Intense Lesbian Fanfiction is Autostraddle’s first original fiction, in three parts. It’s also the best thing that’s ever happened.
The night was deep and dark over Ellen DeGeneres’ Burbank mansion. Inside her mahogany themed living room, Ellen sat in a velvet high back chair and quietly sipped whiskey out of a crystal glass. In front of her a fire roared in the fireplace. Portia was sleeping quietly at her feet. This was a typical night for Ellen, sitting there, with her wife, in her velvet chair, wearing her velvet smoking jacket, her velvet slippers, and her favorite velvet vest (most things Ellen owns are velvet). She was in the middle of sipping her whiskey when she suddenly felt a great pressure in the back of her head. The sudden pain startled her so, that she clamped her hands into fists, subsequently shattering the crystalline glass and spilling whiskey all over her velvet everything. Ellen shook the bits of crystal off her hand, which was not bleeding due to the calluses from many years of comedy, and touched the back of her head. The pressure had faded as quickly as it had come on. Ellen knew exactly what it meant though.
“She’s here,” Ellen said.
Portia, at her feet, looked up with scared eyes.
“Shhhh, shhhhh,” Ellen said and pet Portia’s cute short haircut. “It’s okay girl, go back to sleep.”
Portia dutifully put her head back down.
Suddenly, the velvet phone on the table next to the chair began to ring. Ellen picked it up.
“It’s Jodie,” said Jodie Foster on the other line. “did you feel it? Is it happening?”
“Yes,” replied Ellen. “It’s finally happening.”
“Oh my God,” Jodie breathed. “Should we tell the others?”
“I’m sure they felt it, too,” Ellen said. “All we have to do now is wait.”
“Okay. So how is everything going? How’s the house-”
“Not now Jodie, this is too intense.”
Ellen hung up the phone. Portia looked up again.
“I SAID GO TO SLEEP.”
She was not where you’d expect her to be. She was not on her bike in San Francisco, or wearing a beanie in Brooklyn. She was not in her dorm at Smith, or tending a bar in Northampton. She was not in Whole Foods, or even Trader Joe’s. But she was on Tumblr; her URL was Dyke.D.Eisenhower.tumblr.com.
The girl was Katie Landsman, and she was no big-time lesbian; she was a tiny-time lesbian. Twenty one years old, she had been living at home since she had attended a two-year college to become a computer programmer. While she wasn’t at her day job, she was home fiddling with her laptop or guitar. In her hometown, (Mexico, Missouri) she was one of two lesbians. The other was a freshman at the local high school who one day declared, “I’M A LESBIAN. DEAL WITH IT,” then dyed her hair blue and also commanded people to “deal with it.” Tiny-time Katie had only one real girlfriend; a girl named Jess she met on Tumblr who, after she drove three hours to meet up with, Katie realized she had nothing in common with and they sheepishly broke up after three dates. Katie, however, was done being a joke. She knew she had potential to be a big-time lesbian and it was just a matter of finding out how.
Hunched over her computer on her bed, Katie Landsman had a realization: she should go by her middle name. Katie’s middle name was her mother’s maiden name, and Katie’s mother had come from a long line of arson investigators. One of Katie’s greater grandpas had the brilliant idea of changing the family name from Mattison to Blaze; he said it would make for some great puns. And so when Katie’s mom, formerly Miss Mildred Blaze, gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, she gave her the name Kathryn Blaze Landsman.
Katie slipped off her bed and walked over to her full-length mirror. She looked at herself and whispered “Call me Blaze.”
Almost immediately, the new name had filled her with a new sense of power. She could feel it swirling under her feet, and emanating from her chest. She looked at her hands, balled them into fists, and with a mighty roar shouted, “MOM CALL ME BLAZE FROM NOW ON, OKAY?”
From downstairs a faint, “‘Kay, sweetie,” could be heard. It was official. Blaze was here.
Next: Chapter 2
It was Tuesday, September 10th, and the weather in Mexico, Missouri was unseasonably warm. Blaze, empowered by her new name, was at Stupid Bar, which was Mexico’s stupidest bar and premier performance space. It was Talent Tuesday, and Blaze was making her big debut into the music world. For just under a year Blaze had been working on putting out an EP called Cool Kids Only, which was hybrid electronic music geared towards cool kids. The bar was filled with mostly pre-teens who had formed bands and sang songs that they thought were subtle, but were easily decipherable and clearly about their strict moms. The strict moms were also there (because they were strict), as well as some mingling locals, and a man in a slick suit.
In Stupid Bar’s back parking lot, Jodie Foster was sitting in her car breathing deeply.
