Intense Lesbian Fanfiction is Autostraddle’s first original fiction, in three parts. It’s also the best thing that’s ever happened. Art by the brilliant Rory Midhani.
It was September 13th, and in Austin, Texas, the musicians Tegan and Sara Quin were playing a show at a barbeque place. The two sat backstage in the venue’s green room over a laptop. The twins were on FACEinHOLE.com.
“Alright, now put my face in YOUR face!” said Tegan. Sara uploaded a picture of Tegan to the site, and it popped up in the frame of Sara’s face. The twins cracked up.
“It looks exactly the same!” squealed Tegan, “Our face is the same!”
The twins high-fived. Tegan walked across the room and sat in a worn velvet chair. As she sunk into the chair she sighed. Sara turned from the laptop and looked at Tegan.
“Something is wrong. What is wrong?”
“Just use your twin sense.”
“I can’t use the twin sense right now. Not before a show. It will use up too many electrolytes.”
“Then just drink some Gatorade.”
“No. Then I will sweat green on stage.”
“That doesn’t actually happen. It only happens in the ads.”
“I’m not going to risk it. I’m not going to drink Gatorade…or eat Gushers. Come on, just tell me what’s wrong.”
Tegan looked down. “I’m worried about her.”
“That lesbian antichrist Emily Dickinson wrote about! I’m worried about her! You felt the pang, I felt the pang, and then Ellen called… She’s out there Sara.”
“Relax. Jodie is taking care of it. And she has two Oscars. If you have two Oscars you’re incredible because it means the first one wasn’t a mistake.”
“Yeah, but Ellen says Jodie is a pussy. And Ellen is always right.” Tegan pulled a locket out from under her shirt and opened it up. On one side was a tuft of velvet, on the other was a picture of Ellen. Tegan stroked the velvet, then stroked Ellen. Sara looked at Tegan with a few different kinds of concern.
“Alright, how about this: see if you can get a photo of that chick and we’ll tell the guys at security not to let her in,” Sara said.
Tegan jumped up from her chair. “That is a great idea! I’ll go call Jodie now to see if she has a picture.”
Tegan grabbed her cell phone and hopped out of the room. The door closed behind her. Sara watched it for a few seconds then, from her shirt, pulled out her own locket. She opened it up. Inside was a picture of Tegan. Sara stroked the photo and whispered, “Don’t worry precious twin, I will keep you safe.” She was about to close the locket when she noticed something. She squinted at the picture.
“Wait. This is a photo of me.”
Derek and Ross were working security at the barbeque place and were hating it. When their boss told them Tegan and Sara were playing they both groaned because Tegan and Sara meant lesbians, and lesbians meant backpacks. And backpacks meant they would be spending all night with stupid little flashlights pushing through hundreds of lesbians’ bottomless pit backpacks.
“Man. Why can’t they all just carry purses. You can’t fit anything in those.” Derek said as he scanned the contents of one girl’s backpack; there was a bag of gummy bears, a flannel shirt, The Collected Poems of Elizabeth Bishop, tissues, Chapstick, and Bananagrams. Derek gave the girl a look when he found the Bananagrams.
“What, you worried you gonna get bored?” he asked her.
“No. And to answer your question we carry backpacks for that exact reason. You can’t fit jack shit in a purse. Lesbians have evolved to understand the practicality of backpacks. It’s the same reason we’re always in sensible shoes.” The girl twisted her leg to show Derek her Birkenstocks. Derek rolled his eyes and waved her past. As she walked inside, Tegan was hustling outside towards Derek and Ross. All the girls in line saw her and tried very hard — first, to not die, and second to keep cool. They all did a good job of not dying, but they all did a terrible job of keeping it cool. They all looked like robots that were specifically programmed to look uncomfortable by a master programmer. Tegan tapped Ross’s shoulder.
“Hey, hi, I’m Tegan, I’m playing tonight and we have a special security request.”
“Sure,” Ross said hesitantly.
“We want you to not let this girl in if she tries to enter.” Tegan handed Ross a photo of Blaze. Jodie had found the photo on a Smithie’s blog with the caption, “Discovered the purpose of life today.”
“Don’t let her in?” Derek asked, “Is she dangerous?”
Tegan thought for a second. “Yes. She is a murder. So if you see her. You should murder her.”
“Yes. Murder her until she dies.”
Ross cut in. “Look, we’re rent-a-cops, we can’t actually murder anyone,” he said firmly. Tegan looked sad. Ross continued, “We can detain her though if she is an actual criminal. Is she an actual criminal?”
“Yes!” Tegan said, “She, um, PIRATED MUSIC!”
Ross was not sold. Neither was Derek.
“That’s all?” Derek asked.
“Hey! Hey! You wouldn’t steal a car? Downloading. Pirated. Music. Is stealing!” Tegan said with the same unquestionable authority as a PSA.
“Alright, alright. Fine. We’ll get her,” said Derek. Tegan smiled and went back inside. Once she was through the door, all the girls let out their breath and started squawking, except for one girl. She quietly exited the line, and crossed the street towards a car idling outside the venue. She tapped on the window, and Louis lowered it.
“They have a photo of her. Tegan came out here and told security not to let her in.”
“Damn,” Louis said. “So we can’t just walk in through the front.”
“Was that really our plan?” asked Blaze from the backseat.
“Hi Blaze, what’s up?” said the girl leaned over the driver window, “Excited for-”
Before she could finish Louie rolled up the window.
“God, these girls are really helpful, but really annoying. I mean, I’ve had a big crush or two in my life before but nothing like this. ”
“The ones from Smith? They’re just being a bit clingy,” Blaze said, unaffected.
“No, they’re trying to be cool in front of you, but I keep catching them doing weird stuff. Like earlier today, they were all taking turns sucking on a Pepsi bottle you drank out of.”
