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Escape

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  She sat unsteadily on the building's slightly rusty fire escape, smoking a joint. At her black heel clad feet was a nearly empty bottle of vodka. White twill socks reached past her knees, with three black stripes at the top. Her short gray skirt cast a shadow so you couldn't tell what she wore under it. Her matching gray tie was loosened, her smooth red hair pulled back in two loose pigtails. She listed drunkenly to her left. She was so drunk and high, she didn’t even care that she was completely topless, pert brests with eraser hard brown nipples and brown aroras standing out on her pale skin-shirt and bra nowhere in sight, as she greeted you with a slured, “break timme.”  You blinked up at her from the adjacent rire escape, the evening sun dipping low enough to paint the fire escape in molten gold, turning the rust into something almost romantic. The city hummed around you—distant horns, the sizzle of street food vendors packing up—but up there, she was a world unto hersel...
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What I.F.? Lara Croft: Tomb Raider - Catacombs of Intoxication

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Incantation: Morgana

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  Morgana Blackwood's laboratory reeked of burnt sugar and ozone, a testament to her latest "revolutionary" potion attempt. She slumped against her bubbling cauldron, vodka bottle dangling precariously from her fingers as she took a long, unsteady drag from a fat joint. The room spun pleasantly—cobwebbed jars of eyeballs became disco balls, and her taxidermied raven, Gary, seemed to nod in approval. "Peak efficiency," she mumbled, ash tumbling onto her teal dress. A giggle escaped her when her half-lidded gaze landed on a wilting moonflower; she blew a smoke ring at it like a drunken blessing.  Her flushed cheek pressed against the cool metal of the cauldron as she fumbled with a vial of luminescent newt spleen. "Stupid... gravity," she slurred, watching the green liquid slosh over her knuckles. The spill hissed where it met a puddle of earlier failure, eating through the floorboards like acid. Morgana didn’t flinch—just took another swig, vodka mingli...
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Aurora Vale

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A Modern Little Red Riding Hood

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  # A Modern Little Red Riding Hood The city park was alive with the pulse of early evening, the golden hour casting long shadows over the grass as the sun dipped low. Ashley, a freckle-faced young woman with wild, curly blonde hair spilling from beneath her red hooded sweatshirt, strolled through the winding paths. Her blue jeans hugged her hips, the denim worn soft from countless adventures. The zip-up hoodie, vibrant crimson and unzipped just enough to hint at the bare skin beneath—no shirt, no bra—swayed with her confident stride. Her blue eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and curiosity, catching the fading light like sapphires. At twenty-two, Ashley was a free spirit, untethered and unafraid, her backpack slung over one shoulder, clinking softly with the promise of tonight’s rebellion. She’d always loved this park, a sprawling urban oasis where the city’s chaos melted into something wilder, something that felt like it belonged to her. Tonight, though, she wasn’t here for th...
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