Posts tagged fiction.

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    America felt too overwhelming for the Denmarkian queen, Freja.     Freja was used to… whatever happens in Denmark. Probably lots of pot smoking and sledding and Hamlet.     Freja felt America was too sprawling, like that Arcade Fire song. Freja wasn’t even sure if Arcade Fire was from America. Things were that confusing for her.      “Maybe I should just go back to Denmark and play Claudius in Hamlet,” Freja said to Arizona as they relaxed, intertwined on the sofa.     “No! We have our beautiful mansion here,” Arizona protested, “Plus I read Hamlet in high school and I’m pretty sure they mentioned that Claudius had bad cheekbones.”     “Aw,” Freja responded, finding it cute that Arizona went to high school. She is so full of surprises. Like that surprise about being a pregnant lesbian.     “I now exactly how to get you to love America,” Arizona said. She was named after a state so she felt a certain responsibility towards this country.  ****** 2 days later ******     Still laying in each others arms on the sofa, Arizona asked Freja, “Remember when you said you hated America?”     “Zona, you make me sound militant,” Freja said. She never claimed to “hate America”.     “Well, you are sort of militant when we play Zero Dark Thirty angry interrogator vs. sexy terrorist roleplay,” Arizona said with a sly smile.     Freja purred at this, but the moment is interrupted by the doorbell.     “That must be your America coach!” Arizona shrieked, excited, then ran to the door.     Ten minutes later, after walking across FrejArizona’s palatial mansion, Arizona arrived with Freja’s new coach on all things American.     “Freja, I’d like you to meet Lana Del Rey.”     Lana Del Rey extended her clawed hand to Freja.     Freja looked up at Lana and smiled.     In an airey, distant voice, Lana cooed, “Freja, I feel responsible to bathe you in Americana.     Freja hoped “Americana” was a brand of bubble bath. It sounded nice.     Before Freja knew it, she was swept into the back of a black convertible.     Lana’s clawed fingers gripped the wheel and they blasted down the highway.     “Here,” Lana said, passing back a can of Pepsi, “Drink this.”     Freja grabbed the open soft drink and took a sip, “It’s good,” she said.    ”That’s what my vagina tastes like,” Lana yelled back to her.     Freja took a bigger sip. “Pepsi is great,” Freja announced.    ”What do you want to know about America?” Lana asked.    ”Tell me what America means to you,” Freja requested, holding the can of Lana’s vagina and watching the American landscape pass by in a blur.      Lana stared out towards the open road and monologued, “America is a poem of the free, written on the back of an eagle. I was a lost girl, hugging the map filled with peaks and valleys. The roads, these bright black snakes, were build by calloused men, who worked hard for their women. When they came home, they loved even harder than they worked. It was a time without rules, and I was a referee without a whistle. As I traveled, it was both the kindness and the sinister nature of man that provided me a home and cradled my overly hairsprayed Jackie-O hairdo. My pitch was not perfect- like an aging Yankee hanging onto once greatness, but the crowd didn’t care. They came to see me, not a strike. But strike we did, it was our right and we protected our right, we fought for our right, we stood up for our right, we sat down for our right and, always, we were American.”     There was a pause in the convertible as only the wind spoke.     “What the fuck was that?” Freja yelled up to Lana.     “I don’t know, lets go find some black guys to make out with,” Lana suggested.     “I’m a lesbian,” Freja pointed out.     “No, you’re anti-American,” Lana said definitively.       Freja realized, as she cruised down the sunny roads of this great country with a highly cosmetically retouched pop star in the front seat, that this is why America is great; your vagina could become a beverage, your opinions didn’t have to make sense and your girlfriend will be waiting at home for you, ready to do some sexy waterboarding roleplay with you.  ***LEGAL NOTICE: THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. NONE OF THIS SHIT REALLY HAPPENED. LANA HAS PROBABLY SAID THAT STUFF BEFORE, BUT MAYBE SHE DIDN’T, WHO KNOWS. CERTAINLY NOT ME, NOR DO I CLAIM TO KNOW**** If you liked this piece and you’d like to read my fiction manuscripts, please contact me.

    America felt too overwhelming for the Denmarkian queen, Freja.

