking hour, but dear god, in a way, doesn’t that make SENSE? Look, we know Brendon Urine didn’t do it on purpose at all cuz, you know, he’s a dumb cunt and not a 5’1 autistic man hoarding literature degrees like a useless dragon hoards gloves for hands it doesn’t have. But if he HAD done it on purpose, Sad Clown could have been recognised as a satisfyingly UNsatisfying metaphor for, well, unsatisfying…ness.

Consider:

"I pop a pill to feel euphoria. Five minutes, ten minutes, to a half an hour, But not the rest of my life."

And

"Even though I'm smiling, I'm crying. I'm sick and tired of trying, I'm dying. Is this all there is?"

In a badly done, even babygirlification somewhat, of the Hey Ya theme of sad lyrics on a preppy dance tune (and look, I never said the lyrics were good), we can extrapolate the story being told here; ex-lovers, one, Maggie presumably, has moved on quite happily whereas our protagonist has not, though he puts on a front of happiness and copes with drugs, and while the drugs may give him a temporary relief, he knows that he cannot rely on this permanently.

How does this make a shit song a good song?

In an overly analysed close-reading of the music, which I am absolutely qualified to do because I took music theory class for one year in highschool and I'm a man on the internet, I can conclude that this song just doesn't have a chorus? Sure, Urine tried, but if you actually ignore the urge to do a dancey dance and listen for like two secs, you'll realise that the "chorus" is just a whole lotta buildup with no payoff. Bridges, no chorus. Chafing, no orgasm, whatever fucking analogy you wanna roll with. We literally get like three bridges in a row:

"Five minutes, ten minutes, to a half an hour For the rest of my life."

I call this the pre-bridge. It's different to the verse, and we get a sense of "change is coming" in the dropping of the notes towards the end of the bar, and even the general softer, more emotive tone in Urine's voice in "For the rest of my life," however this isn't yet a bridge in the same way most of us would recognise one.

"Leave me alone (a paliacciao triste) Leave me alone (he not so molto bene)."

Bridge 1: Huge musical buildup in the drum, the dropout of other instruments (again, a common indication of "get ready, it's coming!") and the inclusion of the backup singers singing the goofiest fucking shit I've ever read in my life.

"Your majesty's magnificent. My tragedy is imminent. Even though I'm smiling, I'm crying, I shall win."

Bridge 2: Oh, another bridge? I mean, it COULD have been a chorus, but its that last line where we get basically exactly the same musicality of the first bridge, but louder, and man I'm on the edge of my seat. I'm waiting for the climax, I'm rearing to fucking GO.

guitar riff

Oh.

That was it?

That was...

Well, I didn't come that's for sure.

Where the fuck is the chorus, Urine? Because I sure as shit didn't hear one! I feel like I'm back four years in time with my ex who had the weakest dick game I've ever seen in someone without erectile dysfuction.

And then that ending too. He screeches that last note (and this is the only comment I'll make on Urine's actual singing capabilities because that's a whole other rant for another day) and then everything just... dies. And not even in a satisfactory way. No fade out, no sharp sudden stop; it gives the vibe of the orchestra awkwardly realising the conductor's stopped and is glaring at the trombones.

It is unsatisfying

BUT IT FUCKING WORKS.

AND I'M SO MAD THAT IT WORKS.

Literally an entire song about dissatisfaction, faking pleasure/happiness, relying on temporary highs that ultimately never amount to anything, AND IT IS MOST UN-FUCKING-SATISFYING SHIT I'VE EVER LISTENED TO.