Blaze shrugged. “Eh, I get it. One time I liked a girl so much I drew a pentagram on my trampoline in sidewalk chalk and tried to summon a demon that would possess her and make her like me.”
Louis looked at Blaze with intense concern that morphed into intense cognition.
“Blaze, call the Smith girls over. We need a favor from them.”
The Smith Girls (Dana, Kate, Katie, Sam, K, and Emily) did not think twice about their answer when Louis approached them on the quad to ask if they would be willing to be Blaze’s roadies. They immediately said yes, hopped in K’s Tahoe and followed Blaze and Louis to Texas. It seems absolutely ludicrous that six smart girls would ditch their five-star education to follow a musician they saw once, but such was the world-ending power Blaze possessed.
The girls, whenever asked by Louis to do something, did not tell him no, or even wonder why they were doing it. So as they chalked a pentagram on the blacktop just outside the venue door, none of them had even a doubt of what they were doing. Meanwhile, at the door, Ross and Derek watched in intense concern, but were not confused; to them, this was perfectly normal lesbian behavior. Their attention was now split between the backpacks, and the “priestesses.”
“Goddammit if we have to deal with a demon tonight we better get paid time and a half,” said Ross. Derek nodded in agreement as he handed back a black and brown Herschel. Suddenly, there came a shout from the pentagram. Derek and Ross looked over.
“I SUMMON THE AMON, DEMON OF LOVE, WHO WE FOUND THROUGH A BASIC GOOGLE SEARCH!” shouted Dana. The other girls stood with their heads bowed around the pentagram and hummed. Beside the entrance, Louis and Blaze ducked into the line and pushed their way through holding Blaze’s equipment. Nobody noticed them sneak pass.
Inside the building, Louis and Blaze booked it. They dashed through the venue and smashed against a door that said “BACKSTAGE”. They sprinted down a brightly lit hall searching every door for the words “green room.” As they ran they breathlessly spoke.
“They should be going on…soon so their room will be open,” Blaze said.
“Got it…Once we get in there we need to get everything thing set as fast as we can if we want to go on by intermission,” said Louis. The two slid around a corner, lost their balance for a second, recovered, and continued running. At the end of the hall they could see an opening leading to stage, halfway up from that was the green room. They burst inside and threw down the equipment. For the next fifteen minutes the two briskly connected wires and calibrated instruments. Through the door, left slightly ajar, Blaze and Louis kept tabs on the throbbing beat coming from down the hall. When it suddenly stopped, Blaze and Louis looked at each other. They grabbed Blaze’s stuff and stepped outside.
Walking down out of the backstage were none other than Tegan and Sara. When Blaze saw them she couldn’t help but get a little bit giddy. Blaze waved cutely at the twins. Tegan began to benignly wave back when Sara suddenly realized who she was.
“AVERT YOUR EYES, PRECIOUS TWIN!” Sara screamed as she squeezed her eyes shut and half-grabbed-half-covered Tegan’s face. With her eyes shut tight, Sara addressed Blaze, who was now looked a bit dejected.
“HOW DID YOU GET BACK HERE?” Sara hissed and pulled Tegan into her chest.
“We walked through the front. Look, I’m a big fan of yours and it’s an honor-”
“An honor to ruin our career? Fuck you!” Sara continued as Tegan trembled in her arms.
“Yeah, if you’re such a big fan why are you doing this to us?” asked a sad, shaky Tegan. Blaze thought about this.
“Well isn’t it every fan’s occult dream to surpass their idol?” Blaze mused.
“NO! IT’S TO TOUCH THEIR IDOL’S BUTT OR FUCK THEM, THEN MAKE THEM BREAKFAST IN THE MORNING,” Sara shouted.
“Hey! Don’t talk to me like that! I genuinely looked up to you guys! All those benefit concerts, and…and waiting to get married ’til its legal everywhere!”
“Oh shut up. We hate you, Blaze. We hate you so much we’re not even waiting ’til gay marriage is legal to get married,” Sara started.
“Yeah, we’re waiting ’til science can clone wooly mammoths so we can ride them down the aisle,” Tegan finished. “We figured those two things would happen around the same time.”
Blaze looked confused. “Is that some kind of ancient Canadian tradition?”
“No it’s just hella cool!” said Sara while flailing in frustration. “Now get lost Blaze! The fans don’t want you, they want us!”
“No!” screamed Blaze, a little hurt. “They don’t know what they want because I haven’t given it to them yet! Now get out of my way!”
“No! Stop!” cried Sara as she threw her arms in the direction of Blaze. Blaze easily dodged her limbs.
“Hit her, Sara!” whined Tegan.
“I’m trying, but I can’t see her!” Sara retorted.
“Then open your eyes!”
“I can’t look at her! I’ll fall in love!”
Blaze stood and watched the two for a second then turned to Louis and said, “They look like the twins from The Shining if they grew up to be emo and got sprayed with mace.” Louis laughed.
“Come on lets go,” said Blaze and the two hopped by the twins, easily dodging their punches.
Blaze stepped on stage with her guitar and the audience started buzzing. The Smith girls, stationed throughout the venue started quietly hyping the crowd by laying out passive statements like, “Who is this? She looks hot. And talented!”
Blaze introduced herself.
“Hello ladies. I know you’re all here to see Tegan and Sara, but after tonight you’ll forget both of their names and only remember mine, which is Blaze.”
The Smith girls cheered raucously, but the rest of the made a face like they had just heard a really bad pick up line. Backstage, Louis sighed into his hands. Realizing that she was off to a bad start, Blaze motioned Louis to start the track and spoke into the microphone one more time.
“Blaze, my name is Blaze.”
