Real Person Fic - LJ: A Bad Romance
Title: A Bad Romance
Fandom: LJ RPF
Characters/Pairings: Cherie_morte/coyotesuspect, scorpiod1, Lady Gaga, Cherie_morte/wutendeskind and coyotesuspect/familiardevil, and just for familiardevil, Cherie_morte/wutendeskind/coyotesuspect/familiardevil
Genre: You can’t tell already? It’s pure crack.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,755
Author’s Note: In honor of me forgetting about tamingthemuse and needing to spit something out in record time, I give you some crack I was only ever half-serious about writing. Written for tamingthemuse prompt #188 - Alkaline.
Summary: I once had a dream in which Lady Gaga’s assistant was a bitch to me. coyotesuspect once had a dream in which she was Lady Gaga’s assistant. It was a sign from God.
When Cherie awoke that morning, she had no intention of meeting Lady Gaga, or fighting in a zombie apocalypse, or falling in love. She was only trying to pass a quiet Saturday but some things are just fated to be.
It began with a simple decision.
“I think I shall go to the mall today,” Cherie announced sleepily, even though it was already 4 p.m.
That’s just what she did.
Cherie was a girl who was notoriously easily distracted. If the streets were empty to the point where it was ominous in a “Run, bitch, zombie apocalypse!” kind of way, she didn’t notice. She was very busy mouthing along to her iPod and looking at pretty shiny colors as she walked.
She arrived at the mall quickly and spent about three minutes there before realizing that she had no money whatsoever and had no idea why the mall had seemed like a good idea. She was about to leave when she saw a most glorious sight-Lady Gaga, in all her glory.
Cherie was kind of a fan. Like, not in a crazy way. Just in an “I’d sell my leg to touch you” way. She decided that she would approach the demi-goddess and attempt a conversation. If things went well, she could ask for an autograph. Or a picture. Or perhaps a steak dinner followed by sex.
Lady Gaga was surprisingly friendly and she spoke with Cherie for a long time. She signed Cherie’s belongings and would have posed for the picture, had Cherie not forgotten to load her camera. This was a real let down, since you can’t just go from autograph to steak dinner with sex without a picture in between. How could you prove to your LJ friends that you really met Lady Gaga?
Anyway, Cherie and Gaga were discussing how tragic it was that they would never get to have sex together when they heard a most shrill and unwelcome sound.
“Oh, fuck me,” Gaga said, and Cherie was on the verge of saying “bathroom okay for you?” when she realized Lady Gaga had not meant it seriously. A single tear of manly pain was metaphorically shed at this realization. “It’s my assistant, Red. She’s a raging bitch.”
Lady Gaga never lies, you know. As soon as Red arrived, Cherie was sure of only five things. Three of them are entirely unrelated to this story. If you take those out, the first thing Cherie was sure of was that Red was definitely a bitch. The other was that Red was definitely a sexy bitch.
“Who the fuck are you?” Red asked haughtily.
“I’m Lady Gaga’s new bestie,” Cherie squeed in a dignified fashion.
“No you’re not. Go away. We’re very busy and important.”
“Now, come on, Red. Cherie and I were just talking and she’s really awesome!”
“I don’t care. Do I look like I care? I don’t. Shoo now!”
“Will you at least take our picture before I go?” Cherie asked, doing her best puppy eyes. Her best puppy eyes were not enough. Red had a heart cold enough to ignore Sam Winchester.
Cherie left slowly, sending many woeful glances in Lady Gaga’s direction. Lady Gaga had already forgotten her, it seemed. And that could have been that, had this all not coincidentally occurred on the day that Cherie’s wife Liv finally got that zombie apocalypse she’s always wanted.
Cherie heard a scream for help from the room she’d just left Lady Gaga in. Now, Cherie was no hunter, but she did watch a lot of Supernatural. This meant she was prepared to fight just about everything except for zombies. She would have left in a hurry and tried to save herself, but then she thought of living in a world without Lady Gaga. It was extremely not fabulous. Cherie didn’t want to live in a world without fabulous.
