⌗ LETSR1DE: lookin' luxe and tastin' plush, i'm feelin' so alive. want to take it to the highway, come on, let's go for a drive ... a private, dependent blog affiliated with FASTHQ, penned and loved by 𝒙𝒂𝒏 ( she/her ) please do not interact unless a member of the group!
yoo jiha: cherry; street racer for the nariza bois.
¹. stats, ². visage, ³. pinterest, ⁴. intro.
maude avery: hollywood; import model for the rodani prowlers.
¹. stats, ². visage, ³. pinterest, ⁴. intro.
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
「 ₊ ☆ ゚ willow allen, she/her, cis woman 」 INCOMING TEXT: omg hv u met MAUDE AVERY of the RODANI PROWLERS yet? they’re one of the crew’s import models n actually go by HOLLYWOOD. the twenty-six y/o is typically seen hanging arnd aventura mall. allegedly they’re frm buffalo, new york n hv been w/ the crew for EIGHT MONTHS. wtvr. just watch out for them, k? ttyl!
aesthetics ...
a doll imitating a woman imitating a doll, smeared lipstick, your illuminated silhouette at the center of the room, pink bubblegum stuck to the bottom of a stiletto, the purr of an expensive engine underneath your arched back, black spots in your vision after a camera flashes, the acrid smell of blown out candles on a birthday cake, the feeling of somebody else running their fingers through your hair, a collection of phone numbers scrawled across napkins, blooming to life only when you're being looked at, snow angels on the porch of a house you haven't seen in years, vodka inside disposable coffee cups, mascara streaked tears in the back of the taxi, a closet overflowing with previous lives, stranger's hands across your body the only intimacy you've ever known, a cracked compact mirror, only ever booking one way tickets, a bloody nose dripping onto silk camisoles, calls that always go unanswered, the drunken blur of city lights, fingers crossed behind your back when you make a promise.
statistics …
full name. maude avery. meaning of name. of german origin, meaning mighty or powerful. nicknames. mads, hollywood; racing world alias. date of birth & age. october 25th & twenty6. zodiac. scorpio sun, leo moon. gender & pronouns. cis woman & she/her. orientation. bisexual. place of birth. buffalo, new york. ethnicity. inuvialuit. current residence. miami, florida. occupation. former runway model, current import model for the rodani prowlers and waitress. traits. magnetic, determined, innovative, disarming, persuasive; reticent, volatile, possessive, insecure, haughty.
click here for more (tba)!
about …
# partonebuffalo
TW: brief mentions of divorce, emotional abuse, death, and substance abuse.
by the time maude took her very first breath, the illusion of her parent's marriage was already over. they'd married too young, too fast, practically still kids themselves when they'd decided to have one of their own. if her job was to be their band aid, then maude had failed spectacularly, her father packing up for california the dreary december after her third birthday. but being left behind had a silver lining: in need of support, her mother shuffled the two of them onto a plane heading for her hometown across the canadian border. inuvik wasn't lonely or empty the way their home in buffalo had become. there she played freely, felt loved, cushioned by a culture her grandparents worked hard to pass down. every visit had maude dreading the inevitable return to new york, and every return had her counting down the days until she'd be back in the arctic again. for a while, she lived suspended in her two worlds— until her mother fell in love again.
a bigwig banker from downtown, this time. nothing like your father is what her mother would say, but what did those words mean to maude when all she'd ever known of the man who created her was the birthday cards he'd kept mailing for the last decade? she was only thirteen, too young to understand the way history was repeating, even when her mother came home from one date night with a ring on her finger. he moved in the next day, the man who smiled in a way that twisted her stomach even then when he said call me stepdad, words that should have been a question delivered as a clear demand. his first of many, maude would realize, but what power did a teenage girl really have, anyway? she could only watch as he rearranged their lives the way he'd rearranged their furniture, erasing pieces of her mother bit by bit as he did it.
the wave of resentment building inside her heart broke a little after the autumn she'd turned sixteen. finally back in inuvik after two years of not visiting, the longest her mother and she had ever gone since maude was three, maude thought maybe her luck was changing. it was on her stepdad's insistence the trip had even happened. stay positive, her grandmother had whispered, wiping the tears she'd only ever let loose in front of the older woman. but at dinner that night came the news that would shatter the last bits of serenity she had. her mother was pregnant, and this would be their last trip to inuvik. i have to focus on my family is what her mother would tell her later, to which an inconsolable maude had pleaded then what am i? the day the three of them flew back to buffalo, she tore through her room like a hurricane in search of two things: her father's phone number, and the crumpled-up card of the modeling agency that her stepfather had made her swear to throw away.
