written by alex for fasthq.
ELYAZI "ELIAS" KOLAROV aka raven, a street racer for the nariza bois.
VICTORIA JANG aka scarlet, an import model for the rodani prowlers.

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@cruisecontrl
written by alex for fasthq.
ELYAZI "ELIAS" KOLAROV aka raven, a street racer for the nariza bois.
VICTORIA JANG aka scarlet, an import model for the rodani prowlers.

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📍 outside the coyote casino restroom
⏰ approx 7 pm
🗝️ open to all
it’s far enough into the night that marigold is already on her way toward inebriated, the line of tipsy just being crossed with her previous vodka soda. it’s also far enough into the night that the numerous drinks raising more than just her intoxication level. stumbling out of the door she almost runs smack into the now winding bathroom line. stepping to the side she rounds around the corner finding a nearby full length mirror. “ my hair isn’t frizzy right ? “ question poised to the figure at her side as she pushes at the dark locks, “ the miami humidity is so not my friend. “
no, she's not being unreasonable — and she's certainly not angry, or even jealous. it's just irritating to have to see a certain someone flirting with others in front of her. she wonders if she could get them all kicked out for the remainder of the night. she's at the casino all the time and has gotten extremely good at sweet talking the bouncers and the security guys. victoria could, perhaps, say that she noticed a specific (nariza mechanic) woman doing some card counting. anything to not have to see her flirting with so many other women.
— and because she's not unreasonable or angry or jealous, she instead makes her way to the restroom, where another nariza boi irritates her. can she get away from them for once? "your hair looks awful," she replies stiffly, but quickly takes a breath; it's not the other's fault that her crew member is being annoying. "your hair's fine," she corrects herself, "you don't need anyone to tell you that."
☆ open starter 🛞 uncapped ☆ outside sometime around 7PM near the stage, a throne for the lady most fair
it was taunting him. that stupid fucking car that everyone was fawning over, fingers crossed their name would be pulled as the lucky winner of its title, was taunting him. the very car that symbolized the beginning of his descent— the loss of his first home and perhaps even his innocence. looking at it now, he can see his father before him. hear him too. a finger pointed in his face, voice loud and pounding in his ears as he goes on and on about his son's failures. it was poetic almost to see it all made up with modern modifications. sanghoon would hate it, or at least harvey thinks he would. it's not like he ever really knew him anyway. his attention is pulled away from glittering metal as someone approaches in his peripheral. assuming them to be yet another scummy car guy looking to rip his supra off him, low voice comes out monotone and uninterested, ❛ i'm not selling. ❜
the car? it's nice, he can at least agree with that, but it's not really his style so he doesn't understand why people continue to look at it as if it's the nicest thing they've ever seen. as if they've never seen a decked out car before. to each their own though, right? curiously, he watches harvey and though he'd usually leave people alone and not care about them — harvey's someone he kinda gives a shit about.
harvey's words take him by surprise, but he doesn't show it. instead, he nods and decides to make a small joke; harvey's tone put him on edge and he now wonders if something is wrong. "don't think i could afford it," his tone is light, less gruff than usual, "you're good."
★ open starter 4 nariza and prowlers . ★ anytime past 8pm @ coyote casino .
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤa couple of cocktails downed , tipsy with tip of nose flushed , baby speaks to no one in particular , to whoever is open to listen . 🙶 peep that guy on the main poker table ? he's been cheating . not his first time . 🙷
victoria has been drinking — for no reason whatsoever, of course — which is probably why she's allowing herself to talk to so many of them tonight. she'll probably regret it in the morning. "he's always around," she comments, sipping on her drink (maybe she should put it down, it'll make her less prone to talking to the damned nariza bois), "he gets kicked out at least once a week. he never learns."
victoria jang at coyote casino.
black dress, matching dagger necklace & earrings, dagger shoes + leather jacket.