WHY

#p!atd lyrics #panic! at the disco #brendon urie #calling him brendon URINE because that's funny #viva las vengeance #music analysis #comparing music to orgasms #doing this instead of my lecture notes #you can't stop me #overanalyzing #take my literature degree away

3 notes · View notes

bylertruther · 2 years

Text

i present to you all an era appropriate byler song to groove to:

#byler songs #byler #ngl i've been tempted to start a grown!byler met at the disco / fell in love on the dance floor ficlet #but i'm not gonna focus on it until i finish my top projects hehe >:)#smth abt two smalltown boys letting loose in dark crowded rooms catching eyes from across the dance floor n bumping into #each other enough times that they start to think fate is trying to tell them something n it shifts from being something they can #only engage in at night to being something they let flower n accept wholeheartedly etc etc u kno. i see the vision i feel it #BUT NOT NOW! not yet.#let it whip by dazz band would be a perfect theme song for it. BUT NO NO NO NO BATTING THESE THOUGHTS AWAY I CAN'T NOT YET #smalltown boy + you make me feel better for being different + you said yes + second chance at love bc maybe they never met on the swings #and it's that kind of 'i wish i'd known you when you were thirteen. i would've been your friend.' type of tender love where ur just happy u #got to meet them now n get to spend the rest of ur lives together.#grinding my teeth to nubs rn trying to not run to a google doc someone STOP MEEEEEEEEEE SEDATE ME NOWWWW #she's a bad mama jama being for will from mike's pov bc he canonically thinks will is the bestest. biting my hands rn #Spotify

4 notes · View notes

bluastro-yellow · 7 months

Text

get it Kim has a lot to unpack do you get it

it's imperfect I'll never polish it just take it as it is

#I don't know how the hell to draw kim #PLEASE gib me feedback #pretend the dialogue is better this is all I can do lol. but you get the gist of it #aaa give me constructive criticism. the other post about kim secretly being a loser made me think about what his apartment would look like #and this popped in my head I had to draw it #is this in character?#there's no eyebrow battle because in my head this happens some time in the future where kim opens up a little more easily #at this point he trust him with his secrets more (but not completely. harry's not touching the blue box today)#but it's a mixture of ''maybe if I tell x he will stop asking for more'' and real trust #but like do you see that happen #it's a secret because he doesn't want other people to learn that insisting can work #like I said in the tags of the other post I think he never lets anyone in to the point of avoiding calling the plumber even if the sink #has been broken for months #addition: fuck I should have putted more machines in there. I couldn't think of anything else other than radio controlled airplane #and a sewing machine. he must have more stuff like the camera.#he'd have some dangerous thing to warm the room #and nerd stuff. I'm not sure if he'd display it or keep it boxed somewhere #disco elysium #that's a convertible couch-bed if you can't tell. half covered with the Pile #pointless microblogging #it's so hard to draw them right they look different in every official thing #believe me I have tried #idk how to put more of the skills here :/#I have achieved peak kimharry brainrot I can't go back

39 notes · View notes

ithisatanytime · 2 months

Audio

(italo disco forever and more)

#SoundCloud #music #italo disco forever and more #Tokio #You Can't Stop This Game #soundcloud

0 notes

afrofunk · 6 months

Text

Roger Bain – You Just Can't Stop My Love [FLAC]

- Contact me for digital exchange!

#Roger Bain – You Just Can't Stop My Love [FLAC] Rare Afro Exchange #Funk #Disco #Reggae #Boogie #Highlife #Music #West Africa #South Africa #Nigeria #Ghana #Ivory Coast #Togo #Benin #Cameroon #Antilles

0 notes

klaviergavinwiki · 2 years

Text

god killed rock and roll is so bad i wish god would kill brendon urie

#or at least stop him from calling himself panic at the disco like bro you're not even the founding member of panic #you weren't the heart and soul of a fever you can't sweat out #you have only declined since the other members left #like maybe if you stopped fellating yourself for five minutes you'd be able to write a good song #but you won't so shut up

1 note · View note

peachesofteal · 3 months

Text

Dead Disco / Chapter 12

Dead Disco masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 2.5k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Explicit sex. Creampie. oral sex - fem receiving. Angst. Crying. So many feelings. Relationship issues. Eating/food issues. Brief suicidal ideation. Toxic behavior. Complicated dynamics. We're getting close to the end. You make a decision

“Knock, knock.” Your coworker hangs on the door frame, fingers clutching a brown paper bag and soda cup. “There’s a truck out front, for lunch. I guess they’re buying every Friday for the rest of the year?”