    Freja was used to… whatever happens in Denmark. Probably lots of pot smoking and sledding and Hamlet.

    Freja felt America was too sprawling, like that Arcade Fire song. Freja wasn’t even sure if Arcade Fire was from America. Things were that confusing for her. 

    “Maybe I should just go back to Denmark and play Claudius in Hamlet,” Freja said to Arizona as they relaxed, intertwined on the sofa.

    “No! We have our beautiful mansion here,” Arizona protested, “Plus I read Hamlet in high school and I’m pretty sure they mentioned that Claudius had bad cheekbones.”

    “Aw,” Freja responded, finding it cute that Arizona went to high school. She is so full of surprises. Like that surprise about being a pregnant lesbian.

    “I now exactly how to get you to love America,” Arizona said. She was named after a state so she felt a certain responsibility towards this country. 

******

2 days later

******

    Still laying in each others arms on the sofa, Arizona asked Freja, “Remember when you said you hated America?”

    “Zona, you make me sound militant,” Freja said. She never claimed to “hate America”.

    “Well, you are sort of militant when we play Zero Dark Thirty angry interrogator vs. sexy terrorist roleplay,” Arizona said with a sly smile.

    Freja purred at this, but the moment is interrupted by the doorbell.

    “That must be your America coach!” Arizona shrieked, excited, then ran to the door.

    Ten minutes later, after walking across FrejArizona’s palatial mansion, Arizona arrived with Freja’s new coach on all things American.

    “Freja, I’d like you to meet Lana Del Rey.”

    Lana Del Rey extended her clawed hand to Freja.

    Freja looked up at Lana and smiled.

    In an airey, distant voice, Lana cooed, “Freja, I feel responsible to bathe you in Americana.

    Freja hoped “Americana” was a brand of bubble bath. It sounded nice.

    Before Freja knew it, she was swept into the back of a black convertible.

    Lana’s clawed fingers gripped the wheel and they blasted down the highway.

    “Here,” Lana said, passing back a can of Pepsi, “Drink this.”

    Freja grabbed the open soft drink and took a sip, “It’s good,” she said.

   ”That’s what my vagina tastes like,” Lana yelled back to her.

    Freja took a bigger sip. “Pepsi is great,” Freja announced.

   ”What do you want to know about America?” Lana asked.

   ”Tell me what America means to you,” Freja requested, holding the can of Lana’s vagina and watching the American landscape pass by in a blur.

     Lana stared out towards the open road and monologued, “America is a poem of the free, written on the back of an eagle. I was a lost girl, hugging the map filled with peaks and valleys. The roads, these bright black snakes, were build by calloused men, who worked hard for their women. When they came home, they loved even harder than they worked. It was a time without rules, and I was a referee without a whistle. As I traveled, it was both the kindness and the sinister nature of man that provided me a home and cradled my overly hairsprayed Jackie-O hairdo. My pitch was not perfect- like an aging Yankee hanging onto once greatness, but the crowd didn’t care. They came to see me, not a strike. But strike we did, it was our right and we protected our right, we fought for our right, we stood up for our right, we sat down for our right and, always, we were American.”

    There was a pause in the convertible as only the wind spoke.

    “What the fuck was that?” Freja yelled up to Lana.

    “I don’t know, lets go find some black guys to make out with,” Lana suggested.

    “I’m a lesbian,” Freja pointed out.

    “No, you’re anti-American,” Lana said definitively. 

     Freja realized, as she cruised down the sunny roads of this great country with a highly cosmetically retouched pop star in the front seat, that this is why America is great; your vagina could become a beverage, your opinions didn’t have to make sense and your girlfriend will be waiting at home for you, ready to do some sexy waterboarding roleplay with you. 

***LEGAL NOTICE: THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. NONE OF THIS SHIT REALLY HAPPENED. LANA HAS PROBABLY SAID THAT STUFF BEFORE, BUT MAYBE SHE DIDN’T, WHO KNOWS. CERTAINLY NOT ME, NOR DO I CLAIM TO KNOW****

If you liked this piece and you’d like to read my fiction manuscripts, please contact me.