# parttwonewyorkcity
starting a new life should have been terrifying. she was an angel dropped into the concrete jungle, a girl forced into the role of a woman long before she became one. modeling was like nothing maude had ever experienced before, and new york city was nothing like buffalo. maybe it was naive to think her intentions could remain uncorrupted, that she could earn enough money to fly back and live with her grandparents the way she'd promised her father she would when he'd agreed to sign off on the parental consent her agency needed— because temptation was everywhere, and freedom was sickly sweet. she gorged herself on it those first two years, every indulgence a crack of purity. you can have it all, maude. every faceless photographer promised, every seasoned model swore it, every dollar she earned made her believe it. and being looked at? it was a drug more potent than anything she could try at a lofty manhattan penthouse house party. it was electrifying; and it was all hers.
fashion wasn't something she'd been interested in beyond the vague way many little girls who'd grown up playing dress-up were. modeling changed that. she fell in love with the clothes, and the designers fell in love with her. misplaced desperation made for a hell of a work ethic. the higher maude rose, the further she grew from the promise that'd first brought her to the city. she was a swan shedding her downy feathers, a snake growing into her new skin. inuvik was the distant fantasy land inside a child's imagination, and she'd outgrown her princess crown, had bartered it away for runways and billboards, a trade she could convince herself was fair the deeper she ingrained herself into this new world. because among the grit, there was comfort, too. opulence like she'd never had before.
maybe she'd been too greedy. maybe she'd mistaken her luck for something she was allowed to keep, unbeknownst of the ticking clock that ran beneath it. the reality was somewhat less poetic— in an effort to outrun everything and everyone that had a hand in crafting the fabric of her being, she'd ended up just like her mother at the mercy of a man ready to set fire to her waxen wings. a designer who'd long lauded her as his muse, who could slam every single one of the doors she'd worked hard to open up back shut if he so wanted to, who never met a shiny thing he didn't want to lock away forever. the turbulence was no longer entrancing; the wool was only lifted from her eyes when the beartrap was about to snap shut and saw her legs clean off. it was her last fashion show, and her most memorable one while it lasted, before the thrall of beautifully confused models in vandalized designs was shuffled away from a crowd of hungry eyes. every piece of clothing ruined, her imprint everywhere. and maude did what she new best: she ran away.
# partthreemiami
miami is chosen on a whim, on blurred memories of a trip she can hardly remember. more enticing was the fact that it was as far as she could get the fastest and cheapest. ten years is packed into one suitcase, mostly clothes and shoes, a designer bag she pawns the same day her plane touches down. but miami is nothing like new york city; it's too hot, too unforgiving, barren and absent of hands to prop her up, even if those same hands longed to exploit her. there was no going back to buffalo, where the brother she'd never met was almost old enough to run out of fingers to count his age with. there was no going back to inuvik, where the winter after she'd turned twenty-three had claimed the lives of two cousins and her grandfather. there was only this new city, this new life. maude would make it work; it didn't matter what it took.
by the time she finds the prowlers, she'd almost made it a year on her own. modeling of any kind was a welcome relapse, like returning back to a favorite drug after a long stint at sobriety. the rest is still foreign to her. cars, racing, rivalry— the words don't mean much, yet the people make her curious. the stability makes her nauseous. but the attention? the attention strokes that old hunger, igniting like the rev of an engine, the kind that promises there's still more to take, that maybe her wings haven't been clipped, after all.
personality & tidbits …
the human embodiment of a matryoshka doll. you think you're getting to know her, that you've peeled back a layer, only to realize you'll never hit her center. this is less because she's reticent (though trust me, she is!) and more because maude kinda has no idea who the hell she is anymore.
earned herself the alias HOLLYWOOD once people caught onto the fact she used to be a pretty successful model after they kept finding her pictures in magazines. she treats it like a big joke, but deep down she kinda hates being reminded of everything she lost. deeply appreciates that being a runaway runway model is of little consequence in the racing world, at least.
hasn't been loyal to a single person since she was sixteen, and is only vaguely working on it. i kinda imagine this is the first time since then she's been in a place where loyalty is not only valued, but also reflected. she doesn't know what to do with all that, though!
pretty and she knows it 🙂↕️ flirting is her default, even when she doesn't want you, maybe especially when she doesn't want you. sometimes she treats it like a game, seeing how many people she can get to want her. very much that one "cleo’s like a cat...she can touch you, but you can’t touch her. that’s her thing” quote from cleopatra and frankenstein.