“Oh, yeah.” You vaguely remember seeing that email. You think.

“Anyway, they’re just wrapping up now and I didn’t see you go down, just wanted to make sure you knew.” She means well, you know she does. She’s always very kind to you, so you smile warmly and nod.

“I did, thanks.” She makes herself scarce after that, vacating your office with another pleasantry, leaving you to stew behind your desk, trying very hard not to look at what you packed yourself this morning, a lackluster sandwich, a cluster of green grapes. The idea of eating turns your stomach, the feeling piling onto the depths of your uneasiness, pushing you to seek comfort.

You can't bring yourself to eat, but you know you have to. You know you should be, aware you cannot survive on the same three half bites of things alone.

If they were here...

You glance at your phone.

Stop this.

You flip it facedown, turning your attention back to your laptop. Focus, you have actual work to do.

The bath has gone from scalding your skin off hot, to lukewarm too quickly. It urges you to get out, tells you it’s well past time, that if you headed to bed right now, you’d still be able to manage five hours before your alarm went off.

Fat chance.

Instead, you drain the tub. The porcelain turns to ice within a matter of moments, and you linger in the shiver, languishing in the discomfort, muscles tense, stomach sour. You nearly let yourself rot in it, knees tucked up close, goosebumps long erupted over every square inch of your skin.

You close your eyes as the tub refills, steaming water rushing out from the tap, slowly covering your feet, then your shins, until it’s deep enough for you to lean back in again, submerging yourself as deep as possible.

What are they doing right now? Are they working? Are they at home? Do they miss you? Is there someone-

No.

You’re not supposed to be… fixating on this. You’re supposed to be taking some time, thinking about what you want, what you think is best for you. This is what you wanted. You decided this.

You asked for this.

Why can’t you detangle yourself from them?

Everything twists and turns inside your brain, spinning together into a murky morass that you can’t make sense of, but it’s nothing compared to the agony in your heart. An infected, weeping, organ that sits heavy inside your chest cavity, now with a giant hole in the middle.

You don’t even notice when the first drops of water spill over the side, eyes fixed on the ceiling. You picked this rental for the tub. It’s massive, the biggest you’ve ever seen, and the cost to secure it for the entire month was probably more than you could afford on your own, but… it’s not like you haven’t made bad decisions in the past.

The water sloshes.

“Fuck.” You flip off the spigot in a hurry and sink back beneath the water, letting it flow over your mouth, your nose.

You could-

You could take a deep breath, fill your lungs with water.

You could turn it off.

You could make everything stop. You could just close your eyes and… rest.

“Johnny.” You breathe, surprised. Your heart bellows, begs you to fling yourself into his arms, but warning bells go off in the back of your mind, and you chew on your lip. He shouldn’t be here. They agreed. They promised. “What-“

“Ah had to see ye.” What if something has happened? You look him over, but he seems fine. What if something is wrong with Simon?

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong-“

“Then why are you here?” It’s harsh. You cringe at the tone, at how it's so caustic, so careless, and he rubs the back of his neck, shifting unsteadily on his feet. Your resolve starts to melt, turning reticent, falling away into a slick puddle of weak opposition. He’s here. He still loves you. He’s here.

“I know ‘m not supposed to be doing this.” He mutters, and you nod. “But… we- I miss ye darling, miss ye so much.” His cheeks are red, turning his normally tan skin a deep rogue, and he swallows between breaths. “Are ye alright? Ye look… ye look tired, love.”

“I am tired, Johnny… I’m…”

He steps forward.

You step back.

It’s like you’re looking in a mirror.

His eyes are rimmed in stress, skin beneath them sallow, and he sags in a way that tells you he hasn’t been sleeping, bones and muscles not doing much except keeping him upright. Tears build behind your eyes, and they burn through the tip of your nose until you can’t hold them back anymore, raw agony in the form of a serrated blade cutting through your sense.