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there’s a sense of safety in this bed with her. the outside world thrums and thrives in the walls beyond yet they stay seclude in their own world. it’s easy with victoria, no need for facades or false promises. there are no expectations between the pair, only relief and seclusion. forever hesitant to get close to anyone, she had never asked for too much for him and he never asked in return. twisting onto his side, he tucks his head on his arm to look at her. “ either is fine with me, “ he says with a nonchalant, shrug of his shoulders. his fingers reach out tucking a dark piece of hair behind her ear, fingertips grazing the side of her cheek. “ we worked up quite an appetite … maybe pizza is better ? “ a small hint of an amused smile on his lips, “ more carbs and after all. “
eric really is just handsome, isn't he? in a disarming way. in a way that makes her go back to him time and time again. she can't get enough of the way he looks at her — mysterious, kind, charming, but she can still feel his lust and the way he wants her. it's the reason why she bites her lip when he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear... hell, it's the reason why she almost foregoes the whole ordeal and almost tells him that they can get food later. almost. "you..." she starts, but doesn't finish the sentence. instead, she shakes her head and leans in closer to give him a soft kiss, "pizza. carbs." the words are said against his lips, a clear smile as she speaks. "for round... three, is it?" everything really is so incredibly easy with him. "but put a shirt on, or else we won't make it to even ordering pizza."
"we keep on missing each other," tania says, as if that's an explanation enough. there’s a drink in their hand that matches the one victoria is bringing to her lips. their own stays right where it is, ignored in favor of them watching their friend. even with their years of friendship she's still an enigma sometimes — something a little impossible to figure out. it doesn't make tania any less fond of victoria. "that what we're gonna talk about tonight?" they ask, and there's nothing tentative about it, even with the arch of their brows and disbelief written along the corner of their lips. "driving?" they think about their poor excuse of a race, about— "you dragged me all the way to a strip club to talk to me about driving?" and then, for the sake of talking about anything else: "so. valentine's. how come i never saw that coming?"
only less than a handful of people are allowed to call her out, and tania just so happens to be one of them — which is why instead of getting annoyed or even angry, victoria simply takes another sip of her drink. it was silly of her to bring that up to them after the race, but she supposes she hadn't been thinking clearly. "i apologize," and it's a rarity for her to utter those words, much less mean them, but she does when it comes to her friend, "we can talk about anything and everything else." though tania seems to not be drinking, she still clinks her glass against theirs. "it..." victoria doesn't even know what to say to that; they both know what they mean by the question. minkyu. she hadn't exactly been private or subtle about how attracted she'd been to him that night. "it was nice. he looked good that night. i did take him home after we left the garage, but..." and she shrugs; they really were better off as friends, "it was a one time thing."
gwen’s handle on victoria always feels tenuous at best. the confidence she exudes, the smug smirk she wears; sometimes it’s true, but sometimes it’s all an act to cover the truth of this matter: anything from the prowler – kisses on valentine’s day and gentle brushes of hands here in the dim morning light as they pass a bottle of vodka back and forth, whatever she’s willing to give – it’s all enough to make gwen feel dizzy. maybe it’s the taboo of whatever this is, but gwen thinks it might even be more. victoria is one of the few people able to anticipate her. they take turns being one step ahead and as much as it is flirting, it’s also like gambling. a game of chicken, she had called it that night outside of 12welve but it might just be more like russian roulette.
“ damn. ” is all she can really offer. six years ago, gwen was a kid wreaking havoc in brooklyn and getting scolded by two parents and a grandma who cared about her enough to not want her dead on the streets. victoria must’ve been the same, but still so different, to be with the prowlers so young. her mind finds its way to miami, six years ago – what was the other girl really like all those years ago ? would she have even given someone like her the time of day ?
the bottle leaves gwen’s hands again and their fingers brush just the same. “ if you must know, i couldn’t sleep. ” she answers, watching where the bottle meet vic’s lips as she drinks the vodka. “ the streets were calling me, telling me a walk would do me some good. and lucky me, i found you. ” as a proficient gambler not a gambling addict thank you gwen is a firm believer in luck, and maybe even in fate. finding victoria here, alone on a quiet street, where they can sit and enjoy earth before it stops turning is one of the best strokes of luck she’s had in a while. “ what about you ? you’re out here alone with a bottle of hard liquor, so i’m expecting a real story. ”
the last thing she wants to do is elaborate — especially since not even the people in her own crew know about everything she's been through, everything her parents put her through. victoria takes a long swig before handing the bottle back to gwen with a slight grimace; she knows she can't possibly talk about her family without more alcohol in her system. "every year on my mother's birthday, i go back to key west. i watch them from afar. they never see me. i haven't talked to them since my eighteenth birthday and i doubt i ever will." she shrugs to herself, "i just got back from key west, but i couldn't go back to my place just yet." she doesn't want to talk about it anymore, so she bites her lip and looks out and away from gwen, watching as the waves gently hit the sand.
