Title: The Drummers New Threads
Rating: R for language, nakedness and implied blowjobs.
Pairing: Smallest hint of Tomo/Shannon if you squint while standing on your head.
Summary: Crack!fic 30stm take off of 'The Emperor's New Clothes'
Warnings: Crack. Nakedness. Crack. Language. Did I mention crack?
Disclaimer: I believe Hans Christian Andersen made it all up. We just fucked with it. And added a lot more f-words than were in the original.
Beta: The brave![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
ladykryyn :*
Once upon a time there lived a not-so-vain-but-still-incredibly-fuckablEmperor Drummer, whose only worry in life was to play in his band and to stop people mocking him for wearing long-johns under cropped jeans. Or the porn star ‘tasche. Oh, and that time he went blond for, like, a second and could you please shut the fuck up about that now. He changed clothes and style almost every day in order to hopefully shut up the rabid fangirls. But so far, he'd found nothing that worked.
Word of the Drummers not-quite-so-refined habits spread across the internet - but not beyond, because there is no beyond when it comes to the internet. It is the be all and end all of everything, and contains every single useless piece of information you could ever hope to never find out.
Twohundred non-rabid fans who happened to be girls (but not fangirls, just so we're all very clear on this point) heard of the Drummer's stylistic issues and decided to take advantage of him it. One of them gave a sound-engineer a blow-job in exchange for two backstage passes and tickets to the after-show party (it was a good fucking blow-job, ok? Some people are born with no gag reflex - others have to work at it).
They introduced themselves as independent style consultants and seamtstress' with a devious scheme in mind.
"We are two very good designers and after many years of research we have invented an extraordinary method to weave a cloth so light and fine that it looks invisible. As a matter of fact, it is invisible to anyone who is too stupid and stylistically challenged to appreciate its quality."
The Bassist heard the fangirls strange story and sent for the Guitarist. The Guitarist notified the Vocalist-who-never-shuts-up, who ran to the Drummer and disclosed this incredible news. The Drummer's curiosity got the better of him and he decided to see the two fangirls – after asking why the bloody hell the band had to have a game of Chinese Whispers before he got any information.
"In addition to being invisible, your Sexy-Ass-Drummer-ness, this cloth will be woven in colors and patterns created especially for you – so you'll never be mocked online again!" The Drummer gave the two girls a bag of gold coins (with the Vocalist-who-never-shuts-up's face on the side, because he-who-never-shuts-up is pretty damn fit and looks good in gold – besides, there has to be a bag of gold, this is a fairy-story after all) in exchange for their promise to begin working on the fabric immediately.
"Just tell us what you need to get started and we'll give it to you."
The two girls asked for a loom, silk, gold and black thread and a laptop, then pretended to begin working (and passed the rest of the time online and writing RPS. It was a productive few days). The Drummer thought he had spent his money quite well: in addition to getting a new, extraordinary un-mockable outfit, he would discover which of his fans had bad fashion sense and no taste. A few days later he called the Vocalist-who-never-shuts-up, who was considered by everyone as a man with fashion sense (in the sense he could make just about anything look fashionable. Except for platinum blond hair, but then, some things are just never going to work.)
"Go and see how the work is proceeding," the Drummer told him, "and come back to let me know."
The Vocalist-who-never-shuts-up pouted at the shortness of the order from the Drummer, but realized that he could borrow the extra special outfit for himself, and the Drummer was paying. He was welcomed by the two girls, mostly because he had yet to put on a shirt.
"We're almost finished, but we need a lot more black thread. Here, admire the colors, feel the softness!" The Vocalist-who-never-shuts-up bent over the loom (and was blissfully unaware of the designers checking out his ass) and tried to see the fabric that was not there.
I can't see anything, he thought. If I see nothing, that means I'm stupid! Or, worse, have no fashion sense! If he admitted that he didn't see anything, his brother would tease him even more than usual. Besides, if he was right, this could be amusing, and it would certainly teach his brother which of them had the taste.
"What a fantastic fabric," he said then. "I'll certainly tell my brother." The two girls rubbed their hands gleefully. They had almost made it.
Finally, the Drummer received the announcement that the two designers had completed their task. They came to take all the measurements needed to sew his new outfit. He really hoped they'd included a hoodie.
"Come in," the Drummer ordered. Even as they bowed, the two girls pretended to be holding a large roll of fabric.
"Here it is your Most-Fuckable-Drummer-ness, the result of our labor," the girls said. "We have worked night and day but, at last, the most sexy outfit in the world is ready for you. Look at the colors and feel how fine it is."
Of course the Drummer could not see any colors and could not feel any cloth between his fingers. While subject to the occasional fashion faux pas, mostly due to a tendency to get dressed in the dark and really not giving a fuck what he looked like, he was not stupid, and soon realised that no one would know that he could not see the fabric. It was brilliantly cunning; nobody would ever find out that his brother was the one with all the fashion sense.