Louis started the track then continued sighing into his hands. But the rocky start did not hinder Blaze; she began playing “Yo Girl” and the crowd was mesmerized. In no time, the song had vibrated through every girl’s sternum and took out a mortgage on her heart. The audience was going bananas by the end of the song. Blaze looked backstage at Louis, who was no longer sighing into his hands. He gave her a thumbs up to keep going, but before she could, Tegan and Sara ran past him wearing very thick pairs of sunglasses. They pushed aside Blaze and grabbed the mic.
“Lesbians!” cried Sara, “Do not listen to this girl! She is evil!”
The crowd booed so loudly the microphone was drowned out. They began reaching into their backpacks and throwing various found objects on stage. Blaze was laughing to the side as the twins tried to calm the audience. Tegan got hit in the teeth with a set of Banagrams and Sara got hit with all seven Harry Potter books.
“What the fuck? All seven books? You just carry these around?” shouted Sara.
“I was reading them while I waited outside FOR YOU. BUT CLEARLY I WAS WAITING FOR THE WRONG ACT!” shouted a girl near the front of the audience. A girl beside her shouted, “GET OFF THE STAGE!”
“Who, us?” asked Tegan who was not keeping up.
“YES, YOU,” shouted the second girl. Blaze, meanwhile was standing to the side of the stage leaning on her guitar and snickering. She made eye contact with one of the Smith minions and nodded. She nodded back.
“KILL THEM!” shouted the Smithie. Blaze looked alarmed, but the crowd cheered. They began pushing at the barrier between them and the stage while security did their best to keep them back. The audience turned into scrappy, scrappy animals as they clawed and snarled their way up towards the stage.
“Quick!” Sara shouted to Tegan, “to the promotional helicopter!”
Tegan jumped into the steel light tower and began to scramble up. Sara followed. As the crowd reached the stage, Louis ran over to Blaze and shielded her. The audiences reached the base of the tower of which Tegan and Sara had climbed halfway. Tegan reached into her pocket and pulled out a tiny device that looked like a garage door opener. She held it straight above her head and pressed the little button. Then continued climbing upwards.
Suddenly, a great thrumming filled the venue. The audience members who had climbed the tower stopped and looked up. The place began to vibrate to the unknown beat. There was a huge crash above the stage as a huge part of the ceiling fell in. Through the newly created hole, a helicopter was hovering. The side of it had pictures of Tegan and Sara and read, “TEGAN AND SARA: CLOSER, IN STORES TODAY.” A ladder dropped out of the cab and Tegan and Sara (having mounted the light rack parallel to the ground) ran to it and climbed it. As they scrambled into the cab, the chopper flew away. Tegan and Sara took their seats and put on headsets.
“Man. That was a close call,” said Sara.
“Yeah. Just like in the Fanfiction we wrote about ourselves. Remember that?” asked Tegan.
“Oh yeah! What was it called?”
“Sara and Tegan.”
“Yeah that’s right!”
“Anyway, this is bad. We need to tell Ellen.”
“Yes. I think it’s time for you know what.”
The twins looked at each other and at the same time said “Lesbian Congress.” The helicopter continued west, away from the venue where Blaze was taking the world one step closer to the lesbian apocalypse.
Lesbian Congress was thought be an urban legend. It once had a page on Snopes.com under “History” because it is something akin to the Geneva Convention. The tale goes that once a year, all lesbians active in pop culture get together to dictate what they want their fans to be in into that year. This was only half right.
Lesbian Congress was a gathering of all A through F-list celebrity lesbians, but had never actually happened before. Much like Life Alert, it was only to be used in case of a huge emergency — a metaphorical old woman tripping on the cat the cat and falling so hard that she could not get up and potentially could never get up again if the proper authorities were not called at once. Only one lesbian had the power to call Lesbian Congress, and in 2013 that lesbian was, of course, Ellen.
After Ellen got a call from Tegan and Sara saying that Blaze had hijacked their tour, she knew she had to call Lesbian Congress, and call it fast. There was no signal shined into the night sky, or forearm tattoo to press against to summon it — it was arranged simply by The Ellen Show‘s writing staff cold calling all the lesbians like telemarketers. It is the least glamorous part of Lesbian Congress. Then the summoned lesbians would book next day travel to Los Angeles where the congress was held in a rented theater. Many airport workers were confused by the influx of lesbians because they all knew that Dinah Shore weekend wasn’t until April (an interesting conclusion drawn by the workers because Lesbian Congress was a lot like Dinah Shore in that everyone who was there was fearing for their lives).
The lesbians began making their way to the theater; again their mass immigration confused many members of the L.A. community. For example, Miley Cyrus caught sight of the many alternative lifestyle haircuts and figured she should follow because it could’ve been some undercut support group. Miley, however, did not get past the door, for she could not correctly answer the password.
Inside the theater the C through F list lesbians crowded into the mezzanine, loge, and back orchestra seating. The rest sat in the front of the orchestra, and the very top of the A list sat onstage in a panel. Celebrity was judged by how many times one appeared in People magazine. In the center of the table sat Ellen stroking Portia, who was curled on her lap. Jodie was no where to be seen.
Once everyone had arrived and taken their seats, Ellen raised her hand. The theater hushed and Ellen stood, but before she could speak, “Roar” by Katy Perry began to play. Ellen started dancing. Then the audience started. The dancing was somber, for it was an obligatory dance; like the greeting at a Catholic mass. Ellen could not start anything without dancing beforehand. The song ended and Ellen sat; the rest of the lesbians dutifully sat.
“I want to start by thanking you all for coming today, especially on such short notice.”
Something seemed to have caught Ellen’s attention.
“Where is Jodie?” she asked, turning towards Tegan and Sara sitting at the end of the table. They shrugged.
“Look, Raven is here!” said Sara, pointing to Raven Symone. Raven waved.
“Oh yes, welcome Raven, so glad you finally came out to join us,” said Ellen. The audience mumbled various greetings. Ellen continued, “So no one has seen Jodie?”