victoria goes back to what gwen said earlier, before she went on to talk about herself, and she can't help but grin as she repeats her words in her head. "lucky you. you found me." she finally turns to look at gwen again, taking her in for a moment — it's no wonder the other drives her insane, to the point where she can't even think a coherent thought. again, she will allow herself something tonight. it's the least she can do after seeing her parents look happy as can be, without someone dragging them down. "how about i drive you home?" she suggests as her hand softly touches gwen's thigh, "— but i've had a little to drink, so i'll need to sober up." she pauses to smile at gwen; victoria has barely had three sips of alcohol tonight and yet, she's still emboldened by it. "help me sober up, won'tcha?" she motions toward the parking lot, "my backseat is pretty... spacious."
location: rodani wheels
featuring: victoria ( @anelectrichigh )
he has no clue how long he's been working on this car. he's completely lost track of time, forgetting to eat and even have a sip of water. but that's what happens whenever he's in the auto shop. he doesn't mind it one bit. after all, he's doing what he loves, so why would he mind? the sound of footsteps getting closer gets his attention, looking up from under the hood of the car, spotting victoria. "if you're here to annoy me, at least tell me you've brought me lunch or something to make up for it," he begins, a light playfulness to his tone. he feels hungry, now that he's taken a few minutes away from working on the car. "i deserve that, at least."
victoria balks at his words, glaring at him and almost choosing to lie and say she hadn't brought food for him. it would serve him well for being so annoying. she'll play with him for a moment, though, so she petulantly crosses her arms across her chest and shakes her head. "why would i bring you anything?" her eyebrow quirks, giving him a bit of attitude — something he's used to by now. they both already know the answer to her own question: she cares. as much as she gives him grief at least five times a day, she cares and she knows that when he sets his mind on something, he'll forget to even feed himself. "alright," she rolls her eyes, "maybe i brought you something." victoria points toward a nearby counter, "burger and fries and your favorite drink." does she really have to take care of this man? apparently, since he can't take care of himself. "go." she orders, "eat."
from The Fran Lebowitz Reader

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in another world, mirae would have apologized for it all, even if she didn't think she really needed to for something that happened while the two weren't together. in another world, she would have gone to elias after taking a breather outside from her own self - induced chaos and asked him to go home with her. instead, she walks back into heartbreaker bar that night and sees a sight she can't quite erase from her mind. one that leaves her angry. hurt. her and mari weren't so different after all. hell, they even seemed to have the same taste in men. as it seems, he doesn't ask, so she doesn't answer. instead, mirae walks out of the bar as soon as she walks back in, stomach turning at the idea of it. whatever had happened, she didn't want to know, silence between two that seemed to have a red string tied between them. she can compartmentalize for now, deny the sick feelings that come with having a beating heart. that is, until she walks in and sees him.
her eyes narrow watching him walk out, mumbling something under the lines of ‘screw it’ before standing up and promptly walking away from the waitress who was telling her about the lunch specials. heels that most definitely weren't meant to running in are put to the test, swiftly following behind him and grabbing him by the jacket before he can fully get away. “ i don't remember you being this much of a coward, ” she says, hand still gripping onto the sleeve of his jacket, almost as if she's afraid he'll leave.
“ what ? no more shows to put on for me ? ”
elias can hear the clicking of her heels against the pavement and his first thought, even before the inevitable anger and annoyance actually hit him, is that she shouldn’t be running in those heels. (what if she got hurt? it’d be his fault for running away from her. she can handle it, they both know it, but he never wants to see her actually hurt.) of course he slows down slightly, just enough for her to reach him. mirae calls him a coward and though it stings a little, he knows she’s right. he’d rather leave the restaurant than have an actual conversation with her. but what is there to say? she hurt him (and mari, but that isn’t all that important to him at the moment), and then he hurt her. they fractured something already so fragile, but it’s not enough to break — it’s just as stubborn as they are, if not more.
