Hell's infectious spread has consumed Earth as we know it. Humanity lives on, holding on just barely, thrust down to the bottom of the food chain and stuck in an endless war against the hordes of evil. God has abandoned His creations. The Heavens have locked their gates long ago.
Nobody has seen one like Auden in over a century. The Fallen are highly sought after as they are defenceless, weak and precious. They aren't meant to survive, and Auden doesn't expect his life to go on for much longer either. Fortunately — or rather unfortunately, — it appears someone special has taken a liking to him, and will not let him go so easily.
Character refs/exploration/lore/fun facts: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7
Art:
Grim and Mori have a little snack together :)
Playlists: Grim I His Majesty
General cw: creepy/intimate whumper, sadistic whumper, carewhumper, angel whumpee, demon whumper, deity whumper, nonhuman whumpee/whumper, gore, torture, abuse, blood, manipulation, death, power dynamics, cannibalism (?), religious undertones and fucky headspaces related to God and such, (fantasy) medwhump, tiny whump, collars, slavery, dehumanisation, gay ass deities, suicidal ideation, self-loathing, I'll add more as we go
0. The Prelude - Auden's fall
1. Mercy - Auden arrives in rather rough shape to the Dragon Queen's manor, where he finds himself being taken care of by a seemingly gentle enough demon healer :3
2. Thoughts of Resentment - direct continuation of Mercy, we meet Miss Thu'lin
2.5. Chess - written after Foreboding Intermezzo, but happens right before Grim shows up at Miss Thu'lin's. tiny whump, gore, introducing someone special :)
3. Death Comes Knocking - cont. from Thoughts of Resentment, Grim introduces himself in a rather dramatic fashion, the Doctor dips
4. The Shepherd Wolf - cont. from Death Comes Knocking, Grim takes a basically catatonic Auden 'home' as the angel boy tries his damnedest not to have a meltdown, and fails!
5. Mori - cont. from The Shepherd Wolf, Auden meets a friend :)
6. A Lesson in Selfishness - cont. from Mori, Auden learns how to eat things! :) definitely nothing else happens
7. Bloodhound - after A Lesson in Selfishness, Grim's pov
8. Brazen Arrogance - direct cont of Bloodhound, we finally meet some humans, His Majesty is not happy
9. Foreboding Intermezzo - Mori and Auden get some time to themselves while Grim is away
10. Abhorrent - Grim and His Majesty are being gay in public, also some people die
11. Blasphemy - Auden in his panic calls for Grim after Mori passes out, Grim and Auden have a nice pleasant little conversation! :D
11.5 Limbo - our favourite angel boy seems to be losing touch with reality somewhat, but not to worry, Grim is there to ease all his worries :3
12. My Dear Old Friend - part one of auden meeting his new master, His Majesty
13. The Raven - second part of auden meeting his new master, His Majesty, tw grims sadomasochism
14. Introductions — "Welcome Home, Auden."
14.5 — ??? (Wip)
(cont. under readmore)
Oneshots (as in anything that doesn't (yet) fit into the clean chronological list at the top 👍)
Pearls of Maroon - his majesty punishes some poor servant in front of an audience (cont. in Phantasmagoria)
Lapdog - poor Mori being bullied for being so very pretty and submissive and good at their job :(
Mice - cont. from Lapdog — Mori is a little bit too scared and unstable, Grim is a little bit too tired to deal with it all.
Phantasmagoria - cont. of Pearls of Maroon; our poor clumsy little servant boy's punishment
Giftwrapped - Grim has a gift for Mori <3
Soulsearching - mori and grim do some introspection together
Mistwoods — One of the Doctor's little lab rats escapes. His Majesty and his hounds go out for a little late night hunt :)
In-Character Responses
The 'Quiet Game' — Grim and Mori play a fun game!