4 months ago January 12, 2013 12 notes #america #arizona #fanfic #fiction #freja #frejarizona #lana del rey #long reads #pepsi #t/james reagan #freja beha erichsen
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FrejArizona and The Closet of the Asian Nudie Mags.       NYFW was approaching fast. Freja had taken some time off, but she finally felt recharged. She was ready to return. Freja’s NYFW re-debut would be like soft kisses on all the mental bruises that had been caused by John leaving and those sleeves on the Balenciaga Sci-Fi sweaters.       Since Raf had recently stolen all of Freja’s pants for his boring Dior collection, Arizona decided that she would rearrange the closet. A large amount of Freja’s wardrobe used to be pants and now they’re gone forever.       Moving barefoot down the marble floored hallways of the opulent mansion Freja allowed Arizona to stay in, Arizona longed for her love, but she also felt content that Freja had rediscovered her passion for fashion. As she got older, Arizona realized that no one should have a cap placed on how much they can love.       The fading summer sun angled through the window and rested on the closet door. Arizona thrust the large door open, ready to make space for a new season. Almost immediately after she did this, the door was pushed shut, from the inside. Arizona was alarmed about the door shutting. Not really because it was so sudden, but because it probably mean Raf was in the closet stealing more simple patterned garments for his new Dior show.      “Don’t you ever knock?” an angry voice yelled from behind the shut door.      “Why would I knock on the closet door before I opened it?” Arizona asked back. She knew that it was not an evil spirit that had slammed the door on her, but instead of beautiful spirit, it was her Denmarkian queen. “Freja,” Arizona said cautiously, “I didn’t really ever anticipate having to ask you this, but whatcha doin’ in the closet?”       Silence.       Arizona worried that Abby Lee might be in there with Freja and she quickly grabbed the nob, then threw the door open. Freja looked back with horror at Arizona, then lifted her arms up and attempted to block Arizona’s vision of… issues of Love?       Freja’s protective gesture proved to be too much of a push and the magazines toppled over, spilling everywhere. Quickly dropping to the ground and splaying out her body, Freja tried to cover the pile of magazines. It was for naught. There were too many magazines and not enough Freja. She had been caught.       “Freja!” Arizona gasped, “You’ve been hiding in the closet reading Japanese nudie mags!”       “Have not. There is a hole in your theory. I can’t even read Japanese,” Freja shot back, “And neither can you Arizona, so, as I see it, we’re even.”       “Freja you’re laying on a pile of naked Japanese ladies, we’re hardly even. I have never laid on a single Japanese lady.”       “There is room for you on the magazines,” Freja offered.       “Why are you wearing fake boobs?” Arizona asked.       Freja looks at the silly top, “I’m cosplaying,” she explained.       “Cosplaying what?”       “Pretty much any girl with boobs,” Freja said.       “I can’t believe you’ve secretly been stockpiling Japanese nudie mags,” Arizona responded, shocked Freja would do this behind her back.       “For your information not all these are nudie mags,” Freja said, “There is definitely some yaoi in here as well.”       “What is Yaoi?” Arizona shrieked, “Have you been watching Univision Gameshows in here while reading Asian smut?” Arizona asked, hurt at Freja’s porn party been one invite short.       “I don’t even know Spanish,” Freja said, “So why would I watch a Spanish gameshow?”       “The same reason you’d read these magazines.”       “Oh. Boobies,” Freja said to herself.       “Yes, and I’m glad we don’t have the Spanish channel, or probably don’t have the Spanish channel, I haven’t really checked because I don’t speak Spanish, but it’s clear that you have more than enough boobies in here.”       “I could use two more,” Freja said to Arizona in a cute voice.       Freja always knew how to melt Arizona’s cold shoulder, like Freja was the Arizona heat and Arizona was that place in Demark where Freja was from. That place is probably really cold. Who knows. It’s in Denmark.       Arizona got down on her knees and crawled across the nudie mags. When she reached Freja, she looked into her soul mate’s eyes and asked, “What’s yaoi?”       Freja picked up one of the books that was laying near Arizona’s hair (thankfully Az’s hair was finally growing out). Freja looked at the black and white pictures in the book, one in particular, of a man with a creepy long fingered claw-hand on a boy’s shoulder and she started explaining, “Well, as said, I don’t speak Japanese, but it’s called yaoi, which I think translates into Sandusky in American. I am not familiar with that word either. I don’t think we have a word for it in whatever Denmark language I speak,” Freja advised, “but these books seem to be a really loosely based adaption of that Indiana Jones movie where he pals around with Shia LaBeouf.”       “So the books are about an Asian Indiana Jones?”       “No, yaoi seems to be about an offduty Asian Indiana Jones who is hardcore gay with Shia Labeouf,” Freja corrected her love as they lay on the periodicals. “And sometimes one of the gays randomly gets preg and no one knows how or why it happened,” Freja added.      “Understandable,” Arizona said, not questioning this part one bit.      Arizona put one of her hands on Freja’s cosplay boob and said, “I get it, it’s nice to get away and pretend sometimes.”      Freja thought about this for a moment and she responded, “I don’t want this to be pretend though. I want to live in a world where Shia LaBeouf has the option to be hardcore gay and Asian with a pregnant Indiana Jones.”      “I don’t know if we’ll ever live in that world,” Arizona said softly, then she warmly hugged Freja in an effort to ease the frostbite of this cold truth. ***NOTE THIS IS FAKE. THIS IS IMAGINARY. THIS SHIT DID NOT HAPPEN**** If you’re a literary agent and you want to read any of my fiction manuscripts, please contact me.