“Come on Jodie. You can do it. You do it in movies all the time! Just get in, do it, and get out.” Jodie leaned over to the passenger seat and reached into her purse and gingerly pulled out a gun. Jodie grimaced and looked down.
“Dammit Jodie! Now’s your chance to prove to Ellen you’re not a pussy!” Jodie paused. “I know what will get you jazzed.”
Jodie dropped the gun back into her purse and pulled out her phone. She went on Youtube and searched “Clarice Kills Buffalo Bill”. She sat in the car and watched herself give an Academy Award worthy performance.
Inside Stupid Bar, Blaze tuned her guitar while a group of fourteen year old boys finished their set. They sounded as awful as one would expect, and it was obvious the people in the bar were not into it. A woman in a trench coat, sunglasses and a felt rancher hat low over her eyes stepped inside and hovered near the bar. The bartender approached her and asked, “Would you like anything? cocktail? Shot?” When he said “shot” the woman jumped and screamed “NO!” The bartender could not tell the jumpy woman was Jodie Foster, she was too incognito. The band onstage finished their song.
“That was ‘Just Let Me Go Out With My Friends’. We are The Deadly Thorns! Thank you so much for listening!” The lead singer stepped away from the microphone and immediately began packing equipment. The emcee (the owner’s wife Trish) stepped up to the microphone and began speaking enthusiastically.
“Wow, thank you so much, Deadly Thorns. Sounds like you boys are mad at your mom.”
The lead singer of The Deadly Thorns looked mortified and shouted nervously, “IT’S NOT ABOUT OUR MOMS!” and slammed his guitar case shut.
Trish continued, “Alright, give a warm welcome to a next performer, Blaze.”
Some people in the bar clapped, not everyone, though. Jodie Foster clapped in an attempt to not look suspicious. Blaze stepped onto the stage and suddenly Jodie felt her heart squeeze. Blaze’s power was clear to her. Jodie could tell that under those skinny jeans was the lesbian that was prophesized to end all lesbians. Jodie knew if she didn’t kill Blaze now, she would only get stronger and cuter until all the lesbians of the world were crushin’ on her. She would have more fan power than One Direction, Justin Bieber, The Jonas Brothers (when people still cared about them), and the Harry Potter series combined. With all that angst heading in the same direction, chaos would break out across the world. Jodie reached into her purse and touched the gun.
“Hey, I’m Blaze, and this song is called ‘Yo Girl.'”
Blaze hit a button on her laptop and picked up her guitar. She started shredding while the laptop played a modest back beat. Blaze stepped up to the microphone and began to sing. The bar was suddenly still, all watching completely rapt by the girl on stage.
Even Jodie couldn’t believe what she was hearing; the girls talent reminded her of her own.
“She’s almost as good as me in The Silence Of The Lambs. And I won an Oscar for that,” she thought.
Blaze finished the song, and the applause came quickly, with gumption. Blaze smiled, as if she were not surprised by the reaction.
“It’s the name,” she thought, “Katie was a shitty musician, but Blaze is fucking awesome and should maybe tryout for The Voice.”
Blaze leaned into the mic. “Thank you. Thank you. This next song is called ‘Alright, Cool’.”
Blaze hit her laptop and picked up her guitar. As Blaze sang, Jodie looked around the bar. It was mostly men, split between the bar regulars and the preteens in bands. There was one man in a nice suit, but Jodie ignored him; she was looking for women. She spotted Trish, the emcee, standing next to the stage. She seemed to be watching Blaze with a blank expression and kept crossing and uncrossing her legs, then, seemly exasperated, Trish ran into the bathroom.
“Dammit,” Jodie thought, “her power over women is undeniable. There is no doubt she is the one.”
Jodie wrapped her hand tightly around the gun.
Blaze played two more songs, thanked the crowd and stepped off stage. Jodie knew it was time to do it. With her hand still in her purse, she made her way through the crowd slowly. Jodie could feel the sweat on the nape of her neck dripping down her back. The sound of the room disappeared as she moved closer and closer to Blaze who was concentrated on coiling various wires.
“This is so intense,” she thought. Breathing slowly, Jodie lifted the gun from her purse, but before she could pull it out completely, she was suddenly blocked. The man in the nice suit had jumped between her and Blaze.
“Howdy, that was a great set,” said the man, offering his hand to Blaze.
“You’re a real talent. My name is Louis, and I’m an independent producer. You haven’t been signed, have you?”
Blaze looked startled. “Um, no, this was actually my first performance.”
