Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Everything changed the day Amira was born.
The world outside was collapsing — bombs, dust, screams, and fear. Yet inside a small room, by the dim light of a single candle, a new life began.
While others were running for shelter, I was holding my newborn daughter, trembling, crying, trying to believe that something so pure could still exist in a place like Gaza.
I named her Amira, because I wanted her to feel like a child of life —not a child of war.
A year has passed since that night, but nothing has really changed
Our house is still rubble, our streets still carry the smell of smoke, and the sky still echoes with sounds that make Amira flinch in her sleep.
She has just turned one.
She’s learning to walk, holding my finger with her tiny hand, laughing at the smallest things — as if she doesn’t see the destruction around her.
She doesn’t know the word “loss.”
She never met her father, but when she smiles, I see him there.
Sometimes I watch her sleeping, and I wonder what kind of world she will grow up in — whether she will ever know what peace feels like, what home smells like.
And yet, when she opens her eyes in the morning and says “mama,” everything becomes bearable again.
I want to rebuild our home.
Not just for the walls — but for her future.
For Amira to have a small room, a safe place to dream, a life that belongs to her, not to war.
I’m not asking for much. Only for a chance to give her a beginning filled with warmth instead of fear
My name is Saja. I am a mother, a wife, and just one of many women in Gaza trying to hold on — to hope, to my family, and to a life that no
A Mother’s Message
To everyone reading this — thank you for listening to our story.
Your kindness means more than words.
Every share, every message, every donation — it all helps me rebuild not just a house, but a future for Amira.
From the heart of Gaza, from a mother learning to hope again —
we will live. And I will make sure my daughter grows up in a world that knows love more than war.
One of your post had "don't be afraid to send NSFW request.." n my dumb ass thought you said "don't be afraid to send NUDES".. I had to read that for about 5 times to see if I saw right.
Anyway imagine zayne attempting to send nudes for the first time
i was gonna say send those too and then i realized i should NOT say that on here of all places don't send me (or anyone for that matter) nudes please
It's one of those rare days where you're working late and Zayne finds himself at home, alone and missing you. Luckily, you're just working on reports so you're still sporadically responding to his text messages.
They start innocently enough, updating you on his dinner, on the new medical documentary airing on tv, little things that you heart and don't respond to. It's why he doesn't think too much when he snaps a photo fresh out of the shower.
The camera is mostly aimed at the heart drawn on the steamy mirror. But all of your attention is focused on the towel slung sinfully low on his hips, as well as the way his still wet abs glisten under the lights.
'Take the towel off'
At first, your message confuses Zayne. He knows you won't be home for a while, did you really want him to wait naked for you for hours?
Not that he wouldn't, but still.
It's only when the next message of 'Send more pictures please' does he start to understand, smiling a little to himself when you send a praying emoji. Of course, he'll entertain you, even if it leaves him feeling somewhat awkward to remove his towel and point the camera at the foggy mirror once more.
Just thinking about the current state you're in is enough to have blood rushing to his lower region, getting hard incredibly quickly. He tries not to overthink the picture, snapping one and sending it without looking it over. You view it instantly, then heart it, and he watches as the bubbles load for a remarkably long time before turning into a message.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Note: This is an idea that has been in my mind for a long time. Myth The Foreseer left me with a lot of emotions, the open ending of the story and Zayne's feelings made me want to write a small fantasy sequel.
Tags: Bittersweet, hurt/comfort, storyteller, a little angsty.
Summary:
No one in the village knows when the jasmine hill appeared; although time has passed, the flowers still give off a sweet fragrance and show off their brilliant white color.
There was a boy who had heard about that strange hill when he was very young. People just called it "the mysterious jasmine hill" but no one knew the story behind it. One day, his curiosity arose and he went to that place — and then he understood why it was considered so strange.
Chapter 1: The mysterious woman
The boy took small steps, weaving through the bushes to reach the strange hill. The villagers said, “It’s a hill covered in snow all year round. Some people have risked going up there, but in the end, all they saw was a pure white expanse!”
