Aug 12, 2024
So me and these two lovelies @sketchinitout-comms @pupmon1
Are working on a stoooory~! Have a small itty bitty slice of it!
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So me and these two lovelies @sketchinitout-comms @pupmon1
Are working on a stoooory~! Have a small itty bitty slice of it!
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.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
01 / 05 / 19
royal portrait wip, probably a delete-later case
the handsome boy
Amoux and Killer go camping!
Showing off more silliness of this story and its characters lmao
@sketchinitout-comms @pupmon1 <- Project partners!
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.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
“Sex is quite a lovely thing, wouldn’t you agree?” She snuffs out the flame of many a candle, wandering off with her thoughts as she goes. “Lovely as it may be, I can’t seem to connect. To picture my body? In the hands of some good-looking stranger..? I’d hate to be a burden on his spirit with my sad little fantasies.”
Her eyes glaze over, just for a while, till she shakes her head in disbelief. "My brain feels like syrup when I entertain the thought. He’d surely be ashamed of me -- perhaps he is already, with the way he comes and goes!”
#sleep paralysis tw _ #poltergeist tw
“I cannot move.” She begs the witch. “Why won’t you let me move?”
“For you are yet to know the shackles of being. Of nothing, and all things, at once.” Morag bids through her whispers that the bed then consume her, which it does, Amoux helpless to flee. Now trapped in a vaccuum between mattress and sheet, her eyes strain and redden for her study of the witch. She is a black and hazy spectre waltzing slow about her room, and as she passes through the poor young girl to get from here to there, she drops static in her ears and her vision. Scents unknown and eldritch in her nostrils, on her tongue.
He holds her, holds her, holds her till the sky falls upwards into its lane. Finally, unwrapping her from the safety of his cloak, he smiles. “Now, what was your name again?”
Eyes wide and sparkling with a childlike sort of wonder, she stutters something daring, yet terribly meek. “I... Well-- what is your last?”