#and sparkly like look at that moth guys SO SHINY

[willow-doodles]

A new oc appears !!

Sketching with just pens is so fun y’all everyone should try it

[frenchfrywrites]

hey franchy 🤌👁👁🤌 could we get the bros with an MC who dresses super fancy? Stuff like jewelry, those off the shoulder fuzzy coats, etc. It came to me in a dream (lie)

Bros w a fancy fashionista MC

i wish this had come to you in a dream.. that would've been a very fun dream

Lucifer loves your fashion sense. He also dresses pretty sophisticated/fancy-like so you guys get to look like a rich power couple that absolutely runs the HOA or something. Has high standards for you based on your looks alone. If your personality doesn’t match your exquisite taste he’s a bit ticked off, but then he quickly finds amusement in the fact that you look fancy but in reality are not.

Mammon is a bit jealous of the fancy clothes you wear. He’s going to complain until you share your clothes with him. But will not allow for you to wear his clothes (jerk). You dress like you got money, and that means Mammon is attracted to you like a moth to a flame. He comes to you with all his money issues and begs that you buy him things. He’s a bit scared that you’re going to be stuck up but then he realizes that you’re just very elegant.

Levi thinks you look super good but is also a bit intimidated and nervous. When he sees you looking so good he just feels so bummy compared to you. He might ask you for some fashion tips, but you have to swear you won’t tell anyone he asked, ok!? No one can know he wants to look like a normie. The two of you look like the strangest couple, and have definitely been mistaken for a sugar daddy/mommy/parent and a sugar baby when you go out together lmao.

Satan, like Mammon and Lucifer, will make assumptions (what he calls “deductions”) based upon your looks. He is pleasantly surprised when he finds that you’re not the stuck up entitled rich person he was envisioning. He’ll like to go antiquing with you, finding you authentic large diamond earrings, or strings of pearls from the 20s. He might also give you cursed items that look fancy by mistake, whoops!

Asmo loves your sense of style. Like Mammon he’s going to steal some of your clothes, but his wardrobe is open to you as well! He wants to go on big shopping sprees with you, despite the hit his bank account takes from it. While shopping he’ll say he’s buying for himself, but he ends up spending more time thinking about things for you. He’ll send you to the dressing room with a whole collection of elegant items, and beg for a mini fashion show.

Beel gets mesmerized by your clothes. Sometimes he’ll stop mid sentence to touch your fuzzy coat, or fluff the ruffles on your shirt, and boy does your shiny jewelry distract him like nothing else. If you wear stuff that looks too good he might want to eat it, so watch out! Otherwise he’s pretty indifferent, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care per se. He’ll compliment you, and buy you things that catch his eye sometimes, even if they don’t match any of your other clothes.

Belphie is largely appreciative of how nice you look, but oh my god he hates any of your clothes that are uncomfortable for him to sleep on. Your lace-y clothes, the ones with ruffles, anything sequin? He hates it so much!! How’s he supposed to cuddle up to you when you’ve got a sparkly top on that scratches his cheek?! On the other hand he loves when you wear fur, silk, or velvet because they’re soft/comfortable. He bases his compliments on your outfits by how well he can sleep on you.

[wingsofanillyrian]

Guys and Cars: Chapter 2 (Nessian AU)

Summary: Adrenaline, fast cars, and freedom.

Nesta Archeron doesn’t take anyone’s shit. She loves few things in life besides her candy apple red 1969 Charger, racing, and the ocean. When a stranger in a sparkly new Audi rolls into the picture, she discovers just how quickly that can change.

A/N: Shoutout to my little brother (who was very distressed to discover he’d helped with a fanfic, lol) for helping me out with the logistics of some of the technical pieces of this chapter, and also @spegetty for helping me with the storyline and making sure it was actually readable!

Chapter masterlist

Saturday nights were Nesta’s favorite.

Saturday nights were for adrenaline and the smell of burning rubber.