FrejArizona and The Closet of the Asian Nudie Mags.

      NYFW was approaching fast. Freja had taken some time off, but she finally felt recharged. She was ready to return. Freja’s NYFW re-debut would be like soft kisses on all the mental bruises that had been caused by John leaving and those sleeves on the Balenciaga Sci-Fi sweaters.

      Since Raf had recently stolen all of Freja’s pants for his boring Dior collection, Arizona decided that she would rearrange the closet. A large amount of Freja’s wardrobe used to be pants and now they’re gone forever.

      Moving barefoot down the marble floored hallways of the opulent mansion Freja allowed Arizona to stay in, Arizona longed for her love, but she also felt content that Freja had rediscovered her passion for fashion. As she got older, Arizona realized that no one should have a cap placed on how much they can love.

      The fading summer sun angled through the window and rested on the closet door. Arizona thrust the large door open, ready to make space for a new season. Almost immediately after she did this, the door was pushed shut, from the inside. Arizona was alarmed about the door shutting. Not really because it was so sudden, but because it probably mean Raf was in the closet stealing more simple patterned garments for his new Dior show.

     “Don’t you ever knock?” an angry voice yelled from behind the shut door.

     “Why would I knock on the closet door before I opened it?” Arizona asked back. She knew that it was not an evil spirit that had slammed the door on her, but instead of beautiful spirit, it was her Denmarkian queen. “Freja,” Arizona said cautiously, “I didn’t really ever anticipate having to ask you this, but whatcha doin’ in the closet?”

      Silence.

      Arizona worried that Abby Lee might be in there with Freja and she quickly grabbed the nob, then threw the door open. Freja looked back with horror at Arizona, then lifted her arms up and attempted to block Arizona’s vision of… issues of Love?

      Freja’s protective gesture proved to be too much of a push and the magazines toppled over, spilling everywhere. Quickly dropping to the ground and splaying out her body, Freja tried to cover the pile of magazines. It was for naught. There were too many magazines and not enough Freja. She had been caught.

      “Freja!” Arizona gasped, “You’ve been hiding in the closet reading Japanese nudie mags!”

      “Have not. There is a hole in your theory. I can’t even read Japanese,” Freja shot back, “And neither can you Arizona, so, as I see it, we’re even.”

      “Freja you’re laying on a pile of naked Japanese ladies, we’re hardly even. I have never laid on a single Japanese lady.”

      “There is room for you on the magazines,” Freja offered.

      “Why are you wearing fake boobs?” Arizona asked.

      Freja looks at the silly top, “I’m cosplaying,” she explained.

      “Cosplaying what?”

      “Pretty much any girl with boobs,” Freja said.

      “I can’t believe you’ve secretly been stockpiling Japanese nudie mags,” Arizona responded, shocked Freja would do this behind her back.

