Send 📱 to see how my muse has yours in their phone!
Name: Star Face💙💫🔧🍬
Contact Picture:
Ringtone: This is gaaaay
Most Recent Texts:
[txt]: Pft. Dont c y. He probly just ignord us. Livd wif loads of gens of Walters and we got a shit ton of WWs. Cant not overhear somethin[txt]: But if it makes u feel betr bby I will text him 2 😉[txt]:…Altho if he overherd any ahem. REAL NAMES. I will kill you in ur sleep 🔪[txt]:…Not rly but I wil be rly mad
Let’s start off with @wxredwrong ! I was near ready to delete my Rabbit blog when I ran into this dude. Like, I don’t think I would’ve gotten this deep in the rabbit hole (heh) that is Steam Powered Giraffe if I didn’t start writing with him.
Second, I’ll talk about @bronzefever . I knew them before they joined the roleplay scene, and this positivity has nothing to do with their writing (although it’s amazing and y’all should definitely write with them if you like Steam Powered Giraffe or Welcome to Hell). They’ve powered through so much and I am so, so proud of them for it.
Annnnd let’s finish up with @thewiddlestwampire ! Like!! They are so understanding and patient and chill as hell! I love how they write for Gideon and I love interacting with them as Mabel. They’re honestly my favorite writer for Gideon!
Ask the Mun for a Drabble/Fic of their Muse based on...
🔫 - A moment of crime
[Set in the Angels and Demons AU.
Warnings: Use of Oscar’s dead name, misgendering, transphobia, bigotry, blasphemy, blood, gore, death, some light body horror, general creepiness.
Featuring Sal ( @wxredwrong ) and frequent mentions of Oscar ( @introvertedscience ) ]
Father Martin hummed contently to himself as he went about preparing tea, listening to the pitter-patter of raindrops against the window, the water bullets hitting hard enough to be heard pounding his roof. Rare weather for this time of year, he wondered if that was a sign a storm was brewing. He would have to make preparations, if it was.
The priest continued his humming as he brought the teapot over to his kitchen table, setting it in the middle as he collected himself a porcelain cup. The young man reached up to pull open the cupboard and pick out a cup, smiling to himself peacefully.
The good feeling in his heart and tummy had been born through helping others. To be exact, he’d performed his first solo exorcism just a few days ago. A family of three - a married couple and their daughter - who had been having trouble with a demon that had been let into their home when their child had played with a Ouija board. Horrible things. Father Martin wished they wouldn’t so easily end up in a child’s hands like that; it caused the exact problem this hysterical mother had had when she’d contacted him.
Told him of the illusions and nightmares. The scratches on her husband’s arms and back and on the bedposts and walls. The reflection of a monster behind her when she stared at a mirror. The way the pots and pans in the kitchen had exploded from their cupboards one evening. The way the crosses would either be broken or missing after she put them up. The drawings her little girl would make of this thing, how she had called it her friend and told Mommy how she would feed it the apples in the house, how she’d once given it the leftover pizza in the fridge because it had told her it hadn’t had pizza in years.
No harm had ever come to the child, no physical harm at least. The demon had been manipulating her, Father Martin knew. He’d seen this sort of thing before, back when he’d been tailing behind Father Clark whenever they were called out for exorcisms.
Children these days and their Ouija boards.
But Father Martin couldn’t blame them for their curiosity. He supposed, if he was given a way to talk to an otherworldly being, he would take the chance too.
Bless little Emily; he hoped she’d gotten over her manipulation by now. The way she’d screamed for him to stop when the demon had been writhing around on the floor in pain, how she’d asked him why he was doing this, the demon was her friend. How she’d wailed when the demon had dissolved to dust before her and was whipped away by the wind. How she’d sobbed over the remains.
But it couldn’t hurt her now. He’d gotten rid of it and it would never come near her again.
Father Martin collected the neat little porcelain cup and turned around to go back to the table, only to freeze. The pots and pans from his kitchen cupboards were all laid out on the counters and the floor, none of them touching the other, laid out so carefully.
Brown eyes glanced at them all before he took one hand off the little cup and used it to grab at the cross at his throat, murmuring a little prayer as he walked over to the table and set the cup down.
No, no. Not today.
Father Martin jumped slightly as thunder rumbled outside and he turned to look out the window. Picking up out there. He swallowed thickly, then faltered as he caught sight of his reflection. Him, standing there with his brow furrowed and fist clutching his cross…and the winged figure behind him, head so close to his.
Father Martin cried out in alarm and whipped around; no one there. He panted lightly, heartbeat picking up in his ears, and gulped again as he faltered, finally noticing the…empty feeling in his hand. He opened his fist to look down at his cross.
It was gone.
Father Martin’s eyes widened and he felt himself begin to sweat beneath his robes, a thick layer covering his forehead. He swallowed again, tried to remember a verse from the Bible to comfort himself with, and opened his mouth to recite God’s words before he was interrupted.
“Hello, Father.”
Father Martin whipped around and yelped in fright.
The demon. The very one that he’d exorcised. Standing there with its bright blue hair, dark grey-blue skin, gargoyle-like wings, needle-like claws, sharp horns - and a frown that told Father Martin exactly why it was there.
The priest went stumbling back, hands frantically searching for his cross but remembering it was gone, and The Engineer tilted his head slowly. “You looking for something, Father? Could it be…this?” He held up a fist: the beaded chain of Father Martin’s necklace hung from it, the little cross dangling there.
Father Martin’s mouth opened and closed like a goldfish’s before he wheezed and scrambled for a drawer nearby, sliding it open quickly and digging around until he found a wooden cross that he kept in there for when lost individuals came to him seeking advice on faith; it helped for them to hold it, he found. He held it in shaking fists, pointing it toward the demon. “L-Leave this house, demon! At once!”