“what do you want?” he doesn’t answer her question (he wouldn’t even know what to say), so he goes for the defensive route. elias could hurt her right now and mention he has somewhere else to be (he doesn’t), that he has plans with mari (why would he? they barely even talk), or that anything is better than being around her. but he doesn’t say any of that. he looks down at his watch and shakes his head, knowing her and knowing she’s probably been looking forward to this meal. “go back inside.” he motions toward the restaurant, his features softening for a moment, “it’s late. you need to eat.”
eliana expects santiago to show up to her place with food. it's like their little routine, but a routine she very much looks forward to. his presence remains one of the few genuinely good things in her life right now. over the years, life proved to eliana that people come and go. friendships come and go. nobody and nothing really stayed. but when it came to santiago... she couldn't really say the same thing. even if the future could still hold surprises. they open the door as soon as they get the call, shaking her head at the little pout. they know santiago, and they know he got distracted in the auto shop and didn't eat. "that cute little pout is not going to distract me... i know what you're trying to do here," she says, taking one of the bags from him and letting him. "though the words 'your favorite' might do exactly that. it's the way to my heart!" she closes the door behind him and walks inside. "tell me. is that your first meal of the day?"
“you’re telling me my not-so-secret weapon’s not gonna cut it this time?” he asks when they mention his pout — his go-to when he shows up at their place, asking for forgiveness in the form of boxes upon boxes of food. even though she does judge him a little for being a little airy and forgetful, he knows it comes from a place of comfortability, of years and years of friendship. unlike with others, he doesn’t take it to heart. eliana is the only one who can banter with him like this; she’s the only one he trusts enough for it. santiago hums then clears his throat, acting as if he didn’t her her question… but then he looks up at them and deflates with a grimace. “maybe…” he trails off, then adds, “but i was working on a car!” clearly. “and i got it done before nine pm. that’s a feat! right?”
he doesn’t mind the curiosity – how often does she see someone sitting in the garage with the mechanics, not working, but doodling. he’s more taken aback that she’s… well, talking to him ? even after almost half a year, she’s not expressed all that much interest in him. to start now is unexpected to say the least. “ um… my journal. i don’t get to really help out that much around here, ” or rather isn’t allowed to. “ so i usually just sit here and… write about what i see happen around here. i draw too. i’m mostly a visual person, so sometimes if i don’t think i can capture something with words, i – ” he holds out a doodle of something he’d seen earlier: a cutesy, cartoon-ified jet and cola. in the drawing, cartoon cola offers cartoon jet a cherry coke with a smile. cartoon jet takes it, but suspiciously sniffs it and leaves it on a counter after he makes sure cartoon cola’s out of sight. it had been so bizarre, the way real life jet had acted certain the coke had been laced with cyanide – nico had no choice but to document it. “ doodle it. i have little cartoon versions of everyone, actually ! ”
art is personal. while she’s not an artistic person herself, she understands the deep connection an artist has to the art they create. sometimes, people like to keep it to themselves, whether it’s because they’re not ready for the world to see it or because they’re not ready for a particular person to see it — which is why she’s surprised nico willingly shows her what he’d been working on. victoria lets out a soft hum, both of appreciation and amazement. she can’t help a giggle as she looks at the doodled versions of jet and cola, and she knows exactly how that all went down. hell, she can even imagine jet’s perpetually furrowed brows suspiciously leaving the coke behind. “that’s really good,” she finally smiles at him, it’s friendly and soft, unlike how she smiles at most people, “i can see jet doing all… that.” she quirks an eyebrow, curious if there’s a version of her in his journal. “even me?”
four in the morning on the streets of miami might seem like a strange place to find a young woman like gwen out for walk, alone – the world can be dangerous, she hears her grandmother warn, you shouldn't put yourself in bad spots. it's one of the things from her childhood that she had never been able to take to heart; she's not small and defenseless the knife she carries is proof of the latter and while the world can be scary, scary can also be exciting.
and when a familiar voice catches her ear, gwen feels the scary exciting zing through her fingertips. ah. this is why she hadn't been able to sleep. this is why the streets of miami had called her out for a walk. “ about a year. coming up on my year soon, actually. ” she takes the offer for a seat, takes the vodka from victoria and lets her fingers brush across her hand. they may as well be the only two awake in town – chances like this don't come around too often. “ how long have you been with them ? ” gwen mimics the way she had been asked, like saying the words they mean would shatter the moment around them.
it’s been a long day, she’s been awake for close to twenty-four hours now, so she’s allowing herself to be a little careless in public. she’s allowing herself to take in a sharp breath when she feels gwen’s fingers brush against hers. it’s only for tonight, she tells herself, and not even she can tell whether that’s a lie or not. anyone could see them, victoria knows that, but it’s four in the morning and the sun won’t even be up for a couple hours — let them have their moment while the rest of the city sleeps.