“Where is Lindsay Lohan?” asked Rosie O’Donnell. An awkward silence came over the audience, the only thing that could be heard was the swivel of hundreds of heads turning to look at Samantha Ronson, who tried to hide her face/memories. Rosie caught on to what was happening.
“Sorry,” she whispered “I’ve been behind on pop culture ever since I got kicked off The View.” Suddenly a voice called from the back of the theater.
“Um, hey, since Sara and I are going to be on Couples Therapy, can we sit closer to the stage?” asked Whitney Mixter.
“Absolutely not! Stay back there with the rest of The Real L Word cast,” Ellen shouted. The cast of The L Word, sitting close to the stage, all turned and flipped the bird at Whitney. Whitney sat back down, visibly frustrated.
“Dammit. Sara, we have to be so good on that show,” she said to Sara.
“Good thing we hate each other,” replied Sara. She was passively playing Candy Crush on her phone, clearly hating Whitney.
“Well, hopefully Jodie is just late because of traffic and not because she’s a pussy,” Ellen said. The audience laughed nervously. They didn’t want Ellen to think they were pussies for not laughing because clearly Ellen’s “who’s-a-pussy-radar” was zonked; a pussy is the last body part you’d expect a two-time Oscar winner to be.
“So as you all know, Blaze still has not been stopped-”
“Wait, what?” Rachel Maddow interrupted, “I thought Jodie killed her and this was an advanced screening of Blue is the Warmest Color.”
Ellen looked surprised, “No! This is about Blaze! About the lesbian who will replace us all!”
“WHAT THE FUCK I THOUGHT YOU STOPPED HER!” screamed Kate Moennig from the first row. “YOU CAN’T LET THAT HAPPEN. NOT TO ME.”
“Yeah! What’re we supposed to do?” asked Jane Lynch, then sarcastically added “Be straight?”
The lesbians erupted into protesting shouts. At the table on the stage, Jillian Michaels turned to Alice Walker and whispered “I can’t be straight! I don’t know anything about it! Like they say penises are hard? Is there anywhere I could find an easy one? Where would I even find that? CVS?” Alice Walker put her face in her hands. The madness in the theater was reaching a riotous level when someone ran down the aisle, and up to the stage.
“IT HAPPENED,” shouted Jodie Foster, as she took the stage. “SHE GOT THE HAIRCUT.”
The theater went still. Nobody moved or said a word. Ellen, who had a choke hold on Jane Lynch, dropped her and walked towards Jodie.
“Goddammit Jodie. This is YOUR fault. If you weren’t such a pussy and had killed Blaze, we’d all be FINE right now and at home or shopping in the men’s department of Uniqlo! God! You should’ve never been elected Lesbian Vice-President!”
The words did not even seem to hurt Jodie, she went straight to angry.
“Oh shove it Ellen! I’m not a pussy! So what if I’m afraid of horses or that I take all my vitamins in gummy form! Horses are half a ton creatures propped up by broomstick legs and being healthy should be delicious! And you think you’re so great because you’ve danced with 800 celebrities. Well you know what Ellen, we all know you’d be a D-LISTER if Oprah ever decided to come out!”
Ellen gasped. Jodie went on.
“That’s right! You’d be sitting further back than the American Women’s Olympic Softball team. No offense ladies.”
The American Women’s Olympic Softball were too stunned to respond. Ellen was too stunned to respond. So Jodie kept talking.
“Lesbians, this is no time to name-call. Our reputations as hotties are at stake. Do you really want to live in a world where people aren’t obsessed with us?”
The audience gave varied but powerful “no”s.
“So then let’s get to it. We need a plan to take down Blaze. AND A PLAN THAT ISN’T JUST GOING TO BE ‘YOU DO IT JODIE. I’M TOO BUSY PRANKING ELTON JOHN.'”
“Why don’t we write some scathing poetry about her,” suggested Eileen Myles.
“What’s a poem going to do?” scoffed Mary Cheney.
“Have you even heard of Maya Angelou? Or American History?” Eileen shot back.
“I’m the former Vice President’s daughter! I’m a part of history!”
“Oh yes, very good, you’re the daughter of yet another white man who has shot someone in the face and didn’t get in trouble.”
“HEY!” Ellen shouted. “This is serious. We need a plan. It’s too bad that this isn’t a problem that can be solved by DJing. You know, because all lesbians are DJs.”
“Oh yeah speaking of which,” said Wanda Sykes as she stood up, “if the world doesn’t end this month, I’ll be DJing a Halloween party called ‘Gay Ghosts’ so come see me, DJ X-Sykes, on Halloween.” Wanda sat down. Then stood up again. “Oh and dress as a ghost.”
“Does anybody else have any events coming up?” asked Jodie pulling out her day planner.
“I do!” said Tracy Chapman as known as DJ Fast Kar.
“Me too!” said Rosie O’Donnel as known as DJ Not On Da View.
“I have one soon,” said Jillian Michaels as known as DJ Booty Shredder.
“Thursday,” said Tig Notaro as known as DJ Chunky Sweaterz.
“Mine’s at a bar called ‘Window’, so come to my window,” said Melissa Etheridge as known as DJ Cuntry Singer. “I’m the only one…spinning.”
“Yeah I go up after Tig,” said Ellen as known as DJ Forgetful Fish. “Okay. Now onto the real business. Killing Blaze. Also known as DJ Dooms Gay Device.”
Congress ended three hours later and the lesbians had a plan in place. It was a flawless plan, and would have worked wonders if it weren’t for the mole Louis had hired to infiltrate the meeting. The mole had been so beautifully disguised that the mole entered, sat, and exited Lesbian Congress without a soul even noticing. Louis and Blaze were eating popcorn shrimp in the hotel waiting for the mole to come back and report. They heard a knock on the door. They both ran to it, and Louis flung the door open.
“Did it work?” he asked anxiously,”Did you get in?”