      “For your information not all these are nudie mags,” Freja said, “There is definitely some yaoi in here as well.”

      “What is Yaoi?” Arizona shrieked, “Have you been watching Univision Gameshows in here while reading Asian smut?” Arizona asked, hurt at Freja’s porn party been one invite short.

      “I don’t even know Spanish,” Freja said, “So why would I watch a Spanish gameshow?”

      “The same reason you’d read these magazines.”

      “Oh. Boobies,” Freja said to herself.

      “Yes, and I’m glad we don’t have the Spanish channel, or probably don’t have the Spanish channel, I haven’t really checked because I don’t speak Spanish, but it’s clear that you have more than enough boobies in here.”

      “I could use two more,” Freja said to Arizona in a cute voice.

      Freja always knew how to melt Arizona’s cold shoulder, like Freja was the Arizona heat and Arizona was that place in Demark where Freja was from. That place is probably really cold. Who knows. It’s in Denmark.

      Arizona got down on her knees and crawled across the nudie mags. When she reached Freja, she looked into her soul mate’s eyes and asked, “What’s yaoi?”

      Freja picked up one of the books that was laying near Arizona’s hair (thankfully Az’s hair was finally growing out). Freja looked at the black and white pictures in the book, one in particular, of a man with a creepy long fingered claw-hand on a boy’s shoulder and she started explaining, “Well, as said, I don’t speak Japanese, but it’s called yaoi, which I think translates into Sandusky in American. I am not familiar with that word either. I don’t think we have a word for it in whatever Denmark language I speak,” Freja advised, “but these books seem to be a really loosely based adaption of that Indiana Jones movie where he pals around with Shia LaBeouf.”

      “So the books are about an Asian Indiana Jones?”

      “No, yaoi seems to be about an offduty Asian Indiana Jones who is hardcore gay with Shia Labeouf,” Freja corrected her love as they lay on the periodicals. “And sometimes one of the gays randomly gets preg and no one knows how or why it happened,” Freja added.

     “Understandable,” Arizona said, not questioning this part one bit.

     Arizona put one of her hands on Freja’s cosplay boob and said, “I get it, it’s nice to get away and pretend sometimes.”

     Freja thought about this for a moment and she responded, “I don’t want this to be pretend though. I want to live in a world where Shia LaBeouf has the option to be hardcore gay and Asian with a pregnant Indiana Jones.”

     “I don’t know if we’ll ever live in that world,” Arizona said softly, then she warmly hugged Freja in an effort to ease the frostbite of this cold truth.

***NOTE THIS IS FAKE. THIS IS IMAGINARY. THIS SHIT DID NOT HAPPEN****

If you’re a literary agent and you want to read any of my fiction manuscripts, please contact me.

8 months ago August 27, 2012 8 notes #Frejarizona #t.james reagan #t/james reagan #Freja Beha Erichsen #Yaoi #Fanfic #Long reads #Asian #Fiction #Unrepresented Fiction Author #Indiana Jones #Shia Labeouf #hbgwhem
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“NEW YEARS IN BED (Doing It)” “Freja, guess what day it is!” Arizona yelled as she ran through the hallways of the decadent mansion she shared with Freja. “Oh no,” Freja mumbled. She realized that today must be Anna Wintour’s birthday. Freja never knew what to get Anna and the present Freja gave last year (a Cosco size box of Swiffers so that Anna could dust of her unused vagina) did not go over well. Freja felt it was a practical gift with a personal touch, but maybe Anna’s skin is too sensitive for the extra strength bleach on the pads. Arizona continued to run through the hallways of her dreamhouse and Freja would yell, “Arizona!” then listen as Arizona’s jank walk clopped down the marble floors. “Hotter” Freja yelled as the clippy clop got louder. “Hotter!” Freja yelled as Arizona walked closer. “Hotter!” Freja yelled again when she heard the loud, uneven steps. “Hotter,” Freja whispered as Arizona appeared in the door frame. Freja was taken by Arizona’s long legs that peeked out the slit of her flowy skirt. After all these (months? years?) of dating, Freja still wanted to “do” Arizona a bunch. Hotter. After their romp on the bed, when the feathers from the pillows started to float down on then her, Arizona said, “Today is New Years Eve.” “Do we have to buy Anna something for it?” Freja asked worried. “No. Freja, you must know what New Years Eve is.” ” ‘Zona, I’ve from Denmark. Wait! Is New Years Eve the American version of Roskilde Invasion Eve?” Freja asked excited. “Um. No. On American New Years, we drink champagne, then talk about how disappointing the night was. That’s New Years Eve. What is… Rosskill Invasion Time, or whatever.” “Oh, it’s this holiday in Denmark when we celebrate the period of time when the vikings arrived and raped our women and pillaged our ships.” “Freja! Why the fuck would you celebrate that?” “All the vikings had really good bone structure,” Freja responded warmly and Arizona thought maybe, for 2012, it was time to celebrate a different holiday- one not about spending money or getting cramped in shitty Times Square with awful Secrest. It was time for FrejArizona to bring in 2012 celebrating the things that really matter- good cheekbones. **NOTE THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION**