“This isn’t fair.” You cry. “Why are you here? You’re not- you’re not supposed to be here, Johnny.” His face changes, spirals through one hundred different things in the span of a second, half of them you can name. He’s still your Johnny, still the same, and you’ve never felt so homesick in your entire life, eyes stuck on the exposed skin just above his collar.

Johnny.

Your Johnny.

Simon’s Johnny.

“Please… dinnae cry, darling. I’m sorry, I-“

“You’re so selfish.” You don’t know why you say it. It just comes out, flying from your mouth on its own. His head snaps backwards like you’ve struck him, features shifting into panic.

“No, no I’m sorry-“ A spiral swirls, sucking you in, dragging you under, and you shake your head.

“Just… just… shut up. Please.” You whisper, fingers stretching out into the space between your bodies, tugging on the edge of his shirt. “Shut up.” The demand has more backbone now, and he blinks, confused. You can feel his heat, warm skin and breath vibrating away from his body into yours, tugging you closer and closer as you’re tipping your head back, heart overflowing with an insane, chaotic mix of emotions. You feel like you could fling yourself off the top of the tallest building in this city, and he’d still find a way to catch you.

He'd always find a way.

They both would.

“Darling-“ He's worried, rife with it, imbued with the sense of a logical man, but you don't care. You can't. You're already on a path, already made a decision, anticipated an outcome. And now... you want it.

Rules be damned.

“Kiss me.”

“I understand how you feel.”

“No you don’t!” You turn your back on him, shaking your head. “You don’t, Simon. You don’t know how it felt to sit there and listen to that doctor call Johnny your HUSBAND! How it was to realize you two are married! It was like… it was like I don’t even exist! Like I’m a footnote, in your story.”"

"We're not, I told-"

"I know what you said. It doesn't change anything. Married in the eyes of your fucking boss and your entire life is as good as being married."

“You are not some footnote in our story. You are a part of us, love.” You haul one of the blankets off the back of the couch and try to cram it into the duffel.

“Darling, we dinnae want ye to leave.”

“Johnny.” Simon hisses, turning to where the other part of your heart lurks inside the bedroom doorframe. “Don’t talk right now. You’ve done enough.”

“I’m sorry, I said I was sorry, I wouldnae-“

“Stop.” Simon snaps, and Johnny breaks, eyes filling with tears, frustrated fingers tearing into his hair before he stomps off, bathroom door slamming so loud it could rattle the entire flat.

Your head hurts. It throbs, pulse banging around under your skin, and the walls are too close, or too tall, everything is too much. You want to sleep. You want to disappear under a heap of blankets and close your eyes. You don’t want to face this, face either of them.

You should have just kept walking. Should have stayed outside, shouldn’t have come back. Then you wouldn’t have had to do any of this.

“Don’t cry.” Simon whispers. “Don’t cry, darling, please. It’s alright.” You hadn’t realized you were crying, but when he steps close, tapping his forehead to yours, strong arms holding you tight to his chest, you feel the wet stain on your cheeks, the heaviness of your lashes.

“It hurts too much, sometimes.” You whisper, and he nods.

“I know.”

“Fuck.” Your mug from breakfast tips over, rolling towards the sink, and you vaguely register the brown trickle of coffee that spills over the side.

“I’ll clean it up,” Johnny’s mouth sucks a mark into your belly, shoving the rest of items that sit next to you away, either to the floor or across the countertop, hiking your knee up in their place. “later. Promise.” He’s still working himself lower, biting and kiss and snarling against your skin, strong, scorching hands spreading your thighs so he can bury his face in your underwear.

“Oh-“

“Darling.” He groans, and you scramble, trying to pull them free, trying to push him closer to where you ache, already wet, desperate and out of your mind. You want him to crawl inside you, stitch himself to your skin and devour you whole.

“Johnny, Johnny.” The world vibrates in a million different colors, and you fist his hair, pushing yourself up to his face.