“Yes,” said Justin Bieber. “No one even looked twice.” Justin did not look happy about this fact. Blaze and Louis high-fived.
“So I was right about the password?” Blaze asked.
“Yeah. When I got to the door they asked ‘Who’s the hottest guy in the world?’ and I said, just like you told me to, ‘I don’t fucking know, Ryan Gosling? Who cares.’ And they let me in.”
“What did they say? What are they going to do?”
“They’re going to ambush you after the MTV Pointless Award Show.” Justin explained the plan — basically the lesbians would be hiding throughout the hotel Blaze would be staying in, all with the aim to assassinate Blaze.
“Hmmm,” Blaze thought. She turned to Louis, “We can get enough security to stop that right?”
“Absolutely. I’ll see if Bobby could send up the balrog.”
“A what?” Blaze asked.
“The firey creature that fights Gandolf the Grey in the Mines of Moria in Lord of the Rings,” said Justin.
“No shit! That thing is real?”
“Yeah, go look it up on IMDB. He has an acting credit. He was also in that weird movie Constantine with Keanu Reeves,” replied Louis.
“You’re lucky you got invited to perform at the MTV Pointless Award Show. They didn’t invite me,” lamented Justin.
“Don’t be upset, they’re totally pointless, like all MTV awards shows,” said Louis.
“He’s right,” said Blaze. “They’re only purpose is to make the world regret that they ever made these celebrities famous.”
“Or to pull off some big stunt.”
Louis gave a big smile at Blaze. She smiled back. Justin squinted at them.
“Are you planning something?” Justin asked.
“Yeah. I’m finally going to do something every lesbian has wanted to do,” Blaze said with fatty smile.
“What? Grow a dick?”
“What? Lesbians aren’t define by their genitalia you essentialist shithead. Don’t you know anything about human beings?” Blaze was seething.
“How do you guys even have sex?” Justin asked, not picking up on Blaze’s hurt.
“Here, I’ll show you.”
Blaze unzipped her pants and very quickly pulled out a gun that was resting in her waistband. She shot Justin Bieber. Louis flinched at the sound of the gunshot. Bieber hit the ground, 100% dead. Blaze and Louis looked at his body for about a minute in silence.
“Shit. I’m sorry, Justin. I overreacted,” Blaze said to his corpse.
“Whatever. Let’s shave his head and sell his hair on eBay.” said Louis.
Really quick: Blaze’s new haircut was incredible. It had all the fantastic elements of a classic lesbian haircut: it was short, had a small curl in the bangs, draped over one eye perfectly, and looked good gelled up/slicked back/tucked in a beanie. Louis had arrange beforehand to have the devil send a demon to possess a hairdresser to make the cut otherworldly. It worked. Mainly because the demon chosen was Ashtaroth, the same demon that possessed Vidal Sassoon. Blaze then continued on Tegan and Sara’s tour route with her infallible hair, and earned herself more disciples. Word spread fast, and by the end of the month Blaze, with her modest team of Louis and the six Smith girls, had captured the bleeding little hearts almost all of America’s lesbians.
Her fanbase was already Jonas Brothers size and reaching Taylor Swift size. Her twitter had 978,586 followers, and almost all the tweets she was tagged in were pictures of her lyrics newly tattooed on girls’ skin. Her album was number thirteen on iTunes and she had already performed on Conan and was scheduled to play on Kimmel. Buzzfeed had already made “17 reasons Why Blaze is Your Dream Girl”, but then had to revise it because they thought of more reasons. The article is currently “48 Reasons Why Blaze is Your Dream Girl”, but will most likely be revised again. Her fandom on Tumblr was staggering — the number of URL’s that included the word “Blaze” had increased ten-fold, but were unfortunately confusing the Blaze fandom with marijuana blogs. And occasionally arson blogs. Blaze was experiencing all the expected symptoms of becoming an object of obsession.
As she and Louis stepped out of the limo onto the red carpet, the crowds pushing each other over the railings on either side of them began to scream. The screams were more than the typical fan screams; the screams were the high pitched sound people let out when they’re lives are being cut short in a brutal way. Louis and the six Smith girls (who were acting as handlers) crouched and covered their ears, terrified of the sound. Blaze stood between them, amidst the screams, and raised her finger to lips. The crowd went quiet so quickly it was like a mute button was hit and no sound was left but the natural sounds of the earth. The lesbians remained dutifully quiet as the other people lining the red carpet began to buzz again. They called Blaze for photos and she posed while Louis strategized and the Smith girls sneered at the crowd.
“Blaze, look,” Louis pointed to an eager looking girl a few feet ahead of them holding a microphone. “Go take that interview and remember—”
“I know — smile, and don’t say much except my name,” Blaze finished. Louis smiled.
Blaze walked up to the excited reporter. As Blaze approached, the reporter’s pupils dilated. Blaze was used to it by now; all the freaky things that happen to people when when the person in the world they want be near the most actually is near them. Once a girl started speaking in tongues; it was alright though because Louis could translate it.
“Hi Blaze! My name is Sarah, I’m here with Logo. Can you tell us who you’re wearing tonight?” Sarah asked, as beads of sweat appeared on her forehead.
“No, but I can tell you who I am. I’m Blaze.” Blaze smiled at Sarah, then into the camera. Sarah sweat some more.
“Ha-ha! Oh my god Blaze! Hilarious! So Blaze we had some fans submit questions would you mind answering them?”
“Not at all.” Blaze kept smiling and Sarah kept sweating.
“Ha-ha! Cool! Our first question comes from Lucy in Tennessee.” Sarah wiped her brow with the back of her arm leaving it dewy. “She asks: ‘Blaze, when did you start playing guitar?'”
“Seven,” said Blaze.
“Oh when you were seven? Or like seven years ago?” Sarah asked. Blaze just smiled at her, then into the camera. This made Sarah sweat even harder. Her cheeks were turning red.