never learned how to drive! wanted connection perhaps since i feel like she kinda has to now, even if she'll do everything in her power to avoid it.
half her closet is still designer from her model days, and she will unabashedly walk into publix in a blumarine dress like so, like she isn't barely scraping by as the world's shittiest waitress when she's not import modeling for the prowlers.
has a pair of traditional innuit mittens her grandmother made her that she sleeps with underneath her pillow even now.
thats enough here bc i just know she's gonna change once i start writing her...
wanted connections …
the thought of typing ideas after all this made me want to kms i will be so real LSNDLWNDLWD but know i love to be silly and crazy....and that i trust u all to let me unleash that & to let yourselves unleash that onto me <3
「 ₊ ☆ ゚ bae ganghee, she / her, cis woman 」 INCOMING TEXT: omg hv u met YOO JIHA of the NARIZA BOIS yet ? they’re one of the crew’s street racers n actually go by CHERRY. the twenty - five y/o is typically seen hanging arnd coyote casino. allegedly they’re frm seoul, south korea n hv been w/ the crew for THREE YEARS. wtvr. just watch out for them, k ? ttyl !
𝐚𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 ...
glittery eyeshadow and yesterday's mascara, the sound of an engine revving in the dead of night, cardboard boxes of memories with the words do not open scrawled across them, watermelon flavored bubblegum, bedazzled gas station lighters marked with a j, the drunken feeling of connectedness underneath the neon lights of a nightclub, the first thunderstorm of the year, the fear that gnaws when you feel somebody losing interest, butterflies in your stomach when you take things too far, tying cherry stems as a party trick, the sound of police sirens feeling as familiar as a lullaby, loose cigarettes and a switchblade at the bottom of a metallic pink shoulder bag, still tucking cash underneath your mattress in habit, the headrush when you realize somebody wants to kiss you, sticking your entire head out the window of a speeding car, the tinkling sounds of a slot machine, nightmares of being back in your childhood home .
𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 …
full name. yoo jiha . meaning of names. JI, of korean origin, meaning wisdom. AH, of korean origin, meaning beautiful or elegant. nicknames. cherry; racing alias. date of birth & age. may 11th & twenty5. zodiac. taurus sun, aries moon. gender & pronouns. cis woman & she/her. orientation. bisexual. place of birth. seoul, south korea. ethnicity. korean. current residence. miami, florida. occupation. street racer & blackjack dealer at coyote casino. traits. confident, independent, loyal, passionate, lively; stubborn, reckless, unforgiving, competitive, impatient.
click here for more (tba)!
𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 …
# 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙤𝙣𝙚𝘬𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘢
( click for recommended paired reading ) TW: very brief mentions of organized crime, guns, blood, and death.
it comes quickly, the moment jiha's parents are knocked off the idealistic pedestals of childhood in her mind. she never knew her mother— there was no goodbye letter to cling to, no stories passed down from her father, just a resounding emptiness where the woman should have been. and her father...a revolving door of strange men with guns hidden under their waistbands, with loud voices and even louder screams, with blood dripping across kitchen tiles and soaking into hardwood floors. my daddy the doctor was replaced by something too big for a little girl to wrap her head around, but still, jiha knew. while her older brother was pulled under the tide of the lifestyle of a back alley doctor ( doctor graves, they called her father ), it seemed like all jiha did was stay as far away as she could from that world. she hated being home and the thought of witnessing somebody's dying breath, hated the metal glint of her father's operating tools. distractions came easily when there was no one setting rules or watching her every move the way most parents would have. she found camaraderie with the neighborhood kids, feeling solace at the sense of normalcy their company provided, though periodically that solace was wiped away once concerned parents scolded their children for befriending the reaper's kid. it was easier in her teenage years; love opened up a world of possibilities for her, and she all but lived at the skatepark or her boyfriend's house at fourteen. the crowd she fell into was questionable, at best, but what else could be expected? only criminals could stomach the daughter of one.
at fifteen her world is flipped upside down when her father gets arrested. jiha was terrifed she might lose her brother, too, with all of gunwoo's involvement, but the relief she felt at his perceived innocence was shattered by the forced lifestyle change. shipped away to an aunt who never wanted them and far from the familiar chaos of seoul, jiha and her brother found themselves in the countryside with unfamiliar and stifling rules to follow. it was an odd time for jiha, who felt some relief being away from the childhood home haunted by the men on her father’s operating table, yet suffocated by the overwhelming loneliness she felt being away from everything she’d known for fifteen years. while her brother escaped the monotony for street races in the city, jiha's own journey behind the wheel began with cruising down empty country roads toward what felt like the edge of the world at that time. driving was an escape, but her brother had made it into a way to earn money. every bill sent in her direction was hastily shoved underneath her mattress. she'd find a way out, jiha told herself, the sentiment getting more desperate once gunwoo left for japan. that was when she started frequenting his old stomping grounds, the circle consisting of the wrong type of crowd one she couldn't shake ( much to her aunt's distress ). she was still just a kid in those days, seventeen and hungry in a way that the racing scene knew how to nurture. want to try driving? words she'd never forget, even if her first race is a blur. it didn't take much to draw her in after that— a compliment from the racer she was seeing, and the rush of adrenaline she'd spend the rest of her life chasing was enough.