Saturday nights were for racing.

Nesta pulled into the repurposed warehouse parking lot on the forgotten industrial district of Velaris. All around her, engines roared and the dizzying scent of gasoline filling her lungs with each inhale. People cheered as cars raced down the strip. Money reluctantly changed hands as back-alley bets were won or lost.

Bertha’s engine purred as she backed into a parking spot towards the end of the lot, away from the self-absorbed, overzealous teenage crowd. They never appreciated the classic vehicles, instead opting for Subarus, Mazdas, or Honda Civics. But no display of shiny turbos, custom parts or beefed up statistics could ever draw her away from her first love: American muscle.

Not that she minded. Nesta fit in better with the older crowd anyway. She wasn't here to sit around and boast (like certain people she'd encountered). No, Nesta was here to win.

Turning off the car, she surveyed the night's competition. There was a better turnout than in weeks prior; the end of the summer heat always had that effect. She spotted a few new vehicles she hadn’t seen before, but nothing particularly interesting. There were the usual’s too, of course: the 1973 Chevy Camaro that she had nicknamed the “Orange Peel” due to the shockingly bright paint, the 60’s Ford Mustang driven by a middle-aged coward of a man, the late 70’s Pontiac who never failed to provide a challenge...

Nesta grinned. Tonight would be a good night.

Any driver worth their salt knew who drove the 1969 cherry red Charger. She was practically a legend among Velaris’ street scene, having beaten every car that dared square off against her.

So she wasn’t surprised at the level of attention she received as she nimbly climbed from the car. Not that she could blame the men and women for staring, she knew she looked damn good. Nesta dressed modestly on most days, usually opting for comfortable shorts and tees to deal with the dry California summers. But she became a completely different entity on race days.

Black denim clung to her long, lithe legs as her boots thudded on the pavement, striding around to the front of the car and popping the hood to display the inner workings. Her low-cut tank top did little to hide her generous chest, which was both a blessing and a curse. Immediately the people gathered, oohing and ahhing at the gleaming engine compartment. One man fought his way to the front, grinning from ear to ear.

"Nesta! We missed you last week. Where you been, girl?"

Normally, calling Nesta Archeron a girl, or anything other than her name, earned one a look sharp enough to draw blood.

“You’re the only one that would dare say that, Harry,” she grinned back, clasping his hand. “What’s the news?”

“Rumor has it there’s some new kid rolling around, claiming to be the best of the best.” A chuckle rippled through the crowd. Unperplexed, Nesta examined her manicured nails.

“Another Mazdaspeed driver that thinks he can beat me? I wouldn’t exactly call that news.”

“He doesn’t drive no Mazda, honey.” Harry’s gaze wandered over her shoulder, and it took every ounce of willpower not to turn around. Nesta's curtain of her honey-brown hair obscured the black sports car from view as it backed in next to her classic. Murmurs carried through the crowd at the newcomer’s arrival, making their judgments.

Her head whipped up to glare at the driver, mouth already open to demand he grow a pair and earn his bragging rights instead of spreading rumors, but the words stuck in her throat. 

Oh, gods.

What was he doing here?

The bastard hadn’t even called her. Go figure, the one time she goes out on a limb, she ends up getting screwed. Her cheeks burned and she ducked her head under the hood, vainly hoping he wouldn’t notice her.

Nesta’s heart hammered in her chest. The sweat beginning to bead on her brow was due to more than just the stifling heat. The Audi’s door thudded shut, a throaty chuckle floating to her ears. She could almost see the cocky grin on his stubbled, tan face as he spotted her.

“Well hello there.”

Nesta closed her eyes, composing herself enough to craft sly smile on her ruby lips.

“Hello yourself,” she purred, throwing her hair over her shoulder and batting her lashes up at the man from the highway. Cassian; that was his name. “I thought I told you that you were taking me on a date?”

Hazel eyes sparkled with amusement, the angled face cast in shadow by the dim light of the streetlamps. “I was getting around to it.”