“I’ve got ye. Gon’ make ye feel good, love.” He does. He does every time, and this is no different, the way his hands cup you, the stroke of his tongue against your clit, the way he buries himself as far as he can, eating your twitching cunt as you lay flat on your back atop your own kitchen counter, begging him to make you come.

Is this wrong? Is it? Are you betraying yourself? Are you betraying him?

Are you betraying Simon?

It’s too much. It hurts too much.

You need it turned off. You need your entire brain powered down, need to not think or feel or cry about anything for just a second, for a single second of this almost thirty days.

Johnny moves, teeth nipping at your neck, and you meet his lips with your own, panting against him, holding him in your arms just like you’ve been dreaming about.

“I need you.” You whimper, and he nods, a thumb against your cheek. “Please, I- I want… I want you inside me,” your voice hitches higher, delirious, and insane. “Please, Johnny. Please.” Turn it off, turn it off, turn it-

“C’mere, c’mon, love.” He brings you to the edge of the counter, touching you so sweetly, so gently, like you’re a fragile treasure sort of thing, something to be revered, to be cared for.

You’re none of those things. Not now. Not ever.

It’s a mess, a tangled, fumbled mess of your mouth and his, your hands and his, clothes, teeth, hair. You claw at his back as he frees his cock, one foot on the corner, spread wide for him, and it takes nearly no time until he’s breaching you, heavy hardness pushing into you halfway, his eyes fluttering shut with a groan.

“Bleedin’ christ.” He takes his time, takes it slow, reintroducing you to a feeling that you could never forget, the pressure of his cock notching against your cervix, the fullness and weight of having him seated inside you. It’s so good, like home, like something you could spend the rest of your life with, or the rest of your life chasing, and you barely register the words he is whispering into the side of your face, spit and sweat and tears all running together.

Something's missing. Something's off. Something is missing, it's missing, it's-

“Move… p-please-“

“F-fuck.” He hisses. “Feel so fuckin’ good, darling. So perfect… missed ye, missed ye so much.” He babbles, pinning your hips in place, tendons in his forearms flexing as he thrusts harder and faster, moving your bodies together. “I love ye, cannae live w’out ye, darling. We cannae do it.” His fingers trace around his cock and then to your clit, where he starts to circle and rub the swollen bud exactly as you like it, muscle memory guiding his touch in just the right way, allowing him to drag you to another impending orgasm, cunt clenching down around him. “Ah fuck, that’s it. Squeezin’ me, ye-“

“Johnny.” You cry, and he kisses you, insistently, deeply, sealing you off from any air that isn’t his own, covering you entirely with his body, grinding his hips.

Your orgasm explodes between the two of you, and he shouts when he feels it, clutching you too tightly, chasing his own with a vigor that makes you stutter. Your legs jolt, closing around him, anchoring him, tying him to you, his body going rigid when he fills you with his cum.

Your kitchen is dead silent except for the echo of ragged breathing, sweat dotted skin and shaky hands still languishing together, aftershocks sizzling through your belly.

"Are ye.. are ye alright?" He kisses you, kisses your cheek, your temple, still holding onto your hand, cock still lodged deep inside of you, his cum leaking out between your legs.

Are you alright? Are you?

Your chest feels tight, brain desperately trying to catch up, heart bleeding inside your chest.

"Darling? Hey, look at me." He shifts, cupping your jaw and you blink at him, mouth moving without words.

You wallow there, in the silence, in the little space that exists in this moment, in the in-between.

Neither of you speak. He pulls back to cradle your face, and you see the tears again, fat ones that roll down his cheeks, illuminating the brilliant blue blaze of his eyes.

What have you done?

You stare at each other. Realization starts to form, panic fluttering in the ache between your ribs.

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh god, oh what did you do, what did you-

The shrill shriek of his cellphone interrupts, forcing both of you to turn to look at the screen that proudly displays the name of the caller.

Simon.