The farce continued as the two girls had hoped it would. Once they had taken the measurements, the two began cutting the air with scissors and sewing needles through invisible cloth.
"Your Very-Biteable-Arse-Drummer-ness, you'll have to take off your clothes to try on your new ones."
The two girls draped the new clothes on him (trying – and failing – not to oogle and drool. They were only human after all) and then held up a mirror. The Drummer was embarrassed (not that he had anything to be embarrassed about if you catch my drift, but still, see-through-clothes-that-aren't-really-trats dogs.) But since none of his bandmates said anything, he felt relieved.
"Yes, this is a great outfit and it looks very good on me," the Drummer said trying to look comfortable. "You've done a fine job."
"Tell me honestly," the Vocalist-who-never-shuts-up whispered to the Guitarist, "he's naked, right?"
"Completely bare-assed," the Guitarist said, taking a long drag on his most-likely-not-just-a-cigarette, while staring at the Drummer with a stupid grin on his face.
"Are we going to tell him?" the Bassist asked.
"Hell fucking no, would you just look at that ass? That is not an ass that should be covered up."
"That's my brother you fucking perv."
"So you're gonna tell him?"
"Hell no, think of the publicity this'll bring us."
The three stood in silence, contemplating the headlines, and the crowds, and the money that would be changing hands for the pictures.
"Shannon, the Echelon have found out about this extraordinary fabric and they are anxious to see you in your new outfit," the Vocalist-that-never-shuts-up said. The Drummer was doubtful at first, showing himself naked to their fans (even if he was covered, it was an invisible covering, and he still wasn't sure how he felt about that just yet) but he abandoned his fears. After all, no one would know about it except the fashion-challenged, and they didn't count, right?
"OK," he said, straightening his (invisible) jeans, and pulling up his (invisible) hoodie.
An unofficial gig was called. A group of journalists sat at the very front, but were soon pushed out of the way by fans wanting to see the Drummer's (invisible) outfit. They had all heard of the near magical aspect of the Drummer's new outfit and were all positive that they possessed the fashion-sense and taste to be able to see the amazing outfit. They weren't sure about that group over there though, I mean, who the fuck wears red jeans with white converse? Well, ok, but not that shade of red anyway.
Applause greeted the band as they walked out onto the raised platform, but it soon ended in stunned silence. The Vocalist-who-never-shuts-up did just that and smiled smugly in the knowledge that his brother had just walked on stage naked. Which obviously meant that he was the most fashionable and sexy man in all the – no, wait, wrong fairy-tale. Jared isn't Snow White's Wicked Step-Mother. Not at the moment anyway, but he has plans, oh yes, he has plans.Which reminds him, he really needs to speak to the Bassist about bone-crushing corsets, spiked combs and poisoned apples.
After a collective Echelon intake of breath the crowd fell absolutely silent. The Vocalist-who-never-shuts-up only just stopped himself from testing the theory that if the Echelon were silent then they weren't really there. It was related to the 'if the Guitarist falls over and there's no one there to see it, does he make a sound?' theory - which was also untested.
As if they possessed a singular and collective intelligence they all started talking at once:
"Wow, that's such a good look for him."
"The arm-warmers, the hoodie, the hat, all wonderful."
"And the colors, he suits black and gold so well, brings out his eyes."
Far from being disappointed that there was nothing to see apart from the Drummer's boy bits, no one was willing to ask him to cover up. And as the Vocalist-who-never-shuts-up had predicted, the paparazzi were snapping in full force.
In the third row was an emo-kid wearing an MCR shirt with a picture of Frankie's head on it.
"But he's naked!" she yelled, and the Echelon fell on her as a pack and made her cry. Then they ate her for wearing the wrong shirt.
Some people behind heard her though, and took up the chant - eventually they were all saying it, "The MCR kid's right, Shannon's naked."
The Guitarist did his best to keep the crowd quiet, he quite liked the Drummer naked thank you very much and didn't want the Drummer to realize his lack of clothing in case he covered himself up. But there was one of him and lots more of them. Eventually the news reached the Drummer's ears.
The Drummer looked between his legs and saw his boy bits flapping in time with his foot.
"Bastard coated bastards with bastard flavor filling," he swore under his breath. They were right - he was stark ball-baringly naked.
There was nothing else to do but finish the gig and think about how much he was going to make the Vocalist-who-never-shuts-up and his fashion sense pay for this travesty. Because, of course, it was all his brother's fault.
Unseen by anyone, the Guitarist handed the designers two small bags of gold and thanked them for their time. It had been one of his more intricate and expensive plans, but since the Drummer had been walking around naked in front of him for close to 24 hours, it definitely counted as a success.