~ What do you think about Auden? (Mori)
~ Do you hurt the Reaper often? (His Majesty)
~ Do you ever feel guilty for how you treat Mori? (Grim)
~ OUGHH I NEED TO PET THE LITTLE CREATURE (labrat whumpee)
~ hello doctor how are you i miss you… (the Doctor)
~ What do you miss most about heaven and your life before you fell? (Auden)
~ What do you do in your free time? Anything you wish you could do? (Mori)
~ I loooooveeee Mori! (Mori)
Related
Sickeningly Sweet Ichor - an angel boy with a demon owner [this is older, but moved from my main masterlist to auden’s, im sure theres no reason for that dont worry about it]
My little mortal — a lonely deity takes in an annoyingly persistent mortal they grow to like, promising to give it exactly what it wants: divine attention (/malicious >:)) [another older one-shot moved to this masterlist, surely this has no narrative importance, dont think about it too long :-) ]
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I was rereading “gift wrapped” and I’m curious! What is the “quiet game” grim plays with Mori…
The 'Quiet Game'
Masterlist
Mori and Grim play a game <3
~2k words
CWs: usual blanket cws for this series (slavery/pet whump, religious themes, nonhuman whumpee/-ers, deity whumpers, creepy/intimate whumper, power dynamics, humiliation, torture, gore, captivity), asphyxiation, abuse, wound fingering, fear, crying, begging, sadistic games, pinned, fear of death, magic whump, general cruelty courtesy of our resident Reaper and his enabler, His Majesty, Mori and Grim are their own TWs when they're together
+ suggestive (?) [i do not know man; you figure out if this is horny or not. It wasnt meant to be but it entirely depends on the readers mood and i think that is beautiful <3]
They breathe long, but not too deep. Shallow, careful breaths, so nothing jostles or pulls. In, then out, in, then out, in —
He opens another one, the cut widening right below their ribcage, and their next exhale comes shuddering. Cut it; that's what they have to do. Cut it off before the gasp evolves into noise. A few seconds of suffocation means a few seconds of perfect silence, so it's good, they can handle that, and once the searing pain ebbs, they can try to breathe again.
The blade shifts, Mori’s hands grasping at anything they can reach in their panic. One hand ends up clutching at their own hair, having hovered helplessly above the afflictive hand of their master for just a moment, while their other forces their own mouth shut. They are watching the dagger sticking out of their torso — they were told to, and rule-breaking always carries punishment, so they do as they're told.
They must watch, and feel, as Master Grim's hand repositions slightly, as his wrist turns and his hold prepares and oh, oh he's twisting, he's twisting the blade now, and Mori has to hold their breath again, their legs moving of their own accord. There is no conscious thought in them as they writhe, lost in the agony of the careful but consistent mangling of their flesh. They do not notice how they latch onto the Reaper's coat sleeve. It's fortunate that not even their instinctual movements dare to fully grab at their assailants anymore.
“Ah-ah-ah,” — Master tuts disapprovingly, — “come now, no cheating — and keep those little hands out of the way before I take them for myself.”
It's so easy to do as he says, but so hard to obey; to keep doing it when all their body wants to do is twist into the couch cushions to hide away from the burning pain every time their hitching lungs jump against the intrusion. Their throat hurts from holding back anything that wants to pass through. Now hurry to catch a couple more gasps before the blade twists further… In, out, in, out-in-out-in-out-in — !
As long as their breathing is controlled, they can continue on. As long as they can swallow down every whimper, every plea, every little morsel of sound that wants to escape and scream out to the world how much it hurts, they can keep playing. If they can last long enough, they can win.
However, their lungs are burning, and it feels more and more like their esophagus will split open from all that pressure that's stuck in there to keep themself from crying out. The next time the knife moves, just before it could fully slide out of their flesh, the tip gets caught and pulls on the raw edge where their skin was torn, and the exhale that leaves them comes dangerously near to forming a pitchy moan. Master heard it, he had to have, his ears are so sharp; they cannot let that happen again.
He hums giddily as he watches them bleed, bringing his blade closer to taste them. In their suffering, they have slid all the way down, now despairing spread across his lap where he fixes them when they worm their way a bit too far. The hand in their hair anchors both their body and their focus. — “Be-ware, be-ware, the maw of spirits’ nocturne grows ni-err, ni-err…” — he sings, hauntingly light. Childhood mischief is not quite what his rendition of the nursery rhyme brings to mind. His eerie singing voice sounds much closer to a spirit’s. — “Where to next?”
Master Grim's imagination paints a picture in which Mori’s body is the map that the lost children must navigate to find shelter from the witching spirits that hunt them. They cannot take long to choose; the children will be caught if they dawdle, so they quickly lift a trembling hand to point to where they want to hurt next.