The Engineer sneered at him. “Oooohh. I’m shaking in my boots.” He stalked forward, making the priest crawl backwards, and reached down to snatch the cross from the Father’s hands. He held it up. “What do you think this will do, exactly? Did you not learn your lesson when you attempted to use one of these on me when you paid a visit?”
Father Martin didn’t like the way he spat out the words, smug expression fading to sheer fury. The priest swallowed. “Jesus Christ himself -”
“CHRIST DOESN’T EXIST!” The Engineer shouted, holding the cross up like he was going to bring it down upon the priest’s head; the Father cowered. The pots and pans rattled around them. “He’s a myth that humans made to make themselves feel special! Like there could possibly be a holy figure amongst them! PLEASE! The angels don’t even PISS IN YOUR DIRECTION - what makes you think ANY OF YOU could POSSIBLY hold the abilities they do?!”
Father Martin didn’t answer, couldn’t answer, and instead just crawled backwards once more.
“But let’s not talk about that.” The Engineer went on calmly, straightening himself up. His wings gave a sickening crack as they stretched out behind him and the demon brought the cross up to whittle away at it with one claw. Wooden curls dropped one by one as he carefully sliced away at the end. “Let’s talk about what happened between us, Father. I’m sure you know why I’m here…”
Father Martin gulped, shaking before the demon, but he forced himself to keep his ground. He raised himself to his knees. “I…I banished you, demon. From whence you came.”
“Mm-hm.” The Engineer sounded disinterested.
“I…I saved that child from your grasp.”
“’Saved that child’?” The Engineer paused. “Saved that child from my grasp? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You…You were manipulating her.”
The Engineer’s expression turned sour.
“A-And I saved her.”
“HIM!!” The Engineer roared suddenly, baring sharp yellow teeth. The pots and pans that had been out in the priest’s kitchen suddenly flew up to the ceiling with clangs and clatters, sticking there. He threw the hand holding the priest’s cross into the air and slammed the wooden artifact into the kitchen counter, smashing a hole into the marble surface.
Father Martin screamed in fright, eyes bugging out of his head when The Engineer took his hand away and he saw that the cross was embedded in the counter, standing up like it’d done when Jesus had been put upon the real one (or so they say).
“The child is a BOY!” The Engineer went on, jabbing a clawed finger in the priest’s direction. “And I wasn’t manipulating him at all! I was PROTECTING HIM! Protecting him from people like YOU! His own parents told him he’d go to Hell for being himself, I wasn’t going to stand by and let the kid believe that crap!” The demon straightened himself, forcing himself to calm. “I, of all people, would know what it takes to get to Hell - and your version ain’t it.”
Father Martin’s mouth opened and closed, arguments for this on his tongue, but nothing would arise. A demon protecting a child? This had to be some sick trick. The demon was clearly manipulating that poor girl - she had fallen for its illusions of friendship. Listened when it told her these obscenities about being male. Father Martin couldn’t put together why the demon would tell her as such, but who knew why demons did any of the things they did?
“Manipulating him…” The Engineer muttered mockingly with a shake of his head, then scoffed. “I’m not in the business of harming innocent children.” He pointed upwards. “That’s their jurisdiction.” Then he pointed to the priest. “I only deal with the stupid…”
Father Martin gulped.
“Speaking of which…as angry as I am of being accused of a crime I did not commit, that’s not why I’m here.” The Engineer went on, casually placing his hands behind his back. “Transphobia makes me angry like nothing else, sure…but do you know what else really sticks in my craw?” He cocked his head and didn’t wait for an answer. “Being. Exorcised.”
Father Martin’s blood ran cold. The realisation had fallen upon him. There was nothing to do now but be afraid.
The pots and pans unstuck themselves from the ceiling slowly, floating downwards and hovering in the air around them.
The priest shook madly as fright overcame him. “I…I was doing my duty…t-the Lord’s work…”
The Engineer gave a cruel chuckle. “I know, buttercup, I know. But, here’s a fun bit of news for you.” He slowly crouched before the Father, leaning in to speak in his ear as Father Martin trembled in the demon’s close presence. “Your Lord doesn’t exist.”
The pots and pans crashed to the floor.
Father Martin’s scream lasted but a second before it became a gurgle; forced to choke upon his own blood once claws had cut and fingers had torn, not at all clean, at the smooth skin of the priest’s throat. Table and chair and floor were spray-painted red by the gory sprinkler, robes were stained and wet from the overflow. Eyes rolled to the back of the priest’s skull and tongue lulled out of an open mouth, still frozen within the scream.
The demon played with his prey, using a finger and thumb to delicately tilt the kneeling priest’s head back, then he pushed the lump of flesh on his palm back from where it had been ripped, gingerly placing it back like a baby trying to fit a block through a hole. When the wet lump was pushed back into place, he sat back and watched as the priest’s head remained tilted and the lump fell out again and landed on the floor with a splat.
The body slumped to the floor, droplets of red still flicking and jumping out from the open arteries and veins; it was soon that Father Martin was laying in a puddle of his own liquid life.
Water was borrowed from the Father’s tap to clean away the evidence sprayed upon the murderer, no more words spoken to the victim as clawed hands scrubbed at face and arms, then a human man stepped out of the priest’s house and into the street.
Pale skin, dressed up in black leather. His zipped up vest had a diamond-shaped hole in the back, where two vertical marks lay in his skin like scars. Similar marks lay on either end of his forehead and, if one looked just hard enough, they would find that the very tips of his ears were pointed. But nobody looked twice at this man as he exited the priest’s home, not even at his bright blue hair or red-tinted goggles.
It wasn’t raining anymore. Not a cloud in the sky.
The Engineer grinned and called over his shoulder. “Thank you for the chat, Father! I