As he walked, the boy wondered: snow can’t fall all year; it only appears when the temperature drops to its lowest. Or maybe it’s just a myth?
Snow didn’t belong in summer, just as he didn’t belong in fairy tales. Yet as the child pushed through the dense shrubs, before him lay a scene that couldn’t be explained by medicine or physics: white snow fell gently on the warm ground, without melting. Jasmine flowers bloomed amid the unusual cold, their fragrance mingling with the thin mist as if weaving another world.
He stood still, staring at the whiteness, stepping slowly on the frosty snow, feeling the unusual chill. And then…
A large hand touched his shoulder from behind.
“You made it here too?”
The voice—so familiar that his heart skipped a beat.
The boy turned sharply. Before him was a woman in a short white dress, her long hair reaching her waist, eyes sparkling like shooting stars through the frost. She smiled softly:
“Welcome to the Jasmine Hill, young one.”
“…?” The boy hesitated, then nodded. “H-Hi…”
The woman tilted her head slightly: “The Jasmine Hill only appears to those whose hearts still hold pure memories… and love that has never cooled.”
At that moment, the boy didn’t understand.
The boy followed the mysterious woman up to the hilltop, unaware of how much time had passed, walking on the cold snow without feeling the chill that had struck him when he first arrived. Perhaps it was the warm golden light emanating from the staff she carried that kept him warm?
He couldn’t help but marvel at the jasmine flowers—they were resilient and magical to survive here, and truly beautiful.
The jasmine here wasn’t like the flowers in the village he knew; these blooms were large, with more and thicker petals.
The woman stopped, turned lightly, and gently tapped her staff on the snow. A blue light spread out, then faded into the ground like a breath. She smiled:
“They survive because they are nurtured by memories. Beautiful, isn’t it?”
The boy frowned, used to thinking logically rather than in terms of invisible things like memories or emotions. But this place… didn’t follow natural laws. No temperature could explain snow not melting in summer. No fertilizer could make flowers bloom brilliantly without care.
The woman extended her hand, and the boy felt compelled to take it.
“Cold? If so, hold my hand, and I’ll take you somewhere warmer.”
The boy felt her words were oddly familiar, as if he had heard them before.
Though it wasn’t cold, he still held her hand—having someone to guide him felt better than being lost in this place.
As they walked, the snowfall began to ease, and he felt the snow underfoot gradually melting. Looking down, he was puzzled—under the snow, soft green grass appeared.
He looked at his small hand holding hers, warm and alive, a real person.
He glanced at her.
Even seeing only her back, he felt he could trust her; there was a solid, reassuring sense.
The two of them reached the hilltop, where a wooden house lay quietly beneath a towering old tree. The snow had fully melted, revealing soft green grass and jasmine flowers swaying gently in the wind. Warm sunlight bathed the path in gold, creating a scene as beautiful as the ending of a fairy tale.
Only then did he get a clear look at the woman. Her hair, long and silky, shone dark brown under the sunlight. Parted in the middle, two strands framed her face softly. Her straight hair fell like a gentle stream, held neatly with an intricate headband, giving her the appearance of a mystical creature stepped out of a story.
The boy glanced at the simple wooden house under the old tree.
The woman smiled brightly and said, “Isn’t it cute?” The boy nodded, feeling his ears warm.
She opened a pale wooden gate and led him inside the yard. The scene resembled village houses, with grass, and vegetable patches, making him feel as if he were still in his own village, in his own home.
The boy looked around and noticed a set of furniture made from tree trunks, standing out with smooth, glossy brown-orange surfaces and natural circular grains. A large table was made from a thick trunk, its legs retaining their raw shape, surrounded by two small chairs also crafted from cross-sections of tree trunks, sanded smooth and polished.
“Sit,” she said gently, pointing to one of the chairs.
The boy hesitated briefly, then sat—surprised by the warmth of the wood beneath him, as if it had been basking in sunlight all day. He lightly touched the wood grain.
The woman went into the house, returning with two cups of warm cocoa, apparently having stored her staff inside.