They choose an old scar just above their hip. That one is long and deep, but it wasn't as bad as it looks, and they know their master loves opening up old wounds. Something about making their old pains newer and binding them to him, so every time they look at them, they remember him instead. In some way, Mori finds this comforting.
It doesn't really matter where they point, they think, because nowhere on their front is there a single patch of skin where getting stabbed would hurt any less — but they know well that there are certainly points their master can find where it hurts worse. Mori has to assume he will be careful not to hit anything that could end the game too early, though the only thing they can go off of is that he aims the blade diagonally, rather slipping it just under their skin, as opposed to impaling them right through their lungs. A mercy, — since they aren't choking on their blood right now, — but a punishment at the same time, because the upper layers of flesh are where an intrusion sears most.
The blade lines up once more and they brace, their teeth grit in preparation. In, out, in, out, in, out… but there is no agony spreading into them. Fearfully they watch as their master plays his knife on their flesh, tickling the roughened scar. He tests the limits of their heart as he lifts it up, then lets it fall with gusto; only for the tip of the blade to stop a hair’s width from their vulnerable belly.
Their twitching brings great amusement to his laugh. — "Breathe, love, breathe…” — he snickers, witnessing the first tear that finally escapes those lovely dark cages. It’s rarely the pain that brings those out; more often than not helplessness and terror are what let the shimmering drops slip. — “If it upsets you so, you can close your eyes instead. I can't scare you like that, can I?”
Worth to keep around slaves act with quick and efficient obedience — but Mori only furrows their brows. ‘Has to be a test; he's taunting me,’ they think, because they were told to keep watching just a little bit ago, so they must keep watching; he’s just trying to catch them slip up. When he sets a hand over their eyes and leads the lids closed, they're powerless to stop it.
The Reaper's claws draw goosebumps as they skate along his little fawn’s body, sliding down the crevasse of their hitching chest, visiting the concave curve of their hollow belly tense and heaving, take a playful loop around their bellybutton, and stop just above where their hair turns thick and becomes soft, precious fur. However, the scar at their hip isn't where his attention returns to.
He teases at the opening below their ribs instead. Circles it softly with one finger, then tests it with two at once, and all Mori can think to do is beg, beg, beg! Be pitiful, be small and sweet, show how good they can be so the torture will end, so their master will be satisfied sooner.
They can stay quiet. They must stay quiet.
“If you are too noisy, we will have to find a more suitable place to play.”
They don't want to go, they don't want to go — so please, no, please — they can hold out, they have to, it hurts, but they have to, but he pushes deeper, stretches their wound wider and — please stop, it hurts, it hurts so much, they can't, mercy, mercy, mercy, mercy — !
Mori screams. They scream and thrash, and the pain doesn't ebb, so they keep crying and sobbing out pleas slotted in-between two apologies for being bad, for disobeying, for ruining the game, for not being able to hold out any longer with the Reaper's lifeless claws mangling them from the inside like this.
Somewhere to the side where a large half-moon desk sits on an elevated island, there is the sound of a pen being returned to the inkwell, and the disgruntled sigh of someone who just had enough of the Reaper's shenanigans. — “Grim.”
The shrieking continues for a while, Mori not any less helpless to stop it, but His Majesty is nothing if not patient, and he knows it will have to stop eventually. That is why he summons hands to hold them still and muffle them, because his ravenous god-friend isn't so patient, and he will not allow for his plaything to be made silent like this by someone else.
Sure enough, the Reaper clicks his tongue in fleeting annoyance. — “So ugly with his hands all over you…”
“Grim.”
As if only just now remembering his existence, Grim looks up towards his Lord. — “Ye-es?” — he sings, still knuckles deep in his little fawn's torso, happy as can be. Though held down, Mori still squirms around him. He loves when they do that.
The hands grow ever more suffocating, tighter and tighter the more Mori struggles. If only they muted their pain, not just their noise. The Lord does not care for that; he only cares that they won't disturb him any longer. — “Do you mind?”
The Reaper grins. — “No, not at all.”
Mori is certain that Master Grim can hear the Lord's nails softly scrape against his desk as he wills his limbs to crush Mori bit by bit. They know he can see them turning purple, they know he could make this end before their bones break, but they can only hope he will save them eventually. He seems pleased for now just watching them be slowly crushed like this in his lap without him having to even lift a finger.