“Ha-ha! Okay! Cool! This question is from Tara in DC. ‘Blaze, do you like spaghetti?'” under her breath Sarah added, “What the fuck, Tara.”
“Yeah. Spaghetti is cool,” replied Blaze. She smiled at Sarah. Then she scratched her nose. But then she smiled at the camera.
“Alright! Let’s hope this next one is not a question kindergartners would ask each other on a first date. Lee from Texas writes ‘Blaze, what’s your bra size?'” Sarah jaw tightened. Her whole face as so red and wet it was hard to tell if she crying or not. The roots of her hair were very damp.
“I’m a B-cup. B for Blaze,” Blaze smiled everywhere. Sarah began hyperventilating.
“Smiths! Take care of this!” Louis shouted and he grabbed Blaze by the arm.
“We’re going backstage. Meet us there.”
Blaze smiled one more time at the camera. The Smith girls all shouted “Bye Blaze! Bye! See you soon! Bye!” then called an EMT for Sarah. It wasn’t until Blaze was out of sight that the lesbians in the crowd, no longer held to be quiet, began to weep tears of disbelief.
“The interview is all over the internet already,” said Louis to Blaze as Emily and K fixed Blaze’s hair and applied makeup.
Blaze was admiring herself in the mirror, she couldn’t believe how far she had come in so little time. Only a month ago she was Katie, a girl on her bed wondering if taking up skateboarding would make ladies like her. And now, she had nearly one million confirmed fans, a near-devil best friend, six girls who were perpetually crying because they could not believe how lucky they were to be around her, and on top of it all, a music career. Blaze was running all this and her set list through her head when she felt arms tighten around her neck. Snapping into focus, Blaze realized it was just Emily crying and hugging her.
“Blaze you’re just so amazing I love you so much,” she sobbed, kissing Blaze’s neck repeatedly. In the mirror, Blaze saw K mentally strategizing a way to get in on the action. Louis across the room looked up from his computer, annoyed. He took off his shoes and threw them at Emily and K.
“No! No!” he shouted at them, “That’s enough! In the hallway!”
Emily and K slowly removed themselves from Blaze and skulked into the hallway, keeping their eyes on Blaze the whole time. As they closed the door, they whispered through the crack, “bye Blaze, we love you, forever, even after the sun explodes and destroys the earth-”
Louis pushed the door shut.
“Alright, you go on in a half hour. You know how it goes?” Louis asked.
“Yes. I play the song, go backstage, then I give an award, then I do it,” Blaze responded. Louis smiled and nodded.
“Do you want me to get someone to fix that hair for you?”
“Yes, please!” said Blaze emphatically. “Those girls are not good at hair. They are however, great at writing a women’s and gender studies paper on anything.”
“What? How do you know that?” Louis was confused.
“Whenever they get clingy I ask them each to write a 30-page paper relating gender or feminism to something. They can just crank them out, so in order to keep them really occupied, I have to think of really obscure topics. Look, it’s intense.” Blaze reached into her bag and pulled out a thick stack of papers stapled together. She handed it to Louis. The title read “Jumping Over Six School Buses And Landing On A Woman: How Monster Truck Culture Is Destroying Women.”
“WOW,” Louis said, thoroughly impressed. Blaze nodded. “How did they even find sources for this?”
“Smith’s a good school,” Blaze shrugged. There was a knock on the door. A roadie with long gray hair in a tight braid down his back poked his head in.
“Blaze, you’re needed backstage,” he said with a too many cigarettes voice.
“Thank you! We’ll be right there,” she said. Louis pulled the door shut before the Smithies could come whisper in it again.
“Shit. Do you have enough time to do your hair?”
“Yeah, I’ll just do it like all the lesbians do it.” Blaze squinted in the mirror and pushed her hair left, then right, then left, then right, then left, then right, then righter, then really left, then up a little, then all the way down, then laughed at how that looked, then pushed it up, left, right, left, down, up a little more, right, left, teased it, smiled and winked in the mirror, laughed and was done.
“Okay I’m done.” Louis blinked a bunch, then opened the door and they went down the hallway to the backstage holding area. The roadie told them to tune up. They were going on.
The stage was gaudy like most award shows are. It had thousands of lights lining the whole area, as well as all kinds of runways and catwalks. Blaze entered from center stage through a thick cloud of fog with her guitar raised above her head. Higher up, a giant screen flashed “BLAZE” in a seizure-inducing fashion. Blaze was not in the business of hamming it up for the camera, she was in the business of looking hot by playing it cool. She went right into her song. The crowd was feeling it, but certain sections were getting lit. Those sections were the ones with a higher concentration of lesbians. They were going so crazy, in fact, that a few had EMTs called to them because surrounding straight folk thought the screen HAD induced epilepsy. When Blaze was done she bowed and went back stage thusly thrusting the aforementioned bits of the audience into crushing despair. They had the EMTs called to them again. The EMTs were getting really sick of this shit.
When Blaze jogged backstage Louis was grinning ear to ear. He clapped her on the back and flashed her some impressive ratings.
“We had 400,000 people tune in just for you!”
“What?” Blaze asked. “That’s incredible!”
“Yeah, we know it wasn’t a fluke because they all tuned out right afterwards. I feel bad for whoever is going up next.”
Louis and Blaze turned and saw Pitbull had been listening to their conversation. He sighed and looked down.
“It’s okay. I’m used to it,” Pitbull said. Then he trudged on stage.
“Anyway,” Louis continued, “The BuzzFeed list is now up to 89 reasons.”
“Yes!” Blaze pumped her fist. “Do you think I’ll break 100?”
“Oh yeah,” said Louis. “Now lets get you changed for the award.”
Blaze was presenting the Pointless Award for Fewest Movies Made This Year alongside Channing Tatum. After Pitbull flopped, the two went onstage with their little envelope and delivered some corny banter. Channing began the announcement.