# 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙩𝙬𝙤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴
she's nineteen when her world shifts again, familiar but different. the brother that had been growing increasingly distant up and disappeared from her life. it's then that jiha can't stand even the briefest talk of family, the word ringing synonymous with abandonment in her head. she's still racing, but there's a desperation even the toughest of tracks can't stifle stirring within her. when she overhears a conversation about gunwoo leaving to the states, jiha doesn't waste much time before she follows to the first place she thinks to look: los angeles. she's more stray dog than girl that first year, curling up at the feet of the first person to show her just the right amount of attention, ready to bite the hands whoever calls her good girl tells her to. she has no concept of crews or rivalries, naturally falling into the orbit of whoever she fills her time with, mistaking loyalty to a team to mean loyalty to her. jiha actually stops racing cars for a bit, sidestepping into a new world of motorcycles and sport bikes. higher stakes, they tell her, as if that wasn't exactly what she was searching for, like her eyes didn't light up for it. she was a star on the path of explosion, but that wasn't what it felt like. so what if she had been left behind? she could convince herself it didn't matter in the moments she could've died scraping the pavement in a daring turn, or when she was going so fast it felt like her heart was ready to leap out of her chest. but old cycles can't seem to let her go— in fighting with the crew she'd surrounded herself with resulted in the familiar sting of abandonment. people she thought cared to stay by her side would leave again, the thrill of the race forever the more appealing option, no matter what the cost. whispers of a racer in miami going by reaper find her at a vulnerable time. and perhaps it's sentimentality, clinging hard and strong since girlhood, refusing to burn out and die, that has her packing her bags again.
# 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚𝘮𝘪𝘢𝘮𝘪
it's 2004 when she starts over. miami marks a shift in her life, one that has her revisiting what made her fall in love with racing in the first place— cars. when the nariza bois find her, she's not the lost puppy she was in los angeles. the hunger to prove herself, her reckless abandon, the reflexes she'd picked up from racing motorbikes, all of it adds to her appeal. the bonus? her brother's racing for the rodani prowlers, and there's nothing jiha wouldn't do to see him lose. you're alone in this world, remember that. the mantra she whispers to herself before bed, the one she tries so desperately to remember and expect, lest old wounds eat away at her completely. but three years is a long time; like ivy, the hope crawls its way over her, the feeling like maybe she could belong here growing louder and louder each day. it's only natural, searching for the family she never had in the crew she surrounds herself with, though jiha would never admit it. you can't teach an old dog new tricks.
𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 & 𝐭𝐢𝐝𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬 …
jiha's been on a bit of a #Personality journey. when she was younger and had first gotten into racing, and especially after her brother's abandonment, it was like there was a void inside of her she couldn't fill with anything ( and boy did she try ). it's actually how she earned herself the alias CHERRY; a comment on how she was pretty on the outside, but there was something darker lurking underneath. she was a people pleaser to an insane degree, meaning she'd do absolutely anything someone who was giving her just enough attention asked. definitely not the healthiest person to date, or befriend, even despite jiha wanting to do anything to make other people happy and want to stick around. definitely got herself into some messes back in los angeles ( wanted connections perhaps? 👀 ) the way she was acting when she lived there.
she's definitely mellowed out in the last few years! still has very real abandonment issues that like to manifest in all her relationships ( platonic or not ), but at least she's aware of them now 😭 the anger towards her brother she used to misplace is now very much only directed at him, which kind of gave her a freedom to figure herself out in a way? if that makes sense. i think she feels like she wasted so much of her time fixated on it that nowadays she just wants to enjoy herself and find happiness in whatever way pleases her.
she's a daredevil! has no real sense of self-preservation, although she's been lucky so far and hasn't really needed to develop it. is that one friend you're happy to join in on their chaos until you get into a situation and realize woah maybe she's kind of crazy actually...doesn't often put others in danger, though, or at least not on purpose. is in fact crazy.