They whine, more and more desperate. ‘Please, let me go. Please, make him stop. Please, I can do better, I can be better, I can cry and writhe without broken ribs. Let me please you better.’ In the eye that wasn't covered by those dreadful puppet limbs, where they can stare at their Master with absolute horror, they beg him not to let them die yet, because ‘I am more fun alive than dead!’
Finally, finally, Master Grim sighs, and swiftly removes his fingers from the torn open wound. — “Fine, fine,” — he says, smiling as he licks the blood off his claws. — “As you wish.”
Suddenly, the pressure disappears, the hands returning to whatever void they came from, and Mori’s lungs are allowed to expand once more. Disregarding their wretched wheezing and coughing, the Lord merely smiles back, sharp and impassive. — “Much obliged.”
There are more hands grabbing onto them and Mori cries out when they pull them back, position them so they face the ceiling, but they are only Master's hands now, and they are gentle, always gentle when he holds them. He turn their head easily, something like pity in his frown. — “I had said we would have to leave if you were being too loud, hadn't I?”
They shake their head, whispering as if they were still playing, as if a whisper wouldn’t count even if they were; — “p-please, I'll do better, I'd like to try again, Sir, we don't have to go, I-I'll be quiet this time…”
But it's no use. They already lost, and now they have to be punished. They lost, and Master won, and now he gets to take them as his prize. — “Shhh…” — he soothes, sweet like poison when their misty eyes melt and their mouth starts quivering, hiding against his palm, — “none of that now. Do not weep, my sweet dearling, I have you.”
His arms encircle them from below, and now they rise with him, curling around their wounds and holding onto their Master weakly. Mori’s body shakes like a wilted leaf, but they say nothing as Grim holds them close and turns to leave, and whispers, lovingly, in their ear; — “I know a place where we can be as loud as we want.”
He doesn't have to tell them where that is; they knew as soon as the rules were established, so when they start climbing the wooden staircase in the eastern wing, Mori can only close their eyes and let Master Grim carry them off to his bedchamber to collect his reward in utter, muted horror.
Whumpee so used to larger or inhuman whumper carrying them around that when caretaker suggests they go somewhere, they just raise their arms to be picked up.
I was rereading “gift wrapped” and I’m curious! What is the “quiet game” grim plays with Mori…
The 'Quiet Game'
Masterlist
Mori and Grim play a game <3
~2k words
CWs: usual blanket cws for this series (slavery/pet whump, religious themes, nonhuman whumpee/-ers, deity whumpers, creepy/intimate whumper, power dynamics, humiliation, torture, gore, captivity), asphyxiation, abuse, wound fingering, fear, crying, begging, sadistic games, pinned, fear of death, magic whump, general cruelty courtesy of our resident Reaper and his enabler, His Majesty, Mori and Grim are their own TWs when they're together
+ suggestive (?) [i do not know man; you figure out if this is horny or not. It wasnt meant to be but it entirely depends on the readers mood and i think that is beautiful <3]
They breathe long, but not too deep. Shallow, careful breaths, so nothing jostles or pulls. In, then out, in, then out, in —
He opens another one, the cut widening right below their ribcage, and their next exhale comes shuddering. Cut it; that's what they have to do. Cut it off before the gasp evolves into noise. A few seconds of suffocation means a few seconds of perfect silence, so it's good, they can handle that, and once the searing pain ebbs, they can try to breathe again.
The blade shifts, Mori’s hands grasping at anything they can reach in their panic. One hand ends up clutching at their own hair, having hovered helplessly above the afflictive hand of their master for just a moment, while their other forces their own mouth shut. They are watching the dagger sticking out of their torso — they were told to, and rule-breaking always carries punishment, so they do as they're told.
They must watch, and feel, as Master Grim's hand repositions slightly, as his wrist turns and his hold prepares and oh, oh he's twisting, he's twisting the blade now, and Mori has to hold their breath again, their legs moving of their own accord. There is no conscious thought in them as they writhe, lost in the agony of the careful but consistent mangling of their flesh. They do not notice how they latch onto the Reaper's coat sleeve. It's fortunate that not even their instinctual movements dare to fully grab at their assailants anymore.
“Ah-ah-ah,” — Master tuts disapprovingly, — “come now, no cheating — and keep those little hands out of the way before I take them for myself.”