“Oh, were you?” She quirked a brow, taking a step around him and eyeing the gathering crowd. These kinds of people were drawn to the first hint of drama like moth to a flame, and Nesta intended to take advantage of that. Her boots clicked on the pavement as she circled, his eyes tracking her every step.

“Brought that shitty Audi, I see,” she teased, nodding towards his spotless vehicle.

“Still driving that rotten apple, I see,” he countered, crossing his arms over his chest. The crowd laughed at the jab, and Nesta smirked.

“My rotten apple-“ she thumped Bertha’s grille- “Could beat that stock, blend-into-the-pavement Audi any day.”

The crowd roared at the challenge, adrenaline surging through her veins as she looked into his fiery eyes. He took two steps closer to her, leaving only a few inches of space between their bodies.

“You really wanna test that theory?”

If there was one thing Nesta Archeron knew for sure, it was that she never backed down from a challenge.

“Hell yes.”

“When and where, sweetheart?” Her eyes flashed and she cocked her head to the side, a predator assessing prey. Noting her reaction, Cassian’s eyes lit up with amusement.

“Right here, right now.”

“Let’s race.”

***************

“Alright Bertha. We’ve done this a million times, beaten cars with ten times as many horses as his.”

Nesta’s hands gripped the steering wheel as she pulled up to the spray painted starting line. One half mile up the cracked, worn out warehouse road, there was a second line drawn between two other cars. Their drivers served as judges to settle any disputes as to who crossed it first.

It would take twenty seconds, tops, to cover that half mile.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Audi inch forward, sleek as a bullet. Through his open window, she could hear the loud screeching guitar of heavy metal pouring from the speakers. The corners of her mouth twitched upward. It would seem this man was full of surprises.

Cassian revved his engine to catch her attention.

She looked over and revved hers.

He winked, mouthing ‘good luck’ and her stomach flipped at his easy confidence.

Bertha had never lost a race.

Would this be the first?

Her head snapped back to the woman standing between the opposing cars, waiting to signal the start. Nesta Archeron didn’t back down, and she didn’t lose. Not in this car.

The 426 horsepower Hemi engine in her Charger packed a powerful punch and a boatload of torque, giving her the clear advantage off the line versus his import. He stood a chance of catching her after the first few seconds though, if he was experienced in street racing.

She was willing to bet that he wasn’t, judging by their previous encounter.

“Ready?” The woman pointed to each of them in turn, and she and Cassian again revved their engines in response.

“Set-“

The key to winning a drag race was timing. You had to hold the clutch in while simultaneously revving the engine, building up it’s RPMs. You had to know your car, too; keep the RPM’s too high and you’d end up spinning tires when you slam the gas.

But Nesta didn’t just know Bertha. In times like this, she became the Charger. The vibrations of the chassis shot straight through her feet and rattled her bones. The pitch of the engine told her if she needed to give it more gas or less. She just felt it.

“GO!”

Both cars shot off the line, the roar of the massive engines piercing over the fevered roar of the spectators. Rubber squealed against pavement, the force of the sudden acceleration gluing her head to the seat. Nesta had timed it perfectly; she’d gotten a pretty solid jump on him.

She shifted into second gear.

Cassian’s Audi pulled half a car length ahead. Shit- she hadn’t accounted for his newer transmission- it could withstand higher RPMs before he was forced to shift. Her heart leapt, fearing for a moment that he would win.

But then he shifted and fumbled to recover from it.

Rookie mistake.

He slipped a full car length behind, and Nesta’s grin turned positively feral. She shifted again, closing in on the finish line. The Charger’s tires ate up the distance as Cassian nosed his way forward.

They were neck and neck.

Two seconds to the finish line.

Nesta pressed the gas pedal the final quarter inch to the floor.

The Charger and Audi shot past the two marker cars. She eased off the gas and released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. It had been too close for her to call; they would have to rely on the sharp eyes of the other racers.