is also that one friend that does NOT know how to be alone. when she's seeing someone, she has options b, c, d, e, f, all lined up and ready to go. a serial dater, a shameless flirt, and a commitment-phobe to the highest degree which is insanely hypocritical of her considering she's slashed tires for being ghosted before. perpetually stuck in a can't be left if i leave them first mentality. did i mention she has abandonment issues?
the only thing she likes more than a race is a party. a frequent clubgoer, but that's more because she looooves to dance than because she wants to be sloshed 24/7. does in fact enjoy getting sloshed, though, when the occasion's right ( and it often is! it's miami in 2007, after all... )
she's a blackjack dealer at the coyote casino 😎 i imagine they tried to recruit her to be a bottle girl at first, because she was always hanging around and looking cute, but she got upgraded pretty quick due to how much customers liked her energy. definitely loves a gamble herself ( hello roulette ) but likes betting on races even more.
what she hates? losing. at absolutely anything, no matter how trivial. she's not the type to blow up and cause a scene, but every failure does in fact feel like the absolute end of the world since she still harbors that desperation to prove herself. is prone to falling into old habits when she's feeling the sting of a loss, particularly the version of herself lost and angry with the world, but she's usually quick to snap out of it. if you acknowledge this she will act like you're crazy and imagined it #gaslight because she's embarrassed😔
is amazing in an emergency. there's not much that could make her panic, or even really worry. doesn't scare easily, considering the things she grew up seeing and hearing.
extremely reticent to talk about her past, especially when it comes to family. the topic of her brother gunwoo is the biggest sore spot of all, and a grudge she very obviously carries, even if she's not so ready to confess the details of it. still, one of the items of clothes you'll see her sporting, even more than the nariza bois' jacket, is a worn leather one her brother left behind.
absolutely hates the beach yet owns more bikinis than fit in her wardrobe. these are also part of her usual daily attire ( mainly a bikini top in lieu of a real one ), much to the dismay of many a miami restaurant. she's got a phobia of deep water, especially the ocean, and only now warmed up to the idea of swimming pools in her twenties, although she never learned how to swim.
a chronic smoker since she was probably twelve and bumming cigarette butts off the ground with the rest of the neighborhood hooligans. is constantly saying she'll quit, but no one ever really believes her.
drives a pink ferrari f40! some of the cutesy fun mods are the heart-shaped steering wheel and heart-shaped tire details. as for everything else, well...she spends a lot of time at nariza auto, and gives the mechanics free range to experiment and deck the shit out of her car. one of her favorite things about joining the nariza bois has been how much passion they have for the actual cars and all the things you can do to them. jiha will listen to any one of the nariza bois geek out about mods any day and has a deep admiration for the mechanics.
her racing style is that she doesn't really have one. truly, every race couldn't be more different from the last for jiha, which both impresses and frustrates the shit out of her teammates. on one hand she's unpredictable; and it makes whoever she's racing against struggle to prepare themselves for what she may or may not do. on the other hand, not everything she does works 100% of the time. sometimes she'll lose catastrophically—but the freedom is what makes the wins worth it.
𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 …
watch this space ... i fear i've written a novel so maybe i'll update this later but here are some very very loose ideas: regulars at her blackjack table ( bonus points if they belong to the rodani prowlers ), people who knew her in her la days ( for better or for worse ), people to fill the sibling sized hole in her heart ( bonus point for older brother figures, especially if they belong to the nariza bois, and double bonus if they have some sort of beef with her actual brother ), hookups flings situationships exes ( and lots of them ... lord knows she's been in miami long enough to have a roster ), a roommate or two ( im on my knees begging ), friends, enemies, ... frenemies ? ( hello doomed romeo and juliet coded friendship with someone from the rodani prowlers ), anything and everything you can think of! u will see more specific rambly plot ideas once i enter ur dms ... and that's a threat 🔪
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
“Cunning, moreish, and borderline manic-depressive, she had a way of teetering on the edge of things, of effortlessly laughing off faux pas or changing the rules to a game midway, never falling herself but leading you off a cliff. She was willful, playful, stubborn, and frank. Coy in her warmth, and sly in her openness. She used her beauty as a weapon and rendered sex a competitive sport. Most concerningly, her spurts of wild ebullience - her utterly outrageous youth - masked a disciplined mind that no one besides him seemed able to see.”
open to anyone, set at track - one after monday’s race …
not a win for reign, but three narizas on top. not the worst outcome. edel stretches like a content housecat as he steps out of his car, a picture of relaxation despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins. “ not a bad race. what do you think ? ”
discontentment is an unfamiliar itch, the hands that used to grip the wheel with no care where she'd land shaking at her sides before jiha presses them tightly against her thighs. dark head whips up at edel's voice, eyes narrowing in equal parts suspicion and accusation at the source of her frustration. “is that a trick question?”