It's so easy to do as he says, but so hard to obey; to keep doing it when all their body wants to do is twist into the couch cushions to hide away from the burning pain every time their hitching lungs jump against the intrusion. Their throat hurts from holding back anything that wants to pass through. Now hurry to catch a couple more gasps before the blade twists further… In, out, in, out-in-out-in-out-in — !
As long as their breathing is controlled, they can continue on. As long as they can swallow down every whimper, every plea, every little morsel of sound that wants to escape and scream out to the world how much it hurts, they can keep playing. If they can last long enough, they can win.
However, their lungs are burning, and it feels more and more like their esophagus will split open from all that pressure that's stuck in there to keep themself from crying out. The next time the knife moves, just before it could fully slide out of their flesh, the tip gets caught and pulls on the raw edge where their skin was torn, and the exhale that leaves them comes dangerously near to forming a pitchy moan. Master heard it, he had to have, his ears are so sharp; they cannot let that happen again.
He hums giddily as he watches them bleed, bringing his blade closer to taste them. In their suffering, they have slid all the way down, now despairing spread across his lap where he fixes them when they worm their way a bit too far. The hand in their hair anchors both their body and their focus. — “Be-ware, be-ware, the maw of spirits’ nocturne grows ni-err, ni-err…” — he sings, hauntingly light. Childhood mischief is not quite what his rendition of the nursery rhyme brings to mind. His eerie singing voice sounds much closer to a spirit’s. — “Where to next?”
Master Grim's imagination paints a picture in which Mori’s body is the map that the lost children must navigate to find shelter from the witching spirits that hunt them. They cannot take long to choose; the children will be caught if they dawdle, so they quickly lift a trembling hand to point to where they want to hurt next.
They choose an old scar just above their hip. That one is long and deep, but it wasn't as bad as it looks, and they know their master loves opening up old wounds. Something about making their old pains newer and binding them to him, so every time they look at them, they remember him instead. In some way, Mori finds this comforting.
It doesn't really matter where they point, they think, because nowhere on their front is there a single patch of skin where getting stabbed would hurt any less — but they know well that there are certainly points their master can find where it hurts worse. Mori has to assume he will be careful not to hit anything that could end the game too early, though the only thing they can go off of is that he aims the blade diagonally, rather slipping it just under their skin, as opposed to impaling them right through their lungs. A mercy, — since they aren't choking on their blood right now, — but a punishment at the same time, because the upper layers of flesh are where an intrusion sears most.
The blade lines up once more and they brace, their teeth grit in preparation. In, out, in, out, in, out… but there is no agony spreading into them. Fearfully they watch as their master plays his knife on their flesh, tickling the roughened scar. He tests the limits of their heart as he lifts it up, then lets it fall with gusto; only for the tip of the blade to stop a hair’s width from their vulnerable belly.
Their twitching brings great amusement to his laugh. — "Breathe, love, breathe…” — he snickers, witnessing the first tear that finally escapes those lovely dark cages. It’s rarely the pain that brings those out; more often than not helplessness and terror are what let the shimmering drops slip. — “If it upsets you so, you can close your eyes instead. I can't scare you like that, can I?”
Worth to keep around slaves act with quick and efficient obedience — but Mori only furrows their brows. ‘Has to be a test; he's taunting me,’ they think, because they were told to keep watching just a little bit ago, so they must keep watching; he’s just trying to catch them slip up. When he sets a hand over their eyes and leads the lids closed, they're powerless to stop it.
The Reaper's claws draw goosebumps as they skate along his little fawn’s body, sliding down the crevasse of their hitching chest, visiting the concave curve of their hollow belly tense and heaving, take a playful loop around their bellybutton, and stop just above where their hair turns thick and becomes soft, precious fur. However, the scar at their hip isn't where his attention returns to.
He teases at the opening below their ribs instead. Circles it softly with one finger, then tests it with two at once, and all Mori can think to do is beg, beg, beg! Be pitiful, be small and sweet, show how good they can be so the torture will end, so their master will be satisfied sooner.
They can stay quiet. They must stay quiet.
“If you are too noisy, we will have to find a more suitable place to play.”
They don't want to go, they don't want to go — so please, no, please — they can hold out, they have to, it hurts, but they have to, but he pushes deeper, stretches their wound wider and — please stop, it hurts, it hurts so much, they can't, mercy, mercy, mercy, mercy — !