“Amazing! Hang on, one second.” The man whirled around and faced Jodie. He flashed a big toothy grin at her. Jodie recognized him immediately; Louis was short for Lucifer, he was one of the devil’s henchmen. Jodie had met him while filming The Beaver. He had been eating lunch with Mel Gibson (they were friends from Gibson’s anti-Semitic days). Louis held a C-level position in Hell — CFO or COO — Jodie couldn’t remember. But basically the devil sent Louis out when there was damage of epic proportions to be done. Jodie’s stomach dropped to her feet and Louis bent to greet her.
“Hello, what brings you here to Mexico, Missouri?” he inquired.
“AH! NOTHING?” Jodie stammered. Blaze leaned over to see who Louis was talking to.
“I like your hat,” Blaze said.
“THANK YOU IT’S FROM ANTHROPOLOGIE. I MUST GO, GOODBYE!” Jodie turned and ran out of the bar.
“Ellen was right! You are a pussy!” Louis shouted after her as she slammed out the exit.
Next: Chapter 3
Jodie was shaking in the driver’s seat as she grabbed her phone from her purse and fanatically dialed a number. She put the phone to her ear and panted as it rang.
“Yes?” said Allison Bechdel.
“Goddammit is this Jodie? Did you not do it? God, Ellen was right, you are such a pussy.”
“HOW MANY PEOPLE DID ELLEN TELL I WAS A PUSSY?”
“It was on her blog, so probably about 4 million.”
“Dammit. Shit. Allison what do I do? You need to help me!”
“No, fuck you, I told you I don’t want to be a part of this. Or anything. That’s why I live in Vermont.”
“Allison, please. If Ellen finds out, she’ll kill me!”
“She won’t kill you, she’ll probably just write that you’re a pussy on her blog again.”
“Calm down. The prophecy said it’s really not supposed to get bad until this kid gets a trendy haircut. Then shit will get real. What’s her name by the way?”
“This whole thing is intense, Allison.”
“I know. That’s why I’m in Vermont.”
“I have more bad news, though. She was with one of the devil’s higher ups.”
“Oh no. Which one?”
“Um, Louis. Why?”
“Oh, I know him. When I did a reading at Carnegie Mellon, he was there. He was in the business school. He’s pretty chatty. He was telling me about his internship in Hell the summer before. But shit, Jodie, if he was there that only means one thing; this situation is potentially apocalyptic.”
“Oh my God, I might be responsible for the apocalypse.”
“Do you think they’ll take back your Oscars for that?”
“Oh God, no one is going to buy the 50th anniversary edition of Taxi Driver when it comes out in 2026. They’re going to be so mad at me!”
“No one is going to buy it because they’ll all be dead from the APOCALYPSE JODIE! Jesus, Jodie. Vermont can’t hide me from the apocalypse. You have to kill her. Before it’s too late”
“I know, I know. If we don’t tell Ellen, we should warn the others that she’s still out there, right?”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
“Okay, I’ll call The Twins, Melissa Eth-”
“Hey hey hey, there is no ‘I call, you call’. You’re on your own, Jodie.”
“What? Come on! What’re you doing that so important? Drawing?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing that’s so important. Drawing. It’s my livelihood.”
“You really think those little comics are more-”
“I’m hanging up…”
“No! Don’t! Fine, I’ll call. But one last question.”
“Should I call the entire cast of The L Word?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Okay. What about the cast of The Real L Word?”
There was a pause on Allison’s line.
“Eeeehhhh, maybe not.”
“Yeah, no. Okay. Goodbye Allison.”
“Bye Jodie. Oh Jodie. One more thing.”
“Quit being such a pussy.”
Jodie heard the other phone click and frowned — not because of that sly diss, but because deep in her heart, she knew she was a pussy.
Next: Chapter 4
Louis turned back to Blaze, who was looking confused. Louis began his pitch again.
“So, how about we have a meeting right now at my private studio?”
Blaze looked bewildered, “What?”
“Yeah, come on, we can get started on this right now! You’ve got talent. We can get you at the top of the charts in a matter of weeks! You’re working on an album, right?”
“I mean, I have an EP…”
“Perfect, let’s go. Right now.”
“I don’t know…”
“Oh come on. Surely someone with a name like Blaze does cool and dangerous things.
Hearing her own new name reminded Blaze of how cool she was. Louis was right, someone with a name like Blaze does do cool and dangerous things. Like hang out with strangers, set off illegal fireworks, destroy the world. Blaze knew it was her responsibility as someone named Blaze to go record her EP with someone she just met at a place she did not know. Blaze agreed to go and Louis smiled and shook her hand. They carried out Blaze’s equipment and loaded it into Louis’ car and took off. They did not notice the car pull out of the parking lot behind them.
“So,” Louis began as he drove, “is Blaze your real name?”
“It’s my real middle name.”
“What’s your real first name?”