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
ᯓ “ 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙸𝚂 𝙷𝙾𝚆 𝙸𝚃'𝚂 𝙳𝙾𝙽𝙴, ” xander boasts. it may not have been the gold, but it's third from last, which is at least something. “ what? no congratulations for that brilliant drive? ”
"sorry, did i miss something? pretty sure raven placed first." a bitterness not usually reserved for her own crew lingers in the curve of her syllables, the sound of it startling her, dark eyes blinking slow. she'd been in a mood since sloane's accident, and while her own placement at 7th had nothing to do with that, it certainly did nothing to fix her acerbic nature, either. jiha pauses, silence thick, as she racks her head for something nice to say. "guess you didn't look too much like a rookie out there this time." she couldn't quite stomach the congratulations, but it was the best they'd get.
for cherry, set at coyote casino …
set some time around 6pm during the showcase.
gwen made a promise to herself tonight – don’t let anyone ruin the fun. and that promise would be so much easier to keep if her eyes weren’t immediately set upon yoo jiha. it figures. coyote casino is where whatever they had once had was started, where it was finished. her fingerprints are everywhere, the memories hidden in every corner; all of it, unavoidable. “ oh good ! ” she shouts out to call the girl’s attention over to her. “ i was almost worried you’d let me have some fuckin’ fun tonight ! glad to know ya haven’t given up on ruinin’ everything. ” the grin she wears is sharp, a dare. when her eyes fall over jiha what is antagonism without a little attraction ? gwen has to cross her arms over her chest – that wall going back up as a reminder: as fun as this sort of game is, jiha knows how to play too well. it isn’t worth it to try again.
she couldn't have been more in her element if she tried. a room packed with warm bodies, the familiar backdrop of the casino, and an impressive display of fixed-up cars— it was like dropping a kid in the middle of a candy store and telling them to have at it. the only thing missing? a generous bump or two in a bathroom stall, although jiha had no doubt that would come sooner rather than later. what she didn't account for was the voice that brings her right out of her reverie, not because the greeting is unpleasant (it is), but simply because of how well she recognizes the person it belongs to. there's a choice to make in those next few seconds, and it's undoubtedly the wrong one as she spins on her heels to rack the other with a once over that lingers just a little longer than it should, a resentful indulgence. the tattoo only partially concealed by the leather micro shorts slung low on her hipbones burns. eyes catch on gwen's crossed arms, and it draws a curt snort from her glossed lips. “don't sell yourself short. you're good at ruining things all by yourself, m'sure any regular in this place can attest to that.” her head cocks to the side in an arrogant gesture as jiha takes a step closer, glittered cheekbones catching the light, a spark warning of a stronger blaze to be provoked. “what, the shiny toys aren't enough to do it for you, you need my attention, too?”
the fear lies in the certainty of being an easy mark. sloane knows her own weaknesses. her nana and her ma might've been strong enough to resist the temptation and cajoling of people who only want to sap up your money and leave you dry, but sloane's always been more like her pa when it comes to stuff like this; soft and pliable.
jiha tugs them towards a roulette table. it was a losing game from the start, sloane had already swapped her hard earned cash for chips the first time she walked in. easy mark, as she said.
“would you love me less for bein' a scaredy cat?” sloane flutters her lashes a little and pouts, an expression that got her out of trouble more times than she could count as a kid. it's maybe a little less effective now that she's an adult.
“ah, well, since we are celebratin'... 'n i suppose one game won't kill me...” they come to a stop at the table, sloane trying to make sense of all the numbers on the board and the roulette wheel by the dealer. she has no idea where to start. “you're gonna have to walk me through this, angel.”
jiha has a creeping suspicion, once sloane bats her eyes, that the most dangerous and tempting thing inside that casino is right by her side. it's enough to make her laugh, undoubtedly charmed by her friend in the way she imagines most who spend more than five minutes with the mechanic were. “you know i wouldn't. besides,” she shrugs, a conspiratorial glimmer reflecting in her dark irises as she takes the other in, eyes roving over seraphic features like they're clued in on a secret she won't share. “this place should be scared of you.” sloane's concession strikes the same selfish delight jiha's carried since childhood, forever pleased with getting her way, like a devil being promised a new soul. it was usually the other way around for the pair: the racer with the hunger to learn, the mechanic with the knowledge to give it. she points at squares on the edges of the colored black and red ones. “for starters, there are two types of bets in roulette. an outside bet, an inside bet, or you can do both.” she tosses a chip onto black, and another on even. “outside bets are broader. black or red, odd or even, high or low. you can bet on groups of twelve numbers. inside bets,” jiha explains, gesturing to the colored squares, “can be individual numbers, or split between groups of two, four, or six numbers. you can bet on zeros, too, which is fun.” another chip placed, the casual afterthought of a seasoned gambler, this time on the green double zero space. “then you just watch the wheel spin and see what happens. piece of cake, really.”