Mori screams. They scream and thrash, and the pain doesn't ebb, so they keep crying and sobbing out pleas slotted in-between two apologies for being bad, for disobeying, for ruining the game, for not being able to hold out any longer with the Reaper's lifeless claws mangling them from the inside like this.
Somewhere to the side where a large half-moon desk sits on an elevated island, there is the sound of a pen being returned to the inkwell, and the disgruntled sigh of someone who just had enough of the Reaper's shenanigans. — “Grim.”
The shrieking continues for a while, Mori not any less helpless to stop it, but His Majesty is nothing if not patient, and he knows it will have to stop eventually. That is why he summons hands to hold them still and muffle them, because his ravenous god-friend isn't so patient, and he will not allow for his plaything to be made silent like this by someone else.
Sure enough, the Reaper clicks his tongue in fleeting annoyance. — “So ugly with his hands all over you…”
“Grim.”
As if only just now remembering his existence, Grim looks up towards his Lord. — “Ye-es?” — he sings, still knuckles deep in his little fawn's torso, happy as can be. Though held down, Mori still squirms around him. He loves when they do that.
The hands grow ever more suffocating, tighter and tighter the more Mori struggles. If only they muted their pain, not just their noise. The Lord does not care for that; he only cares that they won't disturb him any longer. — “Do you mind?”
The Reaper grins. — “No, not at all.”
Mori is certain that Master Grim can hear the Lord's nails softly scrape against his desk as he wills his limbs to crush Mori bit by bit. They know he can see them turning purple, they know he could make this end before their bones break, but they can only hope he will save them eventually. He seems pleased for now just watching them be slowly crushed like this in his lap without him having to even lift a finger.
They whine, more and more desperate. ‘Please, let me go. Please, make him stop. Please, I can do better, I can be better, I can cry and writhe without broken ribs. Let me please you better.’ In the eye that wasn't covered by those dreadful puppet limbs, where they can stare at their Master with absolute horror, they beg him not to let them die yet, because ‘I am more fun alive than dead!’
Finally, finally, Master Grim sighs, and swiftly removes his fingers from the torn open wound. — “Fine, fine,” — he says, smiling as he licks the blood off his claws. — “As you wish.”
Suddenly, the pressure disappears, the hands returning to whatever void they came from, and Mori’s lungs are allowed to expand once more. Disregarding their wretched wheezing and coughing, the Lord merely smiles back, sharp and impassive. — “Much obliged.”
There are more hands grabbing onto them and Mori cries out when they pull them back, position them so they face the ceiling, but they are only Master's hands now, and they are gentle, always gentle when he holds them. He turn their head easily, something like pity in his frown. — “I had said we would have to leave if you were being too loud, hadn't I?”
They shake their head, whispering as if they were still playing, as if a whisper wouldn’t count even if they were; — “p-please, I'll do better, I'd like to try again, Sir, we don't have to go, I-I'll be quiet this time…”
But it's no use. They already lost, and now they have to be punished. They lost, and Master won, and now he gets to take them as his prize. — “Shhh…” — he soothes, sweet like poison when their misty eyes melt and their mouth starts quivering, hiding against his palm, — “none of that now. Do not weep, my sweet dearling, I have you.”
His arms encircle them from below, and now they rise with him, curling around their wounds and holding onto their Master weakly. Mori’s body shakes like a wilted leaf, but they say nothing as Grim holds them close and turns to leave, and whispers, lovingly, in their ear; — “I know a place where we can be as loud as we want.”
He doesn't have to tell them where that is; they knew as soon as the rules were established, so when they start climbing the wooden staircase in the eastern wing, Mori can only close their eyes and let Master Grim carry them off to his bedchamber to collect his reward in utter, muted horror.
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✓ Free Actions
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Whumpee breaking down and just begging whumper to love them. Whumpee who would be willing to forgive years of abuse, but whumper doesn't want forgiveness, whumper doesn't love whumpee, they simply love who whumpee could be.
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✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
My mind is bursting with Gothic Whumpers, Detective Whumpees, secret dungeons hidden in the servants quarters, crumbling houses that come alive the moment the sun sets, and ancient curses that can only be broken by the blood of an innocent victim.
Endless loops of twisted love that keep Whumpee trapped yet desperate for more. Whumper drawing Whumpee into their web, first with selfish need, then with painful longing.
Be still, my cold, dead heart.
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✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
