THEY’RE GOING * FOR SPEED .ᐟ gwen koufie ⋆ twenty-two ⋆ nariza mechanic ⋆ she/her. ezekiel jet lim ⋆ twenty-five ⋆ rodani racer ⋆ he/him. nico valentin ⋆ twenty-five ⋆ rodani model ⋆ he/they. urban waritsara ⋆ twenty-five ⋆ nariza racer ⋆ he/him.

Janaina Medeiros

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@dis7ance
THEY’RE GOING * FOR SPEED .ᐟ gwen koufie ⋆ twenty-two ⋆ nariza mechanic ⋆ she/her. ezekiel jet lim ⋆ twenty-five ⋆ rodani racer ⋆ he/him. nico valentin ⋆ twenty-five ⋆ rodani model ⋆ he/they. urban waritsara ⋆ twenty-five ⋆ nariza racer ⋆ he/him.
closed for @letsr1de.
urban waritsara, in all his years of hard partying and troublemaking, has perfected the swift exit. first, you collect your comrades: grab hands, pick a meeting spot, whatever it takes to ensure everyone gets out before they're thrown out or worse. then, you fucking leave. “ hey, if anyone asks, we were never here. ”
closed for @solacesent.
he holds out his hand – it's silly, yes, but when has nico been one to care ? the music isn't loud, but still rattles his bones pleasantly. the song playing is not too slow, not too fast, the perfect tempo to sway too. “ will you dance with me ? i promise not to step on your feet ! ”
closed for @m2dding.
there is very little that really, truly bothers gwen koufie; this is one of them. the telltale signs of annoyance are there – her twitching fingers, pursed lips, and most of all: “ if you say that again, i will make a scene. ”
closed for @dr1ving.
nico eyes the exit, hands stuffed into the worn pockets of his jacket. a permanent bump has formed there from the way he pushes and pulls at the fabric when he's antsy. “ hey, ” he calls. “ wanna get out of here ? ”
closed for @tiremarks.
“ do you ever stop talking ? ” the words come out before jet even really thinks them – overwhelmed, angry, nerves frayed down to thread by the incessant chatter that follows him everywhere around miami. “ seriously. it's like none of you know how to stop. ”
if fast was in 2026 + jet’s account under the cut
❝ practicing what? getting dragged to hell? ❞ empty space hangs where laughter should be. she's too busy playing a one-sided staring contest to sell the bit. a scowl etches its way across her features when he doesn't turn back after a millisecond — which bothers her more, leaves her feeling like stray dog begging for scraps. an irritated huff, then she's shouldering her way between him in the car. knees hit his drivers seat without pause, before she can talk herself out of it, then she's over his console. theatrics end with her shrinking into his passenger seat. an echo of her earlier self; ❝ well? get in the fuckin' car. ❞
before he can even bother to take the bait, rise to her challenge, try to tease back – she's in his car. clambering over the center console, into his passenger seat, turning to look at him like this is normal. like she isn't … “ get in the fucking – ” his face screws up in disbelief. “ you're telling me to get in my own fucking car ? ” and even though he keeps muttering, something about bossy and didn't even ask and what's the point of this anyway he climbs into the driver's seat she had just unceremoniously crawled over. his hands land on the wheel, knuckles going white from the tight grip he holds. “ well ? what exactly was your plan? ”
the scene that unfolds before her is borderline grotesque in its familiarity. the desperate urge to escape your own shortcomings, to get out in whatever way you can. she’s likely sadistic in the satisfaction it brings. it’s impossible to ignore, winds up her spine in a warm slither like the snake of eden itself. her presence is noticed before she’s as close as she wants to be— but it doesn’t stop her. shoes stir up loose gravel as she walks closer. a hand curls around his arm, hesitant in the decision to pull or push. ❝ dunno. some asshole decided to lay down and die on the track — what else would i be lookin’ at? ❞ hand wraps tighter, blood running hot at the idea of leaving the red outline of her fingertips. ❝ get up. ❞
his skin scalds under her hand, a hot wave of shame crashing over him. he feels small. it's so fucking embarrassing. jet gets to his feet before yanking his arm away, stepping away from her like a tantruming child. it's petty, but jet allows himself that much. it's at least less effort than snarling, snapping his teeth at her, all blustering anger and cruelty until she turns her face from him, no longer sees him. does she see the way his skin has burned from her touch ? “ i wasn't dying. i'm just… ” the words die in his throat before they even fully form. what does he want from her ? comiseration ? “ i was practicing. you interrupted me. ”
★ open starter 4 prowlers n narizas .
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤstressed baseball cap on , worn out bag too big for her own good hanging tight on shoulder , visibly ragged grey sweatpants stained with old oil spills sitting low on hips & a so , so very suspicious box held by its grip . bubblegum is smacked loudly . where is it you are headed , miss little bling riding hood ? 🙶 don't even . on god ? mind your business . this is all in your head , keep it going . 🙷
gwen can’t help but grin at her, hands held up like a peace offering. she’s not snitch – she’d never tell suah’s secrets. but that doesn’t mean curiosity won’t still kill this cat. she slides to fall in step with suah, eyes trained on the bag very conspicuously hanging at her side. something like jealousy ? worry ? the fear of missing out settles behind her ribs before she decides to say something. “ if you’re doing something illegal, i want in. i’ll do anything you want. lookout, getaway driver, alibi. i’m bored. ”
open to anyone.
the new calendar year has done nothing to improve jet’s driving. he’s bordering on desperation, insanity, the way he circles the track at the stack over and over and over and - he hasn’t beaten his best time. hasn’t even come close. he’s tried, repeatedly, implacably. he’s failed. the final loop ends with a strangled scream that rips through his chest, uncharacteristically demonstrative. his door cracks and he falls from his driver’s seat in a slump, the emotion his body too much for him to continue holding himself up. jet’s fist pounds the ground as he tries to pull himself back up, groans and curses and frustrated noises falling from him unbidden. the only thing that stops them is – “ what are you looking at ? ”
Michael Cimino MOTORHEADS | S01E06
INCOMING TEXT : omg hv u met NICO VALENTIN of the RODANI PROWLERS yet ? they’re one of the crew’s import models n actually go by AMOR. the twenty five y/o is typically seen hanging arnd rodani wheels. allegedly they’re frm miami, fl n hv been w/ the crew for SIX MONTHS. wtvr. just watch out for them, k ? ttyl !
INCOMING TEXT : omg hv u met URBAN WARITSARA of the NARIZA BOIS yet ? they’re one of the crew’s street racers n actually go by REIGN. the twenty five y/o is typically seen hanging arnd 12welve. allegedly they’re frm berlin, germany n hv been w/ the crew for SEVEN MONTHS. wtvr. just watch out for them, k ? ttyl !
INCOMING TEXT : omg hv u met EZEKIEL LIM of the RODANI PROWLERS yet ? they’re one of the crew’s street racers n actually go by JET. the twenty five y/o is typically seen hanging arnd the stack. allegedly they’re frm san francisco, ca n hv been w/ the crew for THREE AND A HALF YEARS. wtvr. just watch out for them, k ? ttyl !
INCOMING TEXT : omg hv u met GWENDOLYN ‘ GWEN ’ KOUFIE of the NARIZA BOIS yet ? they’re one of the crew’s mechanics n actually go by CLUTCH. the twenty two y/o is typically seen hanging arnd coyote casino. allegedly they’re frm brooklyn, ny n hv been w/ the crew for A YEAR. wtvr. just watch out for them, k ? ttyl !
OCEAN'S ELEVEN (2001) Dir. Steven Soderbergh