“NEW YEARS IN BED (Doing It)”

“Freja, guess what day it is!” Arizona yelled as she ran through the hallways of the decadent mansion she shared with Freja.

“Oh no,” Freja mumbled. She realized that today must be Anna Wintour’s birthday. Freja never knew what to get Anna and the present Freja gave last year (a Cosco size box of Swiffers so that Anna could dust of her unused vagina) did not go over well. Freja felt it was a practical gift with a personal touch, but maybe Anna’s skin is too sensitive for the extra strength bleach on the pads.

Arizona continued to run through the hallways of her dreamhouse and Freja would yell, “Arizona!” then listen as Arizona’s jank walk clopped down the marble floors. “Hotter” Freja yelled as the clippy clop got louder. “Hotter!” Freja yelled as Arizona walked closer. “Hotter!” Freja yelled again when she heard the loud, uneven steps.

“Hotter,” Freja whispered as Arizona appeared in the door frame. Freja was taken by Arizona’s long legs that peeked out the slit of her flowy skirt. After all these (months? years?) of dating, Freja still wanted to “do” Arizona a bunch.

Hotter.

After their romp on the bed, when the feathers from the pillows started to float down on then her, Arizona said, “Today is New Years Eve.”

“Do we have to buy Anna something for it?” Freja asked worried.

“No. Freja, you must know what New Years Eve is.”

” ‘Zona, I’ve from Denmark. Wait! Is New Years Eve the American version of Roskilde Invasion Eve?” Freja asked excited.

“Um. No. On American New Years, we drink champagne, then talk about how disappointing the night was. That’s New Years Eve. What is… Rosskill Invasion Time, or whatever.”

“Oh, it’s this holiday in Denmark when we celebrate the period of time when the vikings arrived and raped our women and pillaged our ships.”

“Freja! Why the fuck would you celebrate that?”

“All the vikings had really good bone structure,” Freja responded warmly and Arizona thought maybe, for 2012, it was time to celebrate a different holiday- one not about spending money or getting cramped in shitty Times Square with awful Secrest.

It was time for FrejArizona to bring in 2012 celebrating the things that really matter- good cheekbones.