She ran to the room as fast as she could and found that it was too late. Lady Gaga was now a brain starved zombie and Red was attempting to beat her away by sprinkling salt from the food court at her. It kind of warmed Cherie’s heart to know that, crazy bitch or not, Red at least watched Supernatural. So Cherie decided to save her.
The way Cherie saw it, there were two ways to stop a Lady Gaga zombie. The first was brains, but Cherie was hoping to avoid that option. She decided that the only thing left to do was start a dance interlude to lure Lady Gaga away from her assistant.
Cherie watched as Lady Gaga responded to the opening chords of Bad Romance. The zombie immediately turned from her prey and ran towards the speakers. Cherie took the chance to hurry into the room and lock the door behind her.
“Are you okay?” she asked, hoping Red might need some CPR or something.
“No, I just almost had my BRAIN eaten.”
“That does sound uncomfortable.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Well, I don’t know, how do you kill a zombie?”
“I don’t know! That episode doesn’t air until after hiatus.”
“Worst planning ever. Fucking Winter Olympics, coming between me and Show.”
“I know, right?”
Cherie and Red’s eyes met, hearts reflecting from both sets.
“Tell me, Cherie, how do you feel about brotherfucking?”
“I am a big fan of the incest, not even going to lie.”
“I think I like you after all!”
“Great, we can be friends if we survive this.”
“I’m almost out of salt.”
“Do you have any batteries? Alkaline is a type of salt, you know.”
“You’re only bringing that up because you don’t know how else to work in this week’s tamingthemuse prompt.”
“The salt wasn’t helping, anyway,” Cherie replied evasively. It was a sore subject. This week’s prompt kind of sucked.
“So what are we going to do? Sit around and wait to die?”
“Nobody’s dying, okay?”
Spoiler alert: Morte means dead in French.
“I just don’t see this ending well for you,” Red confessed. She knew French. She was a classy broad.
Cherie was about to try using the “last night on Earth” line, because that had worked for Anna Milton and she had a feeling Red would love Anna as all awesome people love Anna. She was interrupted when they heard a somewhat zombietastic voice from the doorway.
Both turned their attention to the sound and saw a small zombie trying to get out of the room. There was another larger male zombie attacking her. On instinct, Red grabbed the first sharp object she saw-it was a shovel, where did a shovel come from in a mall? Who knows, dreams are weird-and began to hack at the male zombie like a pro. Cherie was both impressed and sexually excited, so she just kind of stood there in shock and smiled when it was all over as if she’d helped.
“We killed a zombie!”
“We totally did! If we were related, this would so be the part where we have sex.”
Cherie was very sad not to be related to Red.
The two hunters-because you totally get to call yourself a hunter once you’ve hacked something’s head off-turned to the remaining zombie. The song had changed to Monster and it was clear that the shiny allure of Lady Gaga’s music did not end at Lady Gaga herself. The zombie was dancing a little in tune to the music, though she wasn’t quite graceful on account of a chunk of her leg being missing.
“Braaaaiiinnnnsss,” the zombie sang, turning to face Red and Cherie.
“WE’RE GOING TO DIE!”
“Brains?”
“Aww, she’s kind of cute!”
“She’s going to eat our brains!”
“Brains!” The zombie pointed at the slain male zombie with an accusing finger. “He ate my heart AND THEN HE ATE MY BRAIN.”
“That boy is a monster!” Cherie said sympathetically.
The zombie nodded, eyes wide, and drooled adorably
“You know, you’re right. She is kind of cute.”
“I don’t want to decapitate her!”
“Well, we’re not adopting her. We haven’t even had incestuous sex yet.”
“What is your name, little zombie?” Cherie asked, because she wasn’t really the think-about-talking-to-a-zombie-before-you-get-too-close kind-of-girl.
“Scorp want brains!” The zombie made grabby hands at Cherie’s head.