“And the award for fewest movies made this year goes to…”
Blaze opened the envelope and smiled.
“Kristen Stewart,” she read excitedly.
In the audience Kristen smiled (by typical human standards it was a grimace) and made her way to the stage. Louis stood backstage biting his lip. Blaze locked eyes with Kristen as she walked up the stage steps. Kristen’s pupils dilated. Channing Tatum stood to the side, just filling the space with muscle mass. Blaze handed Kristen the award (which was a statuette of a vest; a very pointless item of clothing) she and Kristen stood staring at each other. Blaze leaned in. Louis’ eyes bugged, Channing Tatum’s muscles bulged, and the audience cheered as Blaze and Kristen Stewart made out. The lesbians in the audience, stricken with intense lightheadedness, began dropping like flies. The EMTs were so pissed.
When they finished kissing Kristen wiped her mouth and flashed a big smile (by typical human standards it was a modest grin) and went back to her seat. Blaze smiled politely, playing it totally cool then she and Channing went back stage. Louis was all smiles.
“You did it! The most ‘adamant agnostic’!” he shouted as he ran to embrace Blaze. “We’re totally going to destroy the world! I’m going to get the biggest fucking commission of my life.”
Blaze and Louis laughed and began heading back to the green room. Suddenly, the Smith girls turned the corner all running full speed and tripping over each other. They were shouting.
“YOU DID IT! YOU CRASHED TUMBLR!” they cried.
“What?” asked Blaze.
“Too many people tried to live-blog your kiss — which we’re very jealous of — and the site just went down! It just keeps saying that weird ‘aw snap’ thing.”
Blaze looked up at Louis who was smiling so hard he looked like he was in pain.
“Lets go back to the hotel and celebrate!” he shouted. “Oh but first…” Louis pulled a gun out of his belt and handed it to Blaze. “We need to take care of any unwanted guests.”
There was the tense feeling of anticipation coiled in all the girls and Louis as they entered the hotel. They knew there was going to be a lot of resistance but now they had the element of surprise which ultimately was the only way to win. Before they stepped inside, Louis took Blaze aside.
“Blaze, this is our last obstacle. After this you will be the only homo that matters. The world will be yours to do with what you want.”
“Hell yeah,” said Blaze, still too selfish to give up fame in order to save the earth. Louis clapped her on the back again.
“Alright ladies, Smithies, you go first, but one of you bring up the rear. Make sure all the hallways are clear. I’ll cover Blaze. Let’s get to the room.”
Right as Louis closed his mouth there was a gunshot, and he hit the ground dead. Blaze and the Smithies whirled around to see Jodie Foster standing at the end of the hallway, blowing the smoke off the barrel of her gun.
“Well, well, well. Looks like I finally got you,” Jodie said to Blaze as she strutted down the hallway. “Guess I’m not such a-” gunshot “OUCH!” Jodie grabbed her thigh where one of the Smithies had shot her. She fell to the ground saying “fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.”
“Whoa, good shot,”said Blaze to Kate.
“Thanks Blaze, I love you,” Kate said. There was another gunshot and Kate screamed and fell on the floor, bleeding from her shoulder. All the girls turned to see Tegan and Sara standing at the other end of the hallway. But before they could say anything all four of their collective kneecaps were shattered by bullets. Sam and Katie were on their stomachs with their guns out.
“WOW! You guys are incredible! This is like a spaghetti western,” Blaze said.
Kate began to speak.”Thank you. And we love you Blaze. But we need to get you to a safe place. We’ll escort you to your room and guard the door-” Before she could finish a war cry came from somewhere in the hotel. Suddenly, Whitney from The Real L Word rounded the corner. Kate pointed her gun at her and Whitney stopped running.
“Don’t shoot!” Whitney cried.
“DROP YOUR WEAPON,” Kate shouted.
“I don’t have a weapon!” said Whitney.
“You don’t have a gun?”
“No, am I supposed to?”
“Everyone else had guns…”
“Are you kidding me?” Whitney turned to Jodie who was still writhing in pain on the ground. “You guys didn’t give me a gun?”
“Shoot her!” Tegan yelled at Kate through clenched teeth. Kate shrugged and shot Whitney in the thigh.
“Anyway, like I was saying, Blaze, we’ll cover you and get you to your room, and remember what Justin said. Ellen will be waiting in your room, so make sure you get her first,” Kate finished. Blaze nodded.
“What?” cried Jodie from the floor, “How’d you know about Ellen?”
“We had a mole at Lesbian Congress, you pussy!” hissed Blaze.
“No. We used Justin Bieber.”
“Oh. That must’ve been who was spitting on everybody,” said Jodie.
“Okay, let’s go!” shouted Kate, then quietly added “my love,” and place her hand on Blaze’s butt, but tried to make it seem natural. Blaze, covered by the Smithies, left for the room.
On the floor Jodie rolled on her side. She was losing lots of blood, very quickly. She knew she had one last shot and proving she was not a pussy. Jodie reached in her pocket and pulled out her cell phone; she dialed Ellen’s cell. It rang twice then Ellen picked up whispering harshly.
“WHAT!” Ellen seethed.
“Ellen, she knows you’re in the room! You have to do something!”
“What? How could she know?”
“It’s hard to explain but lets just say America has another reason to hate Justin Bieber.”
“Damn him,” Ellen said, but before she hung up she whispered even quieter, “Thanks, Jodie.”
The line clicked. Jodie dropped her phone as the room went dark.
Blaze dipped the room key into the card reader and the lock unlatched. She turned and looked at the Smithies who nodded at her. Raising her gun in front of her Blaze stepped into the room. Out from the bathroom stepped Ellen.
