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.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Tried drawing some of the VTMB PC girlies but my style
I yassified some of their outfits hey! Icl nossie was the most fun to draw but I tried smth new w Brujah by trying muscles⌠itâs tough out here. Ventrue was really inspired by Vivienne Westwoodâs silhouette, which I adore. I gave Brujah baggy jeans bc sheâs dripped out like that, and Nossie is just out here living her best life tbf
The streets of Hollywood are buzzing as always, neon lights flickering overhead like some kind of urban starlight. Itâs lateâpast midnightâand the air clings to y/n like the weight of the past, heavy and inescapable. She adjusts her tailored coat, the fabric sharp and precise, like armor against the world she now navigates with cold precision. Her Ventrue blood demands it, after all. But beneath the perfect facade, there's a storm of emotion sheâs been trying to suppress for years. Emotions that donât fit neatly into the life sheâs been thrust into.
Tonight, though, something feels different. Thereâs a tension in the air, an unease crawling up her spine that she canât quite shake. Her steps are measured, purposeful as she weaves through the crowd, just another predator among the unwitting.
And then she sees her.
Samantha.
The world stops.
y/n freezes, her heartâor the memory of itâthudding against her chest in a way that almost hurts. Samantha stands a few yards away, outside a coffee shop, bathed in the cold, artificial glow of a streetlamp. She looks just like she did the other weekâstill human, still warm. Sheâs waiting for someone, probably not expecting it to be her. But Samanthaâs familiar form, the gentle curve of her face, the softness in her postureâitâs like a wound torn open again, and y/n feels something twist painfully deep inside her.
For a second, she wants to turn around, to melt back into the crowd and disappear like she never existed. After all, sheâs not the same person Samantha once knew. Not even close. But before she can make her escape, Samanthaâs gaze lifts, and their eyes lock.
A flash of recognition crosses Samanthaâs face, her breath hitching in surprise. Her lips part in disbelief, and thenâGod, that smile. The one y/n thought sheâd never see again.
âIs that⌠you?â Samanthaâs voice is soft, tentative, like sheâs afraid speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile reunion.
y/n forces herself to breathe, to push down the surge of longing and pain threatening to drown her. She canât let it show. Not here. Not now.
âSamantha.â Her name feels like a knife in y/nâs throat, edged with memories too painful to dwell on. She takes a half-step forward, though every instinct tells her to stay away, to keep the distance thatâs kept Samantha safe all these years.
Samanthaâs face lights up with something like hope, but her confusion is obvious. She takes a step toward y/n, the warmth in her voice almost unbearable. âIâI thought Iâd never see you again. Where have you been? Why did youââ Samantha hesitates, searching y/nâs face for an answer. âWhy did you just leave?â
y/nâs stomach churns. Itâs the question sheâs dreaded, the one she knew would come if she ever saw Samantha again. The question she canât answerânot truthfully, at least. Because I died. Because I became something you canât understand.
But she canât say that. Not now. Not ever.
âI had to leave,â y/n replies, her voice cold, distant. She hates herself for it, for the lie that slithers out of her mouth so easily. But itâs safer this way. âI didnât have a choice.â
Samanthaâs brows knit together, hurt flashing across her features. âNo choice? You just⌠vanished.â Her voice wavers, like sheâs holding back something deeper. âI thought you were dead. I thoughtââ Samantha bites her lip, a familiar gesture that tugs at y/nâs dead heart. âI thought you didnât want me anymore.â
The implication in her words lances through y/n like a silver stake. Didnât want her? It couldnât have been further from the truth. If anything, leaving Samantha behind had been the hardest part of all of it. The nights theyâd spent together, the quiet moments in the dark when Samanthaâs head rested on her chest, when their fingers intertwined like they never wanted to let goâthose memories still haunted her, more than the hunger, more than the blood.
But she couldnât let Samantha into that world. Couldnât drag her down into the shadows.