victoria nods, realizing gwen is brand new at this and maybe that’s why she’s a little more careless than herself on being around one another in public. “six years this summer.” victoria almost doesn’t elaborate, but she continues her train of thought even though she knows better than to do so. “i’ve been with them since i was nineteen.” she pauses, bites her lip then adds, “they’re the only family i know.”
victoria hates feeling vulnerable and as conceited and self-absorbed as she is (with good reason), she does hate talking about herself. at least when it comes to feelings. “what’re you doing out here this late?” she asks as if gwen didn’t find her alone on a bench, “why aren’t you asleep?” she almost sounds concerned, but she masks it with a tsk sound as she gently takes the bottle from gwen’s hands (and if their fingers brush against hers as well, then so be it). “you shouldn’t be out this late, you know. don’t you know how dangerous the city can be?” she winks; they both know exactly how bad things can get in miami.
EMILIO SAKRAYA
Instagram (02/19/2025)

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with: gwen koufie @dis7ance
location & timeframe: miami beach; march 2nd, before sunrise.
it's late, almost four in the morning, but she can't find it in herself to go back to her apartment just yet. she's sitting on a bench watching the waves with an unopened bottle of vodka next to her, and a brand new pack of camels that she only buys once a year in lieu of her usual marlboros on her lap. her mother's birthday brings out a side of her that she loathes — she feels weak and needy, almost frail and child-like... but she can't help that she misses her mother, or at least the mom she knew once upon a time. victoria had driven to key west as she does every year on the first day of march, watching from afar as her mother and father eat dinner at her mother's favorite restaurant. the last time she'd joined them, she'd been seventeen; she wonders what it'd be like now at twenty-five. she's about to place the bottle of vodka back into her purse when she sees her (what is she even doing up at this hour?), and she sighs in resignation. she's not up for a game or a fight. not tonight. victoria doesn't even need to look at gwen to be able to picture the way the other is looking at her — likely with a smirk and eyes that are hungry for a round two. she's watched her enough to know; she's memorized the way the other looks at her. while victoria doesn't out-right call out for gwen, who else would she be speaking to? there's no one else around. "how long have you been with... them?" she asks, curiosity getting the best of her. she knows nothing about gwen other than her name, her crew and the fact that she likes to gamble just as much as she does. (she knows her tells, especially when she's got a losing hand. she knows the way her lips taste, the noises she makes, the way her teeth... —). she shouldn't ask these things, she shouldn't even be talking to gwen, but she can't help it. she'll allow herself another night of being around her, especially after seeing her parents from afar. "sit. i have vodka."
📍 elias’s apartment
⏰ a few days after valentine’s day
🗝️ closed starter for @anelectrichigh ( elias )
💛 — for the umpteenth time mari find herself adjusting her legs as she sits on elias’ couch. a veil of awkwardness settles over the pair as silence pools in the room. " sooooo .... ? this is weird … right ? " it’s her who breaks the silence tucking a leg under her as she flips towards elias’. it seems pretending to hookup was a harder feat then actually sleeping together. at least with that the pair wouldn’t have to suffer through awkward conversations and silences if they were getting it on. " likeee … maybe if we actually fucked this wouldn’t be so weird ? " the question is out before she can fully consider. it’s not that she finds elias unattractive, after all history shown that mari and mirae had very similar types. it may be an act of revenge, giving the her ex best friend a taste of her own medicine, yet she cannot bring herself to go that far. " — but we really shouldn’t, " a huffed sigh, " should we just play mario cart or something ? "
elias is sure that when they started planning this whole thing, neither he nor mari had realized just how awkward things would be between them. had they ever spent any time alone together? mirae had always been there as a buffer, but now that they're in his apartment it's as if they don't even know how to speak to one another. and maybe mari is right, maybe actually sleeping together would make things easier, but he knows they shouldn't. they wouldn't be able to come back from something like that, even though mirae had hurt both of them. "yeah. we shouldn't." he agrees with a shake of his head and a slight roll of his eyes — leave it to mirae to fuck this up for them even when she's not around. it's always about mirae, every time. always. "we can play and you can lose," he winks at her before continuing, "or we can figure out what we're gonna do next. do we keep at it? y'know, acting like we're fucking on the side?" he pauses for a moment, then asks, "you think she's buying it?"