miss me, miss me, now you gottaâŠ
warped tour â05 x mcr!drummer!reader
words: 2.2k
A fic about a drummer!reader?? absolutely phenomenal and has definitely never been done before
no warnings for this chapter except that the reader is starting out at 17. No promises for lack of warnings in the future.
Just sort of an introduction chapter. Any feedback is welcome!
It was never supposed to lead to this.
You were just the drummer for a local girl band playing in the same area Vansâ Warped Tour happened to be playing in over the weekend. You werenât even apart of the festival, only playing outside by some stands selling vulgar tshirts and hotdogs. It was modest, but stillâ you felt like youâve really made it. Even in the back, playing the drums behind your guitarists and lead singer, you wouldnât trade it for anything in the world.
Well, almost anything.
The news of My Chemical Romanceâs newest drummer quitting had spread like wildfire over the last couple of weeks. He had already been so new and for him to quit right before a major tour was practically begging for the information to leak, leaving the band with no choice but to bring in substitute drummers for each of their sets. It piqued your interest when you heard about Patrick Stump standingâsitting, reallyâ in for the role of drummer. But Patrick was the lead singer of Fall Out Boy and had other pre-existing commitments, meaning he couldnât continue on forever with My ChemâŠ
Which is the reason you now find yourself in the current position youâre in. Your bandmates staring back at you intently, biting their lips in anticipation while a man with a headset and a badge labeled with both âTour Managerâ and âMy Chemical Romanceâ laminated onto it with a glossy finish. You could feel the sweat prickling on the back of your neck, your eyes flickering between your friends and the rather impatient man.
You had intended to tell him no, and that you canât just abandon your friends, but your lead singer cuts you off as soon as she notices you move your lips.
âSheâll do itâ She says firmly.
You shake your head, standing up in protest. âGabs, noâ I donât wanna just be some hired gun that gets let off at the end of the night. Not when you guys need me.â
The man informs the four teens in front of him, with a sour expression on his face, that if the drummer (meaning you) can learn the setlist before the show tonight, that would be ideal and if not then thereâs other people the job could go to.
âYou will be taking this if it kills you.â Gabby grits through her teeth, her stare boring through you. You try to look at the others, see if theyâll take your side, but it seems that they all stand with Gabs, and all share the same expression that says more than enoughâthat itâd be stupid to pass up this opportunity.
So thatâs how you had found yourself sitting next to two other guys, one maybe a bit older than you, the other much older than you, though both gripping cheat sheets that looked just like yours with shaky palms. You didnât blame them, though, their reasons for not wanting to screw it up might be entirely different than yours but still important nonetheless. One had his iPod headphones in his ears turned up just loud enough you could hear the rhythm of drums stand out. Youâve listened to My Chem plenty of times, sureâ even if you werenât a fan itâd be hard to escape them these days.
One by one youâre ushered to a room in the back of a small building where you can hear them. Itâs sorta like an audition process, with the first guy leaving 4 minutes in and the second guy, the younger one whoâs pants you notice are sagging, lasting all of 30 seconds before theyâre calling you back to play. You quickly shuffle through your bag to retrieve your drumsticks, almost tripping over your own feet in the process.
You shouldâve expected more than just the Tour Managerâ Brian, he called himselfâ back here to seemingly evaluate you, but in your rush to at least figure out how to pretend you know what youâre doing you didnât even take a moment to consider being judged by a band member, let alone the four that remained.
One wore glasses and held a cup of coffee from a local chain you recognized. Anotherâdark haired, with a lip ringâ bounced his leg incessantly. A curly haired guy sat hunched over his guitar, rubbing his temples. The only one you actually recognized was the frontman, Gerard. He almost looks like some regular guy outside of the costumes from the music videos youâve seen at your friendâs houses. You introduce yourself quickly at Brianâs request, your hands becoming shaky for reasons you canât place, with the room feeling smaller than when you walked in. Nobody looks up at you for very long.
âHow many left?â The one with glasses asks Brian, rocking on the soles of his feet.
âSheâs the uhh, last one, looks like. Weâve got the room for another fifteen minutes and should be making good timing for sound check.â Brian says quickly, scribbling stuff down on his clipboard while the guys nod in unison.
You force yourself to tearing your eyes away from the band members and onto the floor in front of you, leading you to look at a drumset thatâs different than your own in several ways that you wonât have any time to adjust to.
A throat clears to the left of the room, where Gerard sits. You look over to him, eyes flickering between the members again. You expect these guys to be impatient, with how they all look practically dead on their feet and it isnât even noon. Youâre surprised they havenât sent you on your way yet. After all, you donât really fit the poster look theyâve given themselves. And youâre a girl. Youâre brought out of your semi-spiraling by Gerardâs mouth moving, with words coming outâ words you should be paying attention to!
âIâm um.. Iâm sorry, can you repeat that?â You mentally facepalm yourself, and a couple of the band members snicker to themselves but Gerard waves back at them to hush.
âGeez, okay.â He sighs, bags clinging under his eyes. âFirst offâ have you ever even auditioned before? Brian here told us youâre in a band.â You shake your head, bracing yourself to be dismissed for any minor detail. Itâs ridiculous, and you know that. Still, your luck wasnât looking too great from where youâre starting out from.