**NOTE THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION**

1 year ago December 31, 2011 19 notes #freja beha erichsen #arizona muse #new years #new years eve #vikings #lesbian #long reads #fiction #fanfic #t. james reagan
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                            TODAY IS FREJA’S BIRTHDAY.                       EVERYONE WISH FREJA A HAPPY BIRTHDAY.                  I hope she has an amazing day and she’s able to put the                 “Balmain Incident” out of her head on this fine, fine day. ~-~FLASHBACK TO: The Balmain Incident~-~    It all started off as a normal Balmain show: sequins, some other shiney shit, and enough studs to cover jackets for at least two gangs of gay bikers.    Freja, as per usual, was casually flirting with the girls, when a scream silenced the room.     “Oh no did someone deflate Crystal Renn with one of those safety pins?” Freja asked, worried that Crystal Renn goo would get on the garments.     “Maybe someone put on footage of Kayne’s collection from PFW!” Kasia said, afraid.     “Save yourselves…get out while you can!” sobbed Karmen Pedaru, entering the room looking severely shaken.     “Karmen, what’s wrong? Did someone remind you that you had cornrows in your last Vogue Paris Ed? Don’t worry, we don’t blame you for that,” Freja said reassuringly.      “No…Freja, it isn’t that…it’s..it’s her… with…”     Freja looked confused. “Nicki Minaj? Oh man I hope they fuck around with Anna again and put them together.”     Karmen points across the room, her face awash in pure dread.     “Freja, darling!” echoed through the backstage area as a tall girl appeared, holding something.     It was Arizona.     Arizona had booked Balmain.     “This is bullshit, why can’t I have just one thing for myself,” Freja growled.     “You do,” Arizona said, “Me!”     Freja smiled, she softened and they kissed and touched each others butts and it was like it never happened. If Arizona can forgive Freja for the time the evil Bruce Jenner puppet made her dial Abbey, Freja can forgive Arizona for booking Balmain.    Well, she could until she saw what Karmen was freaking out about.    This wasn’t about Arizona.    This was about the cake that Arizona began to wheel out towards Freja, while she sang, “Happy Birthday To You!”    The models looked on horrified.    “Arizona, what the fuck is this?” Freja asked, stunned, but still looking for a fork because the cake looked good.    “Happy birthday, Frejycakes!”  Arizona squealed.    “Aw. Fer serious, this is cute and all, but my birthday isn’t til October 18th,” Freja said.    “Fucking wikipedia fucking sucks,” Arizona muttered, then tasted a bit of white icing. **NOTE THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION**

                            TODAY IS FREJA’S BIRTHDAY.

                      EVERYONE WISH FREJA A HAPPY BIRTHDAY.

                 I hope she has an amazing day and she’s able to put the

                “Balmain Incident” out of her head on this fine, fine day.

~-~FLASHBACK TO: The Balmain Incident~-~

   It all started off as a normal Balmain show: sequins, some other shiney shit, and enough studs to cover jackets for at least two gangs of gay bikers.

   Freja, as per usual, was casually flirting with the girls, when a scream silenced the room.

    “Oh no did someone deflate Crystal Renn with one of those safety pins?” Freja asked, worried that Crystal Renn goo would get on the garments.

    “Maybe someone put on footage of Kayne’s collection from PFW!” Kasia said, afraid.

    “Save yourselves…get out while you can!” sobbed Karmen Pedaru, entering the room looking severely shaken.

    “Karmen, what’s wrong? Did someone remind you that you had cornrows in your last Vogue Paris Ed? Don’t worry, we don’t blame you for that,” Freja said reassuringly. 

    “No…Freja, it isn’t that…it’s..it’s her… with…”

    Freja looked confused. “Nicki Minaj? Oh man I hope they fuck around with Anna again and put them together.”

    Karmen points across the room, her face awash in pure dread.

    “Freja, darling!” echoed through the backstage area as a tall girl appeared, holding something.

    It was Arizona.

    Arizona had booked Balmain.

    “This is bullshit, why can’t I have just one thing for myself,” Freja growled.

    “You do,” Arizona said, “Me!”

    Freja smiled, she softened and they kissed and touched each others butts and it was like it never happened. If Arizona can forgive Freja for the time the evil Bruce Jenner puppet made her dial Abbey, Freja can forgive Arizona for booking Balmain.

   Well, she could until she saw what Karmen was freaking out about.

   This wasn’t about Arizona.

   This was about the cake that Arizona began to wheel out towards Freja, while she sang, “Happy Birthday To You!”

   The models looked on horrified.

   “Arizona, what the fuck is this?” Freja asked, stunned, but still looking for a fork because the cake looked good.

   “Happy birthday, Frejycakes!”  Arizona squealed.

   “Aw. Fer serious, this is cute and all, but my birthday isn’t til October 18th,” Freja said.

   “Fucking wikipedia fucking sucks,” Arizona muttered, then tasted a bit of white icing.

**NOTE THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION**

1 year ago October 18, 2011 66 notes #arizona #balmain #cake #fiction #freja #freja beha erichsen #lesbian #frejarizona