Nesta peeled off, allowing herself one premature smile of victory before turning around to discover her fate. She parked just outside the ring of spectators, fighting her way through the throng only to find Cassian and his Audi smack dab in the middle of it.

People were shaking his hand and smacking him on the back, probably congratulating him on his supposed win. Her angry voice cut above the excited noise.

“Cassian!”

His attention immediately snapped to her, a lazy grin spreading across his face.

“Nice race,” he said, ignoring his newfound groupies and closing the distance between them in three long strides. He shoved his hands in his pockets, suddenly bashful.

Staring him down, she demanded, “Who won?”

“You did, of course.”

She grinned triumphantly, the thrill of another win taking over as she playfully punched his arm. “I knew it! Classic muscle always beats sparkling new.” Cassian tipped his head back and laughed, the sound light and joyful. Nesta found that she rather enjoyed his laugh, and wouldn’t mind hearing it more often.

She was about to say as much when a foreign hand roughly smacked her bottom. The unwelcome action instantly brought back a wave of memories that she’d rather not remember. She stood slack-jawed, frozen like a deer in the headlights.

The owner of the offending hand stepped into her line of view, the rat-faced creep raking his gaze over Nesta’s body. He whistled, low and crude.

“Hey baby, you fuck as good as you race?”

She was nearly trembling with rage, and though she would never admit it, a little bit of fear, too. She should tell him to stick it where the sun don’t shine. She should knock him on his ass for daring to lay a hand on her.

But she just... couldn’t.

“Why don’t you fuck off?”

Cassian. Oh, thank god.

“I don’t think I will.” Creepy guy took a step towards Nesta. She still couldn’t move, even as his hand latched onto her arm. Her heart threatened to beat out of her chest, and her wild blue eyes met Cassian’s fuming hazel.

That one look conveyed all he needed to see. His brow furrowed, biceps rippling as he swung. Nesta ducked instinctively, but his closed fist connected to the other man’s face with a sickening crack. He dropped instantly, moaning and cradling his most likely broken jaw.

Nesta stared down at the man, shell shocked. He turned his head, spitting crimson blood onto the gravelly pavement. If Cassian hadn’t been there, she didn’t think anyone else would have stopped him from taking what he wanted.

“Let’s get you out of here.” Cassian’s bruised, bloodied hand found the small of her back, trying to steer her away from the scene. Bodies pressed in on all sides as people leered at the man writhing in pain. Nesta’s head spun as she gulped down air.

It had to have hurt. That bone-cracking punch couldn’t have left him completely unscathed.

“Bertha,” she croaked, desperately needing to be away from the massive crowd. This place was normally like her second home, somewhere she could be herself and let go. But now… Everything was just too much.

“Bertha?” He struggled to discern what she was saying. “Oh- your car.” He shouldered his way through, not stopping until she could see the unmistakable beacon of red paint. He opened the driver’s side door and helped her slip inside before softly shutting it behind her. He peered in through the open window, concern etching sharp lines in his face.

“Are you gonna be alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” she affirmed, feeling a bit more like herself again now that she was reunited with her car. She ran her fingers over the supple leather of the steering wheel, centering her thoughts.

“I don’t know how to thank you for what you did.”

“It was nothing.“ His smile didn’t meet his eyes.

“Let’s go for a drive.”

He tipped his head to better gauge her expression. His eyes flicked over her figure, took in her white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel and the strained set of her shoulders. Very few people were allowed near the Charger, and he had already shown her last week that he couldn’t exactly handle the heat.

But tonight… He’d earned a second chance.

He looked over his shoulder at his own vehicle with a frown. The people had dispersed, leaving it stranded and alone.

“Okay.” Nesta turned the key, the car rumbling to life as he climbed into the passenger seat. “Where to?”

“You’ll see.”

Tagging: @spegetty @krm00623 @goldbooksblack

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