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What I.F.? Victoria Justice

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  A Fireside Dream The fire crackled softly in Victoria’s cabin, casting a warm golden glow across the room. She lounged on a plush rug, her red plaid pajamas clinging loosely to her skin, the fabric soft and worn from countless cozy nights. A glass of ruby-red wine rested on the wooden floor beside her, its rich aroma mingling with the faint, earthy scent of weed that hung in the air. The Neon Merry Christmas sign flickered above the mantel, its pink and green hues pulsing gently, painting the walls with a festive, otherworldly light. Her favorite Christmas records spun lazily on the turntable, filling the room with nostalgic melodies, each note wrapping around her like a velvet ribbon. Victoria took a slow pull from her bong, the water bubbling as she inhaled. Wisps of smoke curled from her lips, rising in delicate spirals that danced in the firelight before dissolving into the shadows. Her eyes, heavy-lidded and dreamy, followed the smoke as it twirled, her mind drifting into a ...
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Christmas-Writers block 2.0

Pt 1  https://stumblingfillies.blogspot.com/2022/12/alternate-christmas-writers-block.html Part 2: As the Australian summer heat clung to the air, the young writer—let’s call her Lila—lay sprawled across her bed, the crumpled letter to Santa still clutched in her hand. Her room was a haze of cigarette smoke and whiskey fumes, the typewriter sitting silent but triumphant on the desk. The letter, riddled with typos and raw honesty, was her first victory over the writer’s block that had plagued her since November. Though she was out cold, a faint smile curved her lips, as if her dreams were already weaving the naughty Christmas tale she’d begun. --- It was Christmas Eve, and the night air was warm, carrying the scent of eucalyptus and distant barbecues. Lila’s small apartment was a mess of empty bottles, scattered papers, and half-burned weed cigarettes. She’d managed to drag herself out of bed earlier, still buzzing from the night before, and had mailed the letter to Santa in a ...
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What I.F.? First Thanksgiving

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What I.F.? Emily R

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  ”Thiss will be my lazz marrtini,” Emily slurred, before taking another gulp of her martini. You couldn’t believe your good fortune-stranded at an isolated resort with the beautiful model, who BEFORE dinner had gotten wasted on martinis.  “Ok, Em,” you told your companion, silently thinking, “but not your last drink.”  As if on cue, the waiter brought dinner-steak and potatoes, and cabernet. Quickly Emily finished her martini, and took a large sip of her wine. “Ummmm, i'm a carnivore. I really liyke t' eat meed, ann i love a ssrong caberned,” she declared once the waiter left, leaving the bottle. You watched in awe as the drunk model cut and began to eat her stake. With each drunken movement, her gorgeous tits jiggling under the thin fabric of her black dress. You almost expected them to pop out, but they didn't. With each bite of food, Emily would wash it down with a gulp of wine.  You wondered what the night might yet bring. Emily’s fork wobbled as she speared ano...
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