“No! No brains! That’s a bad zombie!” Red lectured, swatting Scorp’s hands away from Cherie’s head.
“Bad zombie?” She asked sadly.
“We don’t eat Cherie, Scorp. Cherie is our friend.”
“Friend!” Scorp announced cheerfully, jumping onto Cherie’s back and snuggling her enthusiastically.
“Do you think all of the zombies are this nice?”
“Well, we can’t hide in here forever. Might as well go and see.”
When they opened the door, they were greeted by a most fascinating sight. There was a group of twenty zombies, all doing a really well choreographed dance to Monster in the mall lobby.
“That Lady Gaga is something else!”
“I really admire her work ethic. Who else could be turned into a zombie and teach that many people an entire dance routine in less than twenty minutes?”
Cherie confessed that she could think of no one.
“So I guess this whole zombie apocalypse was a false alarm then.”
“Are we going to do something about all of this sexual tension between us?” Cherie asked, assuming that if she said there was sexual tension, there would be. Kind of like a Dean/Castiel shipper, only Red nodded when Dean Winchester would have shot whoever made the suggestion.
“I would love to, but I have to tell you, I’m a married lady.”
“Oh, right, that. Yeah, I’m married, too. Hasn’t really been a problem for me yet. I would love it if you would be my wanton lover.”
“Well, if you don’t mind, I don’t mind! My place or yours?”
“Mine! My wife will cook for us and take care of the zombie while we have sex. She’s very fond of zombies. It’s kind of weird.”
“Sounds swell!”
Cherie and Red had lots and lots of sex that night and for many nights thereafter. In fact, it wasn’t long before Red and her wife Fam were moving in and the four of them were raising their zombie baby together. Mostly this consisted of Red, Fam, and Cherie going out to find people with brains to feed Scorp. Liv cooked them. She made a mean plate of scrambled brains.
And then they all had more sex, because group sex is always a crowd pleaser. Haha, get it? Group sex is a crowd pleaser? Yes, it is almost five in the morning.
[7]
Fandom: LJ RPF
Characters/Pairings: Cherie_morte/coyotesuspect, scorpiod1, Lady Gaga, Cherie_morte/wutendeskind and coyotesuspect/familiardevil, and just for familiardevil, Cherie_morte/wutendeskind/coyotesuspect/familiardevil
Genre: You can’t tell already? It’s pure crack.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,755
Author’s Note: In honor of me forgetting about tamingthemuse and needing to spit something out in record time, I give you some crack I was only ever half-serious about writing. Written for tamingthemuse prompt #188 - Alkaline.
Summary: I once had a dream in which Lady Gaga’s assistant was a bitch to me. coyotesuspect once had a dream in which she was Lady Gaga’s assistant. It was a sign from God.
When Cherie awoke that morning, she had no intention of meeting Lady Gaga, or fighting in a zombie apocalypse, or falling in love. She was only trying to pass a quiet Saturday but some things are just fated to be.
It began with a simple decision.
“I think I shall go to the mall today,” Cherie announced sleepily, even though it was already 4 p.m.
That’s just what she did.
Cherie was a girl who was notoriously easily distracted. If the streets were empty to the point where it was ominous in a “Run, bitch, zombie apocalypse!” kind of way, she didn’t notice. She was very busy mouthing along to her iPod and looking at pretty shiny colors as she walked.
She arrived at the mall quickly and spent about three minutes there before realizing that she had no money whatsoever and had no idea why the mall had seemed like a good idea. She was about to leave when she saw a most glorious sight-Lady Gaga, in all her glory.
Cherie was kind of a fan. Like, not in a crazy way. Just in an “I’d sell my leg to touch you” way. She decided that she would approach the demi-goddess and attempt a conversation. If things went well, she could ask for an autograph. Or a picture. Or perhaps a steak dinner followed by sex.