And they all lived happily ever after.
Although the Guitarist was saddened by the Drummer covering up his ass once again.
The End.
A/N: No MCR fans were hurt during the making of this fic. Red Jeans and white converse will not get you mocked. We're pretty sure Jared shuts up at some stage. Hawaiian shirts and handbagrats dogs are, however, just plain wrong. Even separately.
Rating: R for language, nakedness and implied blowjobs.
Pairing: Smallest hint of Tomo/Shannon if you squint while standing on your head.
Summary: Crack!fic 30stm take off of 'The Emperor's New Clothes'
Warnings: Crack. Nakedness. Crack. Language. Did I mention crack?
Disclaimer: I believe Hans Christian Andersen made it all up. We just fucked with it. And added a lot more f-words than were in the original.
Beta: The brave
ladykryyn :*Once upon a time there lived a not-so-vain-but-still-incredibly-fuckabl
Word of the Drummers not-quite-so-refined habits spread across the internet - but not beyond, because there is no beyond when it comes to the internet. It is the be all and end all of everything, and contains every single useless piece of information you could ever hope to never find out.
Two
They introduced themselves as independent style consultants and seamtstress' with a devious scheme in mind.
"We are two very good designers and after many years of research we have invented an extraordinary method to weave a cloth so light and fine that it looks invisible. As a matter of fact, it is invisible to anyone who is too stupid and stylistically challenged to appreciate its quality."
The Bassist heard the fangirls strange story and sent for the Guitarist. The Guitarist notified the Vocalist-who-never-shuts-up, who ran to the Drummer and disclosed this incredible news. The Drummer's curiosity got the better of him and he decided to see the two fangirls – after asking why the bloody hell the band had to have a game of Chinese Whispers before he got any information.
"In addition to being invisible, your Sexy-Ass-Drummer-ness, this cloth will be woven in colors and patterns created especially for you – so you'll never be mocked online again!" The Drummer gave the two girls a bag of gold coins (with the Vocalist-who-never-shuts-up's face on the side, because he-who-never-shuts-up is pretty damn fit and looks good in gold – besides, there has to be a bag of gold, this is a fairy-story after all) in exchange for their promise to begin working on the fabric immediately.
"Just tell us what you need to get started and we'll give it to you."
The two girls asked for a loom, silk, gold and black thread and a laptop, then pretended to begin working (and passed the rest of the time online and writing RPS. It was a productive few days). The Drummer thought he had spent his money quite well: in addition to getting a new, extraordinary un-mockable outfit, he would discover which of his fans had bad fashion sense and no taste. A few days later he called the Vocalist-who-never-shuts-up, who was considered by everyone as a man with fashion sense (in the sense he could make just about anything look fashionable. Except for platinum blond hair, but then, some things are just never going to work.)
"Go and see how the work is proceeding," the Drummer told him, "and come back to let me know."
The Vocalist-who-never-shuts-up pouted at the shortness of the order from the Drummer, but realized that he could borrow the extra special outfit for himself, and the Drummer was paying. He was welcomed by the two girls, mostly because he had yet to put on a shirt.
"We're almost finished, but we need a lot more black thread. Here, admire the colors, feel the softness!" The Vocalist-who-never-shuts-up bent over the loom (and was blissfully unaware of the designers checking out his ass) and tried to see the fabric that was not there.
I can't see anything, he thought. If I see nothing, that means I'm stupid! Or, worse, have no fashion sense! If he admitted that he didn't see anything, his brother would tease him even more than usual. Besides, if he was right, this could be amusing, and it would certainly teach his brother which of them had the taste.
"What a fantastic fabric," he said then. "I'll certainly tell my brother." The two girls rubbed their hands gleefully. They had almost made it.
Finally, the Drummer received the announcement that the two designers had completed their task. They came to take all the measurements needed to sew his new outfit. He really hoped they'd included a hoodie.
"Come in," the Drummer ordered. Even as they bowed, the two girls pretended to be holding a large roll of fabric.
"Here it is your Most-Fuckable-Drummer-ness, the result of our labor," the girls said. "We have worked night and day but, at last, the most sexy outfit in the world is ready for you. Look at the colors and feel how fine it is."
Of course the Drummer could not see any colors and could not feel any cloth between his fingers. While subject to the occasional fashion faux pas, mostly due to a tendency to get dressed in the dark and really not giving a fuck what he looked like, he was not stupid, and soon realised that no one would know that he could not see the fabric. It was brilliantly cunning; nobody would ever find out that his brother was the one with all the fashion sense.
The farce continued as the two girls had hoped it would. Once they had taken the measurements, the two began cutting the air with scissors and sewing needles through invisible cloth.