jack gilbert between aging and old / dog years halsey / analicia sotelo bitch instinct / jean valentine isn’t there something / jane grealy puppy with a stick / lincoln saint bernard / kate baer to take back a life
the claim has their lips pursing forward followed by a curious tilt of their head. they had followed the engine diagram in the book to a tee ( they think ) at jiha’s last tune up. if it was making that noise surely they would have noticed before giving it to the racer … right ? welllll … they may have been trying to not so secretly eavesdrop on a nearby mechanic and model while elbows deep in the engine. it sounded like a spicy break up ! can you blame them ? “ oh ! you got like top five right ? so it totally must be fine! “ punctuating their words with a click of their nails on the hood, “ maybe just turn on the radio real loud when you drive ? won’t hear a thing then ! “ at the next accusation their arms are raising taking a step back. novel note #38 : racers are real touchy about their cars. “ i mean … i can give it another look? “ eyes peer back at the engine,“ — can ya leave it here over night ? “
her eye practically twitches as nova drums their fingertips atop metal. jiha opens her mouth, but for a minute she's too dumbfounded to speak. how the hell nova had slipped through the cracks and landed themself a spot on the crew, she really couldn't fathom. “your job is quite literally to fix shit,” she says, every word overemphasized by the grit of her teeth. her hands fly up to rub the temples that nurse a headache she didn't have just a few precious minutes ago. and then— a sigh, barely audible, defeated in nature, escapes past her lips. “yeah, fine, i'll leave it. but if you touch my fucking car again without someone actually competent supervising…” the threat hangs unsaid between them, though the hard flex of her jaw shows just how much jiha means it. her eyes soften a fraction, but her voice stays devoid of warmth. “there are a lot of really smart, crazy fucking talented mechanics that work here. so just do everyone a favor and start paying attention to them.”
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
setting . somewhere on the stack, still on the road but off to the side. two cars sprawled somewhere they shouldn't be a few days after the first sanctioned '07 race.
monday's race still rings too clear. there’s an incessant pounding just behind their ears, faster than even the erratic heartbeat threatening to escape their chest. even now, eighteenth, eighteenth, eighteenth. dead last, roars too loud. it’s louder than the sudden hiss of their brakes, and the spin that follows, and everything else that comes after. snap. they rip the seatbelt off. another beat, and the door’s pulled open thoughtlessly. the stomp of tania’s feet echoes on the concrete. slam. door shut again. the force of it rings — just like monday’s race. the roaring is still too loud, too much, too eager to spill into the snarl tania wears on their mouth. it’s no longer about monday.
they’re yanking jiha by the neckline of her shirt before they can register anything else. that’s the next thing they remember. ask them if they know how they crossed the distance, and the answer is everything’s a blur until they’re slamming her back against the side of her car. there’s a mark on max, a long gash of light silver over the side. jiha put it there when she knocked into them. fourth place on monday; nariza bois’ very own cherry. what a fucking joke when she can’t even keep it clean on the road. “can’t race today, can you?” tania sneers. something else pounds on the back of their head. it’s louder than anger. “playing bumper cars on the streets and you think your lucky fourth place makes you better than me.”
they lean in. too close. like this, they can see how long the lashes falling over jiha’s eyes are. tania doesn’t pull back. “should’ve braked harder and sent you spinning out.”
she was six years old the first time she saw a man bleed to death. a child's game of hide and seek ushered in the loss of her innocence, and brought along an awareness of her mortality with it. death had never been a stranger for as long as jiha could remember; it lived with her in her childhood home, an extension of her father's shadow. it was hard to fear the familiar— maybe that could explain it, the lack of self-preservation she possessed, the clearest manifestation always presenting itself when she was racing, like she really was trying to meet that old friend again. there's a split second when it feels like she might. there's a split second where she almost doesn't hit the brakes, where she let's her car slam fully into tania's instead. the white-knuckled grip on her steering wheel falters as her arms shake from the adrenaline, her heart leaping into her throat.
