Bandom: All You Zombies
Title: All You Zombies
Fandom: (Old school) Panic! at the Disco
Rating: PG
Pairing: Panic GSF
Word Count: 864
Summary: Jon is pretty much oblivious, up until the squelching and the maggots.
Disclaimer: Complete and total lies. If you see your name in this, stop reading. It'll prevent a lot of awkward moments for everyone involved.
Notes: I've got three WIPs sitting in my files, but instead I write a zombie crackfic for anon_lovefest. Such is life. Title taken from the short story by Robert Heinlein.
There's a limb on Jon's carpet. There is a limb on Jon's brand new white carpet, and it is bleeding and gross and most likely the stains are never going to come out, and also, did he mention there is a limb on the floor? Like, completely unattached to a body?
See, the thing about being a reanimated rotting corpse is that, well, you're a reanimated rotting corpse. It's terribly unhygienic, stuff just dropping off left and right, and if you've got the bad luck to still have your olfactory nerves intact, the smell is simply fucking godawful.
Jon is watching the bugs crawl in and out from under Brendon's skin with a kind of morbid fascination. Seriously, he can't look away. It's gross, yeah, but there's that other part of him thinking, man, this would be so cool if it wasn't actually happening to them.
Jon's the last one left, ever since Ryan came stumbling into studio one day looking a little more inanimate than usual, and hey, that's really saying something. Mostly, though, nothing had been all that different, and no one really noticed anything.
And then Brendon and Ryan got into an argument over rhythm and chord progressions and whether or not Ryan's metaphor was getting ridiculously convoluted (it was), and Ryan prodded him in the shoulder, hard, and Brendon maybe kind of shoved back, and Spencer took the chance to steal the last of Ryan's water, and-
"Ow, you fucker, did you just bite me?" Brendon asked in disbelief, staring at his finger. Behind his drumkit, Spencer snorted. Ryan stared back blankly.
He ended up getting his chord progression, so at least there's that.
It's pretty sad, but it took almost a month before Jon even realized anything unusual was happening, and by then, Brendon and Spencer were acting a little weird too.
"Ryan, man, you kind of smell," Jon said. Politely, because girls Ryan got pissy over stuff like that.
Ryan huffed in annoyance. "Seriously?" he said. "That's what you mention first?" Beside him, Spencer rolled his eyes so hard that there was a wet squelching noise.
Wait. That probably wasn't normal.
Then Jon saw the maggot crawling under Ryan's nail, and that was when he thought, oh. Shit.
~*~
Which brings them back to the limb on Jon's nice white carpet.
"That's the third time this week your arm's fallen off," Spencer sighs. "Do you need a fucking roll of duct tape or something? Jon's got some around here, it'll probably help."
Ryan gargles something unintelligible, then shoves his arm back into its socket with a weirdly damp-sounding pop. Jon suspects that his larynx is starting to get moldy or something. So much for doing backup vocals during shows. Hell, if his limbs kept dropping off like that, it'd probably mess up his guitar playing too. Just a bit.
Stubborn little bastard just won't use the goddamn duct tape. As if it'd look any worse than those paisley scarves of his.
"Did Ryan's arm fall off again?" Brendon asks gleefully, wandering in from the kitchen with a beer in his hand. He's surprisingly expressive for, you know, a zombie, but maybe that's just compared to Ryan. Jon groans.
"Seriously, Brendon, don't drink that-"
Brendon takes a sip. Then two. Moments later, the drink starts seeping out of the hole in his cheek.
"Oops," he says sheepishly. "I keep forgetting." And it's really not like he can get drunk now, either, but he still insists that it's the spirit of the thing. Besides, it's not like he can get alcohol poisoning. Caffeine, on the other hand, still has a bit of an effect, weirdly enough. They don't know yet about pot, but it's probably just a matter of time.
Spencer rolls his eyes. By now, Jon's pretty much used to the squelching, but he still worries that one of these days, his eye's gonna fall out of its socket.
Spencer catches him wincing. "You know," he begins, "it's really not that bad."
Jon just stares.
"Let's put it this way," Spencer says, trying another angle. "Once you're not worrying about breaking your bones and puncturing organs, you're really flexible."
Jon is outright gaping now.
"The human body is surprisingly bendy," Brendon pipes in.
The weirdest feeling, Jon decides, is being horrified and semi-turned on at the same time.
Ryan sidles up to him and waves his hand with a flourish. Either he's trying to prove a point, or he's batting away flies. "Only by dying can we truly begin to live," he intones dramatically. In a monotone.
"Oh my god," says Spencer, who jabs him in the arm. It doesn't fall off, but it's a close thing.
"And," Ryan adds, almost as an afterthought, "you barely notice the smell."
Jon's eyebrows fly to his hairline.
~*~
"Feeling anything?" Ryan asks, sprawled bonelessly on the floor. Jon takes another hit, keeps it in. Hey, he doesn't have to worry about lung cancer now.
"Oh yeah," he says lazily after a moment, the familiar tingle washing over him. Spencer's practically giggling, face tucked into Brendon's neck and legs thrown over Jon and Ryan.