The cups were set on the table with a soft clink. Steam rose, wrapping around Zayne’s fingers as he lightly touched the rim.
“Would you like to drink?” she asked, sitting across with gentle eyes. “It’s warm cocoa, no poison.”
The boy blinked, feeling a bit amused—she even anticipated his hesitation about poison.
He raised the cup to his lips and took a deep breath: the sweet chocolate aroma mixed with a faint scent of jasmine, slowing his heartbeat for a moment.
“Why are you here alone?” he finally asked, looking around to see only her.
She smiled, stirring her cocoa:
“I’m resting after a long journey.”
“Resting?” the boy asked again.
“Yes,” she replied, eyes distant. “I’m searching for my Foreseer.”
“Is it the Foreseer from the legend?” the boy placed the cocoa down.
She looked back, a mix of surprise and amusement on her face.
“Now it’s a full-blown legend, huh?”
The boy said he had once read about it in an old book in the village library. When he asked the librarian and the elders, no one remembered much about the Prophet, except that he had once been a representative of the high gods.
Yet the woman before him looked like the Prophet from long ago, as if she had just appeared recently, not a figure lost and buried in fading legend.
“The Foreseer represents the god Astra above, receiving power to convey the god’s will. He resides at the Thorn Tower, at the northernmost tip of Planet Philos, surrounded only by bitter snow.”
She told the tale as if recounting an ancient story.
“The royal family sends an envoy every hundred years, but He never delivered any guidance, and each envoy disappeared.”
The boy listened attentively, tasting the thick cocoa on his tongue, and a question arose:
“Have you ever met the Foreseer?”
She paused slightly, then her eyes glowed with a hint of happiness.
“Of course I have,” she replied. “He was the warmest person I’ve ever met in this world.”
She recounted how He lived alone in the tower, initially hard to please. Once, a gardener fell gravely ill. Everyone said she was beyond hope, but she didn’t believe it. She disguised herself as an envoy to ask the Prophet for guidance.
“But… He knew she was pretending,” the boy said, eyes bright.
She nodded, smiling as if recalling a beautiful dream.
“Yes. He didn’t kill her, but froze her, because she quickly understood what the Foreseer cared about most at that time.”
“What was that?” the boy asked softly, eyes fixed on her.
She answered gently: “How to make the jasmine bloom.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
When thinking about the prospect of trying on wedding dresses, the bride is trying on the dress behind the curtain, while your ML is waiting in the chair, I bet many people will be very emotional. Personally, I am too, but I didn't expect that I could cry from night to morning when thinking about that with Zayne.
I remember that night, completely randomly, I was just surfing the internet and came across a painting by an artist that I really liked. That person drew a picture that for me - could be called a masterpiece, and then, I cried, cried like rain.
The bride with her wedding dress, was trying on clothes behind a neatly tied pale yellow curtain, Zayne looked at his lover with his hands clasped together, and his ears were red. It was only at that time that I had just begun to get to know Zayne, but I already knew in my heart that he was not only my type, but deeper still, it was the feeling of being appreciated, of being meticulous and patient, of being devoted, of being understood, of being loved without even realizing it.
Trying on wedding dresses is an important preparation step and both you and Zayne must be present, and think of the scene where you are only a few steps away from throwing flowers and coming home together. Oh…. You are on the other side of the curtain, trying on your wedding dress, seeing which one suits you, is comfortable, etc. As for Zayne, the only thing he will have to worry about is you. He is nostalgic, sitting on a chair, staring at the foot of the curtain and trying to listen to the few sounds behind that curtain, which seem so close but also so far. The two of them had been waiting for this moment for a long time, and when it finally happened, it was so magical, it was like a beautiful dream.
I really liked that picture, and I didn’t expect that a person who didn’t want to think about marriage would have such strong emotions until meeting this warm big snowman.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
titsay
stormborns
kaledo-art
gummygunk
blakekathryn
jacobvanloon
snowghoul
janainaart
origamiaround
baratheonpilled