the world that had gone fuzzed at the edges rears back into focus the moment jiha steps out of her car, but it's not the rush of the cool spring air, nor the confirmation she was, in fact, still alive that does it. it's how tania grips her by her shirt, and the slam of her exposed skin against the smooth metal of her ferrari. “can't handle it? you're already a loser— didn't peg you for a coward, too.” it's the gnash of a cornered animal, the ragged breaths shared between them drowning out the sound of her own voice. thoughtlessly, her eyes dip down to the rapid rise and fall of their chest, and for a moment she's overtaken by the sudden overwhelming urge to mark the other the way she had their car, to sink her teeth and not let go. and then tania's leaning in, and jiha's gaze snaps back up to meet theirs, a warning flashing beneath the darkness. “typical fucking prowler. you're all empty threats you'd never dare carry out on the track. and for what, some bullshit semblance of morality? at least i don't pretend to be something i'm not.” she's yelling now, canines snapping in anger, in hunger, in something she has no name for.
when jiha reaches out, it's with the intention to shove tania off of her. instead, her fingers wrap around their throat, feeling the way the other's pulse flutters beneath her grip, firm like she was locking them in place. “if you want to kill me,” she starts, the sound of it a running motor, a feline purr emanating from deep within her chest. “there are better ways.” the breath that separates them is closed, the lung of a wild thing, lips meeting theirs in way that's more bite than kiss.
yesterday’s defeat clings to him, sour and relentless. but eric couldn't beat him. rome couldn't either. and if gunwoo couldn’t claim the real victory, he’d take the small ones. the bitter scraps of triumph that kept him from locking himself away, from dragging himself into the dark, unlit corridors of his mind. instead, he let the casino call to him, let the neon lights bleed into his skin, let the roulette wheels spin his loss. gunwoo barely spares jiha a glance at first. just a slow blink, pupils blown wide, head tipped back against the red velvet of the booth like he’s a king at the end of a bloodied reign. the weight of her words rolls off him like dice on the table — unlucky, but expected. of fucking course she'd rub it in. he drags a hand over his face. fingers lingering at his temple like he's nursing a headache, or just buying himself time. “ guess that makes you the big dog now, yeah ? ” laughter bursts from him, boisterous like a mad king who still believes his crown is in tact.
he finally looks at her then, sharp eyes raking over her. jiha looks alive —flushed with victory, with whatever hunger keeps her gnawing at his heels like she’ll die if she doesn’t win. he recognizes it because it's his too. that hunger. that need. the deck flickers between his fingers, edges whispering against his skin, a familiar habit sharpened by years of bad decisions. “ since you’re feeling so high and mighty, ” he muses, tapping the deck against the table, “ why don’t we make this interesting ? you walked out of that race with a nice little payday, didn’t you ? ” his smirk is a gambler’s tell, a split-second flicker before the cards turn cold. “ how about we put it to good use ? your winnings, my last scraps. winner takes all. ”
he may be the one wearing the fur, but it's jiha who bares her teeth. together they paint a tragic picture: her, the stray he'd abandoned six years ago standing at attention by his feet, him, the companion still no more eager to dole out the acknowledgement she hates herself for needing. it's like she didn't even speak, the blank stare he fixes her with drawing on some of that canine violence, urging her to bite. he didn't get to ignore her, not tonight when she'd beat him, her victory sweetened by the shared knowledge that this had been his sport first. she watches him as he laughs and for a moment something like pity pangs inside her chest at the wild sound of it, the kind one might feel when regarding a crazed animal, fearing for the day the hunter comes searching with a shotgun. “we may share blood—” the words are spat like a curse, bitterness overruling the convoluted concoction of emotions being in her older brother's presence always brought along. “—but i certainly don't share your fucking delusion.” a half-truth, but she'll pretend otherwise, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her shrink under his jeer.
it's worse when he finally does look at her, gaze like a predator sizing up whether she could be considered an equal, notably devoid of the things jiha still wishes she'd see reflected in the dark abyss of his irises. guilt, pride, familiarity, love. emotions born from an older brother, not a racer from a rival crew. and yet…it's still a kind of acknowledgment, isn't it? even if it's not what she wants, it's more than he's given her in years. starve a dog long enough and it learns to live off the scraps. “fine.” the concession leaves her lips easier than she would have liked, though her voice still carries a cool confidence, practiced indifference steeling her expression save for the eyes that can't help but glitter at the thrill of a gamble. if jiha was paying closer attention, maybe she would have seen it, the thread that still bonds them together. two sides of the same cracked coin; two cars unwilling to yield to the other. “when you lose to me again, try not to trash the place during your pity party.”