Lady Gaga was surprisingly friendly and she spoke with Cherie for a long time. She signed Cherie’s belongings and would have posed for the picture, had Cherie not forgotten to load her camera. This was a real let down, since you can’t just go from autograph to steak dinner with sex without a picture in between. How could you prove to your LJ friends that you really met Lady Gaga?
Anyway, Cherie and Gaga were discussing how tragic it was that they would never get to have sex together when they heard a most shrill and unwelcome sound.
“Oh, fuck me,” Gaga said, and Cherie was on the verge of saying “bathroom okay for you?” when she realized Lady Gaga had not meant it seriously. A single tear of manly pain was metaphorically shed at this realization. “It’s my assistant, Red. She’s a raging bitch.”
Lady Gaga never lies, you know. As soon as Red arrived, Cherie was sure of only five things. Three of them are entirely unrelated to this story. If you take those out, the first thing Cherie was sure of was that Red was definitely a bitch. The other was that Red was definitely a sexy bitch.
“Who the fuck are you?” Red asked haughtily.
“I’m Lady Gaga’s new bestie,” Cherie squeed in a dignified fashion.
“No you’re not. Go away. We’re very busy and important.”
“Now, come on, Red. Cherie and I were just talking and she’s really awesome!”
“I don’t care. Do I look like I care? I don’t. Shoo now!”
“Will you at least take our picture before I go?” Cherie asked, doing her best puppy eyes. Her best puppy eyes were not enough. Red had a heart cold enough to ignore Sam Winchester.
Cherie left slowly, sending many woeful glances in Lady Gaga’s direction. Lady Gaga had already forgotten her, it seemed. And that could have been that, had this all not coincidentally occurred on the day that Cherie’s wife Liv finally got that zombie apocalypse she’s always wanted.
Cherie heard a scream for help from the room she’d just left Lady Gaga in. Now, Cherie was no hunter, but she did watch a lot of Supernatural. This meant she was prepared to fight just about everything except for zombies. She would have left in a hurry and tried to save herself, but then she thought of living in a world without Lady Gaga. It was extremely not fabulous. Cherie didn’t want to live in a world without fabulous.
She ran to the room as fast as she could and found that it was too late. Lady Gaga was now a brain starved zombie and Red was attempting to beat her away by sprinkling salt from the food court at her. It kind of warmed Cherie’s heart to know that, crazy bitch or not, Red at least watched Supernatural. So Cherie decided to save her.
The way Cherie saw it, there were two ways to stop a Lady Gaga zombie. The first was brains, but Cherie was hoping to avoid that option. She decided that the only thing left to do was start a dance interlude to lure Lady Gaga away from her assistant.
Cherie watched as Lady Gaga responded to the opening chords of Bad Romance. The zombie immediately turned from her prey and ran towards the speakers. Cherie took the chance to hurry into the room and lock the door behind her.
“Are you okay?” she asked, hoping Red might need some CPR or something.
“No, I just almost had my BRAIN eaten.”
“That does sound uncomfortable.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Well, I don’t know, how do you kill a zombie?”
“I don’t know! That episode doesn’t air until after hiatus.”
“Worst planning ever. Fucking Winter Olympics, coming between me and Show.”
“I know, right?”
Cherie and Red’s eyes met, hearts reflecting from both sets.
“Tell me, Cherie, how do you feel about brotherfucking?”
“I am a big fan of the incest, not even going to lie.”
“I think I like you after all!”
“Great, we can be friends if we survive this.”
“I’m almost out of salt.”
“Do you have any batteries? Alkaline is a type of salt, you know.”
“You’re only bringing that up because you don’t know how else to work in this week’s tamingthemuse prompt.”
“The salt wasn’t helping, anyway,” Cherie replied evasively. It was a sore subject. This week’s prompt kind of sucked.
“So what are we going to do? Sit around and wait to die?”
“Nobody’s dying, okay?”
Spoiler alert: Morte means dead in French.
“I just don’t see this ending well for you,” Red confessed. She knew French. She was a classy broad.