Louis made a disgusting glottal sound. “Never tell anyone that again!”
“You know exactly why! Your whole image hinges on the name Blaze. Nobody wants to hear music from someone named Katie. People want intense names like Mick Jagger, Sid Vicious, Fats Domino, Blaze. You get it?”
“Yeah totally. Fats.”
“Alright. Good. We’re here.”
Louis and Blaze had pulled up in front of a seemingly deserted storefront. They got out of the car and Louis pulled out some keys and unlocked the door. Blaze and Louis stepped inside. Across the street, a car slowly came to a halt. Inside the car, Jodie Foster nervously ate a Subway sandwich.
The store was not deserted, but rather a glistening new recording studio. Blaze could not believe her eyes. She had to tell Louis.
“I can’t believe my eyes! I had no idea this place was even here!”
“That’s because it wasn’t here.”
“I built it for you, Blaze. I knew I was destined to meet you.”
“Oh no.” Blaze said, “You’re going to murder me aren’t you.”
“No. I’m going to make you go double platinum.”
“What? Everything that’s happened so far is pointing to murder.”
Louis put his hands on Blaze’s shoulders; she did not resist even though she was 95% sure she was about to be murdered.
“Blaze, this is going to be hard to believe, you may want to sit down.”
Louis gestured towards a plush couch. Blaze sat down and Louis continued.
“Have you heard of the poet Emily Dickinson?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Well, in 1880 Dickinson wrote something that was not a poem. It was a prophecy about a supreme dyke. After Dickinson’s clairvoyance, she entrusted the prophecy to the highest power lesbians of the present and future. She made them swear to save the earth from this one super gay. Dickinson predicted she would be hotter and cooler than all the dykes on the planet combined. Butch, femme, tomboy, timboy, actual boy, it didn’t matter. This girl could have one million hands and still not be able to manage the amount of pussy she’d be getting.”
“Right. And it’s become clear, Blaze, that you are that lesbian; the one that will end all other lesbians.”
“Yes, you. You’ve got the talent, the looks, and most importantly, the name.”
Blaze sat sinking into the couch while taking all the information in. Though Louis’s story was crazy, Blaze knew it was true. She could feel the lesbian in her growing more potent every second. But some things were still unclear.
“I have two questions.”
“First, why are ‘high powered lesbians’ trying to stop me?”
“Why else Blaze? Jealousy. They don’t want to lose their status as hotties. They know you will trump them all and no one will ever drool over them on Tumblr again. Next question.”
“Was Emily Dickinson really a lesbian?”
“Seriously? Have you read one, just one, of her poems?”
“Okay, okay. So I will have power over every girl on the planet?”
“All the ones with short nails, yes. Also I’m sure you’ll help thousands of women realize they’re a little higher on the Kinsey Scale than they realized.”
“Yes. Now, before we begin, I need to step out for a second to make a phone call.”
Louis left the store and briskly walked across the street to where Jodie was parked. He strode up so quickly Jodie hardly had time to react. He knocked on her window and Jodie dropped her sandwich into her lap, Louis motioned for Jodie to roll the window down. Sweaty and sandwichy, Jodie rolled the window down.
“Hello Jodie. I suppose you’re here to stop me?”
“I’m here to stop her.”
“Well you can’t, Jodie. And I’ll tell you why: Blaze is unstoppable, you’re too late. By next week she’ll be so popular she’ll make Lady Gaga look like Vanilla Ice.”
“No! Lady Gaga has 40 million followers and Vanilla Ice has approximately 170k! Statistically speaking that’s impossible. Blaze would have more fans than Earth’s current population!”
“Exactly. Damn Jodie, you might be a pussy, but you’re good at mental math.”
“Thank you, it’s easier when you put it all in scientific notation.”
“How did you know Lady Gaga’s and Vanilla Ice’s followers off the top of your head?”
“That’s all you do when you’re a celebrity — see who’s winning the Twitter game.”
“So if I asked you any celebrity, you could tell me how many followers they have on Twitter?”
“Six and a half million.”
“The lead singer of Fall Out Boy. No! Lead singer of Blink 182.”
“His name is Tom DeLonge and he’s ten thousand shy of half a mil.”
“Damn Jodie, you’re good. It’s too bad I have to kill you.”
Louis pulled a gun from the back of his pants, but before he could get anywhere close to aiming, Jodie’s quick reflexes from years of action movies led her to slam on the gas and the car screeched away, knocking Louis to the ground in the process. By the time he got back up, Jodie was long gone.
“No matter,” said Louis as he dusted himself off and walked back inside.
Check back next week for Intense Lesbian Fanfiction: Part Two! It’ll be INTENSE.