Gerard clasps his hands together, checking his watch and chewing in his lips in thought. âThatâs fine, uh⊠well do you know anything from the setlist? Off the top of your head?â
âYeah, that last guy couldnât even play Helenaâ thatâs our closer, man!â The one with dark hair laughs.
âI can play Helena.â You blurt, waiting for a sign to continue. Gerard just gestures to the set.
You ended up lasting longer than the first two.
It started off as you expected, you hummed your way though Helenaâs tempo. They had asked you to play two additional from the setlist from memory. Each one felt distinct and different from the other, almost like it was intended to make you slip up, and with this unfamiliar drumset, you did. Several times.
The first time was the most memorable, at least for you. The others could have been viewed as purposeful, a âstylistic choice,â if you will. Your right hand had reached for a tom that wasnât where your own kit kept it, only to be met with a brief, dull crack! You could feel heat rushing to your face as everyoneâs heads turned to look up at you in that moment, your movements hesitant just for a beatâŠ
You nearly apologized out of compulsion. Instead you dug your heel into the kick pedal and jumped back into the groove as if the mistake had never happened.
From then on you watched and anticipated your own moves with as much precision as possible, not missing foot melodically tapping in front of you.
You did however, miss the silent nodding along. Ray looks up from the floor toward you, nudging Gerard with his shoulder. Frank had stopped bouncing his leg and instead decided to be just fixated on your movements as you had been.
At any moment they couldâve dismissed you, you want to allow yourself to at least be a little hopeful that they didnât. You like to think you did the absolute best you could, having never actually auditioned for anything before. Your band with your friends had been formed with you in mind for the drummer in the first place, and so it didnât make sense for you to audition like your bassist, Gene, and your rhythm guitarist, Lucy, did.
Moving past the songs you had time to prepare for, you had been given a drum chart with the expectation to play to the best of your abilityâ âwhatever feels naturalâ or whatever the guy with the curly hairâ Ray, you remind yourselfâ had pointed out from beside Gerard, his forehead going to rest on his palms as he stared at the floor. No doubt this wasnât exactly ideal for them, and they had a show to play. You wondered if at least have a stand in for tonight available, seeing how quickly they were able to turn down the others.
Once you were done, trying not to make your labored breathing too apparent, they had sort of hushed themselves and formed a lazy huddle. You were dismissed from the room almost immediately. You had expected a weight to have been lifted off of you upon coming to the end of the audition, but instead it felt as though the air around you had just gotten heavier, pulling your lungs and shoulders down with every defeated step you took out of the small building, the clap of your cheap sandals against the flooring louder than you rememberâŠ
The sun freely shone in your eyes as soon as you walked out of the tinted front door, you could already feel sweat start to build up under your clothes from the unforgiving summer weather. You sighed, whipping out your black mobile and waiting for the other line to pick up.
You knew Gabby well enough to when she answered the first thing out of her mouth would be a bombardment of questions, you just answered what you could, partially being interrupted by questions from Gene, who had been in the background, until they were satisfied and you could finally ask to either meet back up with them or for a ride home so you didnât have to walk in 90° weather. She hangs up as sheâs shutting the door to her car. Youâll buy her ice cream or something else on your way back as a thank you, you suppose.
Finding an area underneath a couple of trees, you wait, unsure of just how long itâll take for her to get here. If you look behind you, you can see part of the tour, with the booths and the stage in the distance. The booths you had been playing at earlier, and the stage you no doubt were not going to get a chance to play on. But thatâs what you wanted in the first place, right? To just play with your friends. It was there idea for you to audition, not yours. Still, thereâs a weight in your chest you just canât place.
Bzzzt!
Your Nokia vibrates, you feel around for where you had put it only a few minutes ago. Your pockets were empty, leading you to fish around in your drumstick bag.
Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Found it!
You click the answer button, not looking at the caller IDâ you assume itâs Gabby or Gene, they must be here somewhere, you squint your eyes to see through the bright California sun but thereâs still no sign of them or the car.
âItâs a building at the end of seventeenthâ bright yellow roof.â You say, zipping up your bag and holding the phone to your ear with your shoulder.
âWhereâd you run off to?â Brianâs voice cuts through, muffled by static and some loud noises on the other end. Your surroundings seem to fade into the background, your search for the girls forgotten.
Subconsciously, you lungs stagnate while you hold your breath, anticipating his next sentence.
âYou still there? This is that er, girl drummer, right?â He asks. Despite nobody actually being present, your cheeks heat up as you realize your mistake.
âYes! Iâm here!â You exclaim. You bite your lower lip, not sure where the sudden eagerness came from. âIs everything alright?â
âI asked if youâd wait outside the room, not the damn building, câmere!â
âSure, sure, for uh⊠more auditioning?â
âNo, thatâs done. Now if youâre not back here in 30 seconds youâll lose the gig.â
Oh. Oh! Oh my god!
You start toward the door as Brian hangs up, breathing out a sigh of relief. Your body feels lighter, practically running as another caller enters the line.
This time it actually is Gabby, you can see her green Honda Civic pass, the creak of her breaks as she pulls up behind you. But by then itâs too late to go back, youâve already shut the door behind you without time for a second glance.
pt. 2 here