Cherie was about to try using the “last night on Earth” line, because that had worked for Anna Milton and she had a feeling Red would love Anna as all awesome people love Anna. She was interrupted when they heard a somewhat zombietastic voice from the doorway.
Both turned their attention to the sound and saw a small zombie trying to get out of the room. There was another larger male zombie attacking her. On instinct, Red grabbed the first sharp object she saw-it was a shovel, where did a shovel come from in a mall? Who knows, dreams are weird-and began to hack at the male zombie like a pro. Cherie was both impressed and sexually excited, so she just kind of stood there in shock and smiled when it was all over as if she’d helped.
“We killed a zombie!”
“We totally did! If we were related, this would so be the part where we have sex.”
Cherie was very sad not to be related to Red.
The two hunters-because you totally get to call yourself a hunter once you’ve hacked something’s head off-turned to the remaining zombie. The song had changed to Monster and it was clear that the shiny allure of Lady Gaga’s music did not end at Lady Gaga herself. The zombie was dancing a little in tune to the music, though she wasn’t quite graceful on account of a chunk of her leg being missing.
“Braaaaiiinnnnsss,” the zombie sang, turning to face Red and Cherie.
“WE’RE GOING TO DIE!”
“Brains?”
“Aww, she’s kind of cute!”
“She’s going to eat our brains!”
“Brains!” The zombie pointed at the slain male zombie with an accusing finger. “He ate my heart AND THEN HE ATE MY BRAIN.”
“That boy is a monster!” Cherie said sympathetically.
The zombie nodded, eyes wide, and drooled adorably
“You know, you’re right. She is kind of cute.”
“I don’t want to decapitate her!”
“Well, we’re not adopting her. We haven’t even had incestuous sex yet.”
“What is your name, little zombie?” Cherie asked, because she wasn’t really the think-about-talking-to-a-zombie-before-you-get-too-close kind-of-girl.
“Scorp want brains!” The zombie made grabby hands at Cherie’s head.
“No! No brains! That’s a bad zombie!” Red lectured, swatting Scorp’s hands away from Cherie’s head.
“Bad zombie?” She asked sadly.
“We don’t eat Cherie, Scorp. Cherie is our friend.”
“Friend!” Scorp announced cheerfully, jumping onto Cherie’s back and snuggling her enthusiastically.
“Do you think all of the zombies are this nice?”
“Well, we can’t hide in here forever. Might as well go and see.”
When they opened the door, they were greeted by a most fascinating sight. There was a group of twenty zombies, all doing a really well choreographed dance to Monster in the mall lobby.
“That Lady Gaga is something else!”
“I really admire her work ethic. Who else could be turned into a zombie and teach that many people an entire dance routine in less than twenty minutes?”
Cherie confessed that she could think of no one.
“So I guess this whole zombie apocalypse was a false alarm then.”
“Are we going to do something about all of this sexual tension between us?” Cherie asked, assuming that if she said there was sexual tension, there would be. Kind of like a Dean/Castiel shipper, only Red nodded when Dean Winchester would have shot whoever made the suggestion.
“I would love to, but I have to tell you, I’m a married lady.”
“Oh, right, that. Yeah, I’m married, too. Hasn’t really been a problem for me yet. I would love it if you would be my wanton lover.”
“Well, if you don’t mind, I don’t mind! My place or yours?”
“Mine! My wife will cook for us and take care of the zombie while we have sex. She’s very fond of zombies. It’s kind of weird.”
“Sounds swell!”
Cherie and Red had lots and lots of sex that night and for many nights thereafter. In fact, it wasn’t long before Red and her wife Fam were moving in and the four of them were raising their zombie baby together. Mostly this consisted of Red, Fam, and Cherie going out to find people with brains to feed Scorp. Liv cooked them. She made a mean plate of scrambled brains.
And then they all had more sex, because group sex is always a crowd pleaser. Haha, get it? Group sex is a crowd pleaser? Yes, it is almost five in the morning.
[7]