#peaches writes #dead disco #john soap mactavish #ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #simon riley #simon ghost riley #john mactavish #soap x ghost x reader #soap x reader #simon riley x reader

686 notes · View notes

wonryllis · 2 months

Text

AGENT HEESEUNG ★ LITTLE BIT DANGEROUS BABY, THAT'S HOW I WANT IT.

惹き付ける 𓈃 ﹙where,﹚ agent red gets distracted on a mission.

001 ꗃ. agent heeseung headcanons 640 words! warning MDNI NSFW; mentions of fingering crdt! of edit @hypenwons on tiktok LIB?

"stop staring at her," jay's voice rings in heeseung's earpiece.

"what?" he's too lost in thoughts like? dude you got a national level mission to do where's your mind at?

less than two hours ago he was in prehaps THE MOST secret facility in the country going over plans of an undercover search that he was SPECIFICALLY CHOSEN for

and here he is now leaning against the countertop of the bar with a fancy drink in hand

surely it wasn't alcoholic, he can't afford to be intoxicated in the slightest bit, right?

"olive green knit crop and black pants, you're staring," the venom and warning in jay's voice bites back from the control room

heeseung takes a sip of his mocktail and sighs there's no way literally no way, jay's gotta be kidding

"i'm not staring," this has to be a joke because why is jay not kidding, it's been fifteen minutes and his eyes just keep following you and your every move

from the way your mouth shapes as you laugh amidst the crowd of your friends(he assumes) to the way your lips touch the glass of vodka to the way your hips sway as you scurry to the dance floor

"you are, agent red," how your body moves to the music and the little peaks of skin that show and how it just seems to glisten under the disco lights.

"shut it, you have a mission to focus on," with the high tech glasses on, he can see the remnants of the liquid shining on your lips each time you drink a glass.

he can not help but be drawn to those beautiful colored lips

in fact your whole existence is quite literally making him go crazy, his thoughts running to such places that he absolutely should not be thinking about on a mission for fucks sake

if he were to just walk over and kiss you right now he wonders what you'd taste like, vodka? tequila? flavored cocktails? sweet and addicting? BINGO!

"yeah whatever," heeseung chugs in his drink and puts the glass back on the counter, zeroing in on you one last time.

"what? what did you just say heeseung-" rip jay. we'll miss you dearly

BEFORE HE TAKES OUT HIS EARPIECE AND GLASSES TURNING THEM OFF AND SHOVING INTO HIS SUIT POCKETS KSJHKKS

in the blink of an eye he's right behind you, slyly putting his hands on your waist as he joins you on the crowded dance floor standing impossibly close kshjsjd

and like an incubus bends to whisper in your ear, voice husky and tempting. he knows how to charm his way * - *

"you wanna dance together, pretty?" (died.)

the entire time his hands roam everywhere and anywhere caressing your curves shamelessly (if that's not heeseung)

it doesn't take long though for him to initiate a kiss, isn't that what he dropped his mission for?

but god forbid how wrecked he was about to be,, for the moment his lips touched yours, lee heeseung knew

HE WAS DAMN SURE INTOXICATED (can you hear me screaming?)

sucking and biting on your lips wasn't enough for him he just wanted more, so much more 👀

"does it feel good baby?" he can not stop staring at your face as his hand moves between your legs. fingers inside you with the thumb circling against your clit and the other hand around your neck holding you in a light choke

the way you suck in a breath, bite on your lips whinning to hold in a loud moan, the sounds going straight down against his tight pants and how your hooded eyes keep looking at him in a sultry daze.

WAY TOO INTOXICATED to realize you're the one he was supposed to find info on, and you have him exactly how you planned to, wrapped around your finger.

so, enemies to ?

TAGLIST. ( open ) @s00buwu @luvyev @pockyyasii @nctislifue

#enhypen imagines #k-labels #enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen heeseung imagines #enhypen headcanons #enhypen hyung line #enhypen heeseung smut #heeseung smut #enhypen scenarios

465 notes · View notes