âI never wanted to hurt you,â y/n says, the truth slipping out before she can stop it. Her voice cracks, and she turns her gaze away, fixing it on the neon blur of Hollywoodâs streets. âBut I had to protect you. I couldnât⌠I couldnât stay.â
Samantha steps closer, her hand twitching at her side, like she wants to reach out but isnât sure if sheâs allowed to. âProtect me from what? From you?â
y/n stiffens. The words sting, sharper than she expected. Yes. From me. From what Iâve become.
She forces herself to meet Samanthaâs gaze, the weight of the Masquerade pressing down on her like a vice. She canât let her in. âIâm dangerous,â she whispers, the words cutting deep, but necessary. âIâm not who you remember.â
Samanthaâs lips tremble, her voice barely above a whisper. âYouâre still you. I know you are.â
You donât. y/n swallows hard, the ache in her chest growing unbearable. She wishes she could reach out, wishes she could let herself feel what she once felt, even for just a moment. But the price is too high. âIâm not,â she says, her voice flat, mechanical. âIâve changed.â
Samantha takes another step forward, close enough now that y/n can feel the heat of her, the warmth that reminds her so painfully of everything she lost the night she was Embraced. âYou donât have to do this,â Samantha pleads softly, her hand reaching out now, trembling. âWe could figure it out. You and me. We always did.â
y/n almost laughs at the naivety of it, the sweetness of the lie that could never be. Once, she might have believed that too. Once, she might have let herself hope. But hope is dangerous now. Itâs lethal.
âIâm not the same,â y/n repeats, her voice a harsh whisper. The words feel wrong in her mouth, but she forces them out. âYou have to forget about me. Iâm not⌠Iâm not who you think I am.â
Samanthaâs eyes are wet now, her breath catching in her throat as she shakes her head, refusing to believe it. âBut weââ She swallows, her voice breaking. âWhat about us? Was that just⌠nothing?â
That final question almost shatters y/n. Samanthaâs words hang in the air between them, weighted with memories of nights spent tangled in each otherâs arms, whispers of love shared in the dark, promises made that neither of them ever thought would be broken.
âNo,â y/n says, her voice soft, pained. She looks away, unable to bear the sight of Samanthaâs heartbreak, of her own reflection in those eyes. âIt wasnât nothing.â
Samantha reaches for her, her fingers brushing against y/nâs arm. The touch burns. y/n jerks away, the instinctive movement more brutal than she intended. Samantha flinches, her hand falling limply to her side.
âIâm sorry,â y/n whispers, her voice barely audible, the weight of her lie pressing down on her like a thousand stones. âI canât be with you. Not anymore.â
Samantha looks like sheâs about to say something, to beg y/n to stay, but no words come. The silence between them is deafening, the pain almost tangible.
Without another word, y/n turns and walks away, her steps heavy, deliberate. She can feel Samantha watching her, feel the heat of her gaze as it follows her into the shadows.
Behind her, Samanthaâs voice breaks the silence one last time, trembling, full of a sadness that y/n knows sheâll carry with her for the rest of her existence.
âPlease⌠donât go.â
But y/n doesnât stop. She canât. She keeps walking, disappearing into the night, leaving the only thing that ever made her feel human behind.
âĄIf you liked this fic, please consider buying me a coffee! Ko-fi âĄ
As an impressionable young bloodsucking bean, he became Prince LaCroixâs dog and blindly loyal to the Camarilla, somewhat out of fear but mostly out of a misplaced sense of purpose. As he gained confidence (and grew more powerful) he realized that the Camarilla way of doing things really wasnât jiving well with his desire to protect the vulnerable and make the corrupt eat lead, so at a critical juncture he gave LaCroix a big old âfuck youâ and jumped ship to the Anarchs.Â
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.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Playing Vampire the Masquerade: Bloodlines was such an amazing experience for me and has sucked me into the World of Darkness as a whole. This is Elric, my take on the male Ventrue PC from the game, whom I have grown very fond of.Â
Heâs a bit of an underdog as a Ventrue, much more comfortable in the dingy emo clubs of LA than climbing the corporate later. May take the concept of âeat the richâ a little too seriously... Â
Heâs based off of the âCorporate Gothâ Ventrue outfit reskin by Vampire Nonsense (on Nexus Mods) hence the fun skull shirt.Â