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WIPVEMBER: The One Where Panic Is Girls Except For Jon
Fandom: Bandom

Pairing: Brendon/Spencer, Jon/Ryan

Length: 950 wordsish.

Warnings: it's me so... it's genderbending.

Notes: I asked twitter and [personal profile] fifteendozentimes said this one. SO THIS BUD FIC'S FOR YOU, BRO. Also, I know I've been pants (UTTER PANTS) at responding to comments, I'm sorry. But I am reading them, I've just been busy with work and school and well, reading The Hunger Games.

This isn't the first time Jon has had makeup put on him.

It's not even the first time Ryan's drawn all over his face, although it's nowhere as bad as the time he passed out and she was high as shit with her makeup bag within arm's reach. She told Jon- after the pictures came up on twitter- that she was inspired by the ocean, because she would like to live in an octopus's garden with Jon. She was probably still a little high, but Jon really couldn't be upset with that answer.

So basically, he can handle a little makeup to spare himself the Ross Pout. The Ross Pout is not actually a facial expression so much as it's the total absence of facial expression with the addition of extremely sharp elbows.

"You should just be strong, Jonny Walker," Brendon advises him, but Ryan had gotten her earlier anyway, what does she know? Brendon bats her dark, long lashes.

"It's Halloween, everyone wears makeup," Ryan insists stubbornly, tapping the end of her pencil against the counter.

"You made me look like a porn star," Spencer bitches, crossing her arms sullenly. "I don't think I've worn this much makeup off-stage in my entire life."

"We can't all be naturally gorgeous," Brendon coos at her, dropping herself into Spencer's lap. "You're too pretty already, Spencer Smith." Spencer flushes bright pink.

"Shut up," Spencer mutters, but she doesn't bother to shove Bden off her lap. Ryan rolls her eyes, leaning back in to finish with her cold, pointy eyeliner pencil.

"But really, you have to stand up to her or next year you're going to end up going as Sonny and Cher," Brendon tells Jon seriously, before bursting into giggles.

"She just wanted to wear the harlequin outfit. She's using you," Spencer agrees.

"I could still have us all go as Charlie's Angels," Ryan threatens. Jon shrugs.

"I don't mind being the Joker," Jon puts in, because he doesn't. "He was an anti-establishment kinda dude." Also, to give fair credit to Ryan, she's doing a sickawesome job of it.

They happened to be in LA over Halloween and apparently so had everyone else, because Pete had decided to throw a label party and he's gotten a lot of texts throughout the day from various people along the lines of "you and your wives better be at this fucking party, man" and he's not really sure where anyone gets the idea that a) Panic is some sort of weird, group sex orgy marriage or b) that he has any control over their group sex orgy marriage. Besides, if he laid a finger on Brendon, Spencer would eat his soul and he's never been able to see past Ryan Ross's wavy brown hair and big brown eyes, anyway.

"Jon Walker, do not enter into a life of crime, I would have to kick your ass," Brendon says, wiggling one of her hilarious elf booties at him. "Me and Batman." Spencer rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over the big yellow bat Ryan had spent most of the morning sewing onto Spencer's leotard. Yesterday, Ryan and Brendon had disappeared in the afternoon and come back with several bags that seemed to be most of the contents of an American Apparel, a dance studio and three thrift stores and they'd spent the night sewing and bedazzling as Jon and Spencer had gotten increasingly worried and consequently, increasingly stoned.

Thinking back on it, this really could be a lot worse. Spencer had stared at Jon forlornly and wondered if they were going to go as Jem and the Holograms. They'd both agreed it would be racially inappropriate but Ryan would make them do it anyway.

So, really, Jon's just happy to be wearing pants.

He also has to admit the whole thing is inappropriately sexy. Spencer looks like she's more or less painted into her catsuit, her bright yellow belt slung low across her amazing, sassy hips, the knee high boots with the insane heels. Brendon's in a bright green leotard, with a hysterical red vest belted over it with a yellow cape and it would be funny if her lips weren't so red and her short dark hair wasn't tousled every which way like she'd been "fighting crime." Jon's been able to compartmentalize Spencer and Brendon being attractive for a long time, though, so while it's acknowledged, it's sort of abstract, too.

But Ryan- well.

Ryan is an excellent seamstress and knows how to play up her strengths. But Jon thinks its sort of unfair for Ryan to wear a leotard with a low scoop neck, so that when she leans in close, telling him to look down so she can fill in black eyeliner, all Jon can see is pale, pale skin and the dip of clavicles. He tries looking lower, but Ryan is all legs, covered in sheer black and red stockings and there's really only so much a guy can take. Looking back up isn't any better, because then he just tries to decide what shade of brown Ryan's eyes are which is when he really knows he's in trouble. He would marry her in a heartbeat, which is probably stupid, since she couldn't have put him in the friend box any more clearly unless they actually found a refrigerator box and a sharpie.

Although, separately, they should get some refrigerator boxes and sharpies and build the best motherfucking fort, ever.

"All done," Ryan whispers, tapping Jon on the nose carefully. "Well, with your makeup."

Jon sighs, but lets Ryan take him outside and spray green into his hair, ignoring Brendon silently pantomiming a whip cracking.

They're predictably late for the party and it feels like

you guys are seriously lucky I even stopped reading to post anything omg this shit is so addictive

Yo dawg, why don't you comment on the dw. Because you can do that. And I want you to do that. Right here. <3.

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