“Drop it!” Ellen shouted, but it didn’t matter, Blaze had already shot her in the shoulder and hip. Ellen fell behind the bed. With her gun still pointed in front of her Blaze made her way around. Ellen laid sprawled out, bleeding on the carpet. Something was wrong; a wig had fallen off of Ellen’s head.
“What? You’re not Ellen!” Blaze said to Kate McKinnon, who lay on the floor holding a hand to her hip.
“No, I’m not. I just do a kickass impression of her. It took me 22 years to master.”
“Ooohh, you’re that chick from SNL!” Blaze recalled. “What’s your name again?”
“Kate McKinnon.” Kate McKinnon coughed up some blood.
“Oh cool. My name is actually Kate,” Blaze told her. “Hey, are you in pain? Would you like me to shoot you?”
“No, no, I want to live,” said Kate politely. Blaze nodded but then stopped because she suddenly felt a cold circle on the back of her neck. She reached behind herself to touch it, and realized the sensation was coming from the tip of a Glock pressed against her nape.
Blaze turned around. There, before her, was the real Ellen pointing a gun right in her face.
“Drop it,” she said to Blaze. Blaze dropped her weapon.
“You ruined everything. Even if I kill you now, there’s no going back to how it was. You’ve ruined everything for us. And you’re just some stupid phony. Your name is Katie for Christ’s sake.”
Blaze frowned at Ellen. She was desperately thinking how to get herself out of this one. Then, from inside her pocket, her phone beeped. Without thinking, Blaze pulled it out. On the screen there was an alert letting her know that the BuzzFeed list had reached 118 reasons. Very curious, Ellen peered over the phone to see what was more important than imminent death. Blaze seized her moment. She punched Ellen across the face. Ellen fell to the ground, dropping the gun in the process. Blaze scooped it up and pointed it at Ellen.
“Ha! Ellen you could’ve had me dead three minutes ago, but you blew it, and now I’m standing over you with a gun in your face. And do you know what else?” Blaze tossed her phone onto Ellen’s stomach. “I’m the head bitch in charge now. Look at how many followers I have on Twitter.”
Ellen opened the Twitter app on Blaze’s phone. Suddenly, she had an idea that could fix everything.
“Wow Blaze, that’s a lot of followers,” Ellen said as she quickly tapped the keys.
“I hit one million, didn’t I? You don’t kiss Kristen Stewart and not immediately become a lesbian deity.”
“You did get a million,” said Ellen. “And now one million people know this.”
Ellen turned the phone so Blaze could see her most recent tweet that Ellen composed. It read: ‘Guyz, my name isn’t even Blaze…it’s Katie! LOL!'”
“WHAT!” Blaze screamed.
The door opened; the Smithies walked into the room.
“Blaze, what the fuck? Your name is Katie?” Dana asked.
“That’s BULLSHIT,” cried Emily. “We’re so done. We’re going to go apologize to Tegan and Sara.”
“What? No! Come back!” Blaze shouted after them. “I’ll give you all a strand of my hair! Like you’ve been asking for this whole time!”
But the girls were gone.
“No. No. This can’t be real.” Blaze began pacing the room.
“Look, you’re down to 807,485 followers,” Ellen pointed out from the floor.
“NO! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!” Blaze shrieked. She pointed the gun at Ellen’s head.
“It’s over Blaze,” Ellen said.
Tears were streaming down Blaze’s face and she pulled the trigger.
Ellen felt as if she were underwater and was slowly reaching the surface. Taking a deep breath she opened her eyes. Bright light filled her vision, then slowly organized into the yellow of walls, whites of sheets and a ceiling. Ellen realized she was in a hospital bed. Blinking more, then seeing more, Ellen saw Portia curled up at the foot of her bed.
“Ellen! You’re up!” a cheery nurse had leaned into the doorway. “I’ll go tell the doctor!”
Portia saw Ellen was awake and jumped into her arms.
“Hey Portia!” Ellen said in a baby voice. “How’s my sweet little pupp-wife!”
“Hey Ellen,” said a voice from the doorway. Ellen looked up, it was Jodie.
“Jodie! How are you doing?”
“I’m hanging in there. Glad to see you’re well.”
“Did you get shot too?” Ellen asked.
“Dang. How did I get here?” Ellen asked.
“Well, Blaze shot you on the side of the head, so the bullet knocked you out, but didn’t really do much damage otherwise. Blaze’s ex-groupies basically called the authorities, had everyone get picked up by ambulances and blamed the whole massacre on Blaze.”
“Wow. She was charged with how many murders?”
“Well, no one actually died. Just lots of dramatic gunfire.”
“What about Louis? Your job was to shoot him.”
“I did. But before the police arrived the devil showed up and reincarnated him. He’s pretty bummed. I guess this was his second failed apocalypse attempt. His first was that time they discovered the Higgs-Boson particle.”
“Wow. What happened to all her fans?”
“Totally dissipated. Her hotness all hinged on her name. So once the cat was out of the bag, they jumped ship and felt dumb for ever getting aboard the ship.”
“You know, jail doesn’t seem so bad anymore.”
“Because of Orange is the New Black?”
“Exactly. You just make jokes and meet babes.”
“You know I directed one of those episodes?”
“You did?!” Ellen asked excitedly.
“Was it the hot episode?”
Jodie frowned. “No…not the hot one.”
“That’s still pretty cool, Jodie.” Ellen said as she stroked Portia’s hair.
“Did you see I had them put velvet sheets on the bed?” Jodie asked.
Ellen looked down and touched the velvety sheets.
“Jodie, that’s so kind.” Ellen looked up with tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry I called you a pussy. Clearly I was wrong.”
“Thank you, Ellen.”
Ellen took Jodie’s hands.
“We did it Jodie, we won. We’re the two greatest lesbians ever to live. You and me make a great team.”
Jodie smiled at Ellen, and Ellen beamed back. As they indefinitely stared into each other’s eyes Jodie whispered
“Wow. This is so intense.”