"Your Very-Biteable-Arse-Drummer-ness, you'll have to take off your clothes to try on your new ones."
The two girls draped the new clothes on him (trying – and failing – not to oogle and drool. They were only human after all) and then held up a mirror. The Drummer was embarrassed (not that he had anything to be embarrassed about if you catch my drift, but still, see-through-clothes-that-aren't-really-t
"Yes, this is a great outfit and it looks very good on me," the Drummer said trying to look comfortable. "You've done a fine job."
"Tell me honestly," the Vocalist-who-never-shuts-up whispered to the Guitarist, "he's naked, right?"
"Completely bare-assed," the Guitarist said, taking a long drag on his most-likely-not-just-a-cigarette, while staring at the Drummer with a stupid grin on his face.
"Are we going to tell him?" the Bassist asked.
"Hell fucking no, would you just look at that ass? That is not an ass that should be covered up."
"That's my brother you fucking perv."
"So you're gonna tell him?"
"Hell no, think of the publicity this'll bring us."
The three stood in silence, contemplating the headlines, and the crowds, and the money that would be changing hands for the pictures.
"Shannon, the Echelon have found out about this extraordinary fabric and they are anxious to see you in your new outfit," the Vocalist-that-never-shuts-up said. The Drummer was doubtful at first, showing himself naked to their fans (even if he was covered, it was an invisible covering, and he still wasn't sure how he felt about that just yet) but he abandoned his fears. After all, no one would know about it except the fashion-challenged, and they didn't count, right?
"OK," he said, straightening his (invisible) jeans, and pulling up his (invisible) hoodie.
An unofficial gig was called. A group of journalists sat at the very front, but were soon pushed out of the way by fans wanting to see the Drummer's (invisible) outfit. They had all heard of the near magical aspect of the Drummer's new outfit and were all positive that they possessed the fashion-sense and taste to be able to see the amazing outfit. They weren't sure about that group over there though, I mean, who the fuck wears red jeans with white converse? Well, ok, but not that shade of red anyway.
Applause greeted the band as they walked out onto the raised platform, but it soon ended in stunned silence. The Vocalist-who-never-shuts-up did just that and smiled smugly in the knowledge that his brother had just walked on stage naked. Which obviously meant that he was the most fashionable and sexy man in all the – no, wait, wrong fairy-tale. Jared isn't Snow White's Wicked Step-Mother. Not at the moment anyway, but he has plans, oh yes, he has plans.Which reminds him, he really needs to speak to the Bassist about bone-crushing corsets, spiked combs and poisoned apples.
After a collective Echelon intake of breath the crowd fell absolutely silent. The Vocalist-who-never-shuts-up only just stopped himself from testing the theory that if the Echelon were silent then they weren't really there. It was related to the 'if the Guitarist falls over and there's no one there to see it, does he make a sound?' theory - which was also untested.
As if they possessed a singular and collective intelligence they all started talking at once:
"Wow, that's such a good look for him."
"The arm-warmers, the hoodie, the hat, all wonderful."
"And the colors, he suits black and gold so well, brings out his eyes."
Far from being disappointed that there was nothing to see apart from the Drummer's boy bits, no one was willing to ask him to cover up. And as the Vocalist-who-never-shuts-up had predicted, the paparazzi were snapping in full force.
In the third row was an emo-kid wearing an MCR shirt with a picture of Frankie's head on it.
"But he's naked!" she yelled, and the Echelon fell on her as a pack and made her cry. Then they ate her for wearing the wrong shirt.
Some people behind heard her though, and took up the chant - eventually they were all saying it, "The MCR kid's right, Shannon's naked."
The Guitarist did his best to keep the crowd quiet, he quite liked the Drummer naked thank you very much and didn't want the Drummer to realize his lack of clothing in case he covered himself up. But there was one of him and lots more of them. Eventually the news reached the Drummer's ears.
The Drummer looked between his legs and saw his boy bits flapping in time with his foot.
"Bastard coated bastards with bastard flavor filling," he swore under his breath. They were right - he was stark ball-baringly naked.
There was nothing else to do but finish the gig and think about how much he was going to make the Vocalist-who-never-shuts-up and his fashion sense pay for this travesty. Because, of course, it was all his brother's fault.
Unseen by anyone, the Guitarist handed the designers two small bags of gold and thanked them for their time. It had been one of his more intricate and expensive plans, but since the Drummer had been walking around naked in front of him for close to 24 hours, it definitely counted as a success.
And they all lived happily ever after.
Although the Guitarist was saddened by the Drummer covering up his ass once again.
The End.
A/N: No MCR fans were hurt during the making of this fic. Red Jeans and white converse will not get you mocked. We're pretty sure Jared shuts up at some stage. Hawaiian shirts and handbag
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