This? Was pretty much the best idea ever.
Fandom: (Old school) Panic! at the Disco
Rating: PG
Pairing: Panic GSF
Word Count: 864
Summary: Jon is pretty much oblivious, up until the squelching and the maggots.
Disclaimer: Complete and total lies. If you see your name in this, stop reading. It'll prevent a lot of awkward moments for everyone involved.
Notes: I've got three WIPs sitting in my files, but instead I write a zombie crackfic for anon_lovefest. Such is life. Title taken from the short story by Robert Heinlein.
There's a limb on Jon's carpet. There is a limb on Jon's brand new white carpet, and it is bleeding and gross and most likely the stains are never going to come out, and also, did he mention there is a limb on the floor? Like, completely unattached to a body?
See, the thing about being a reanimated rotting corpse is that, well, you're a reanimated rotting corpse. It's terribly unhygienic, stuff just dropping off left and right, and if you've got the bad luck to still have your olfactory nerves intact, the smell is simply fucking godawful.
Jon is watching the bugs crawl in and out from under Brendon's skin with a kind of morbid fascination. Seriously, he can't look away. It's gross, yeah, but there's that other part of him thinking, man, this would be so cool if it wasn't actually happening to them.
Jon's the last one left, ever since Ryan came stumbling into studio one day looking a little more inanimate than usual, and hey, that's really saying something. Mostly, though, nothing had been all that different, and no one really noticed anything.
And then Brendon and Ryan got into an argument over rhythm and chord progressions and whether or not Ryan's metaphor was getting ridiculously convoluted (it was), and Ryan prodded him in the shoulder, hard, and Brendon maybe kind of shoved back, and Spencer took the chance to steal the last of Ryan's water, and-
"Ow, you fucker, did you just bite me?" Brendon asked in disbelief, staring at his finger. Behind his drumkit, Spencer snorted. Ryan stared back blankly.
He ended up getting his chord progression, so at least there's that.
It's pretty sad, but it took almost a month before Jon even realized anything unusual was happening, and by then, Brendon and Spencer were acting a little weird too.
"Ryan, man, you kind of smell," Jon said. Politely, because girls Ryan got pissy over stuff like that.
Ryan huffed in annoyance. "Seriously?" he said. "That's what you mention first?" Beside him, Spencer rolled his eyes so hard that there was a wet squelching noise.
Wait. That probably wasn't normal.
Then Jon saw the maggot crawling under Ryan's nail, and that was when he thought, oh. Shit.
~*~
Which brings them back to the limb on Jon's nice white carpet.
"That's the third time this week your arm's fallen off," Spencer sighs. "Do you need a fucking roll of duct tape or something? Jon's got some around here, it'll probably help."
Ryan gargles something unintelligible, then shoves his arm back into its socket with a weirdly damp-sounding pop. Jon suspects that his larynx is starting to get moldy or something. So much for doing backup vocals during shows. Hell, if his limbs kept dropping off like that, it'd probably mess up his guitar playing too. Just a bit.
Stubborn little bastard just won't use the goddamn duct tape. As if it'd look any worse than those paisley scarves of his.
"Did Ryan's arm fall off again?" Brendon asks gleefully, wandering in from the kitchen with a beer in his hand. He's surprisingly expressive for, you know, a zombie, but maybe that's just compared to Ryan. Jon groans.
"Seriously, Brendon, don't drink that-"
Brendon takes a sip. Then two. Moments later, the drink starts seeping out of the hole in his cheek.
"Oops," he says sheepishly. "I keep forgetting." And it's really not like he can get drunk now, either, but he still insists that it's the spirit of the thing. Besides, it's not like he can get alcohol poisoning. Caffeine, on the other hand, still has a bit of an effect, weirdly enough. They don't know yet about pot, but it's probably just a matter of time.
Spencer rolls his eyes. By now, Jon's pretty much used to the squelching, but he still worries that one of these days, his eye's gonna fall out of its socket.
Spencer catches him wincing. "You know," he begins, "it's really not that bad."
Jon just stares.
"Let's put it this way," Spencer says, trying another angle. "Once you're not worrying about breaking your bones and puncturing organs, you're really flexible."
Jon is outright gaping now.
"The human body is surprisingly bendy," Brendon pipes in.
The weirdest feeling, Jon decides, is being horrified and semi-turned on at the same time.
Ryan sidles up to him and waves his hand with a flourish. Either he's trying to prove a point, or he's batting away flies. "Only by dying can we truly begin to live," he intones dramatically. In a monotone.
"Oh my god," says Spencer, who jabs him in the arm. It doesn't fall off, but it's a close thing.
"And," Ryan adds, almost as an afterthought, "you barely notice the smell."
Jon's eyebrows fly to his hairline.
~*~
"Feeling anything?" Ryan asks, sprawled bonelessly on the floor. Jon takes another hit, keeps it in. Hey, he doesn't have to worry about lung cancer now.
"Oh yeah," he says lazily after a moment, the familiar tingle washing over him. Spencer's practically giggling, face tucked into Brendon's neck and legs thrown over Jon and Ryan.
This? Was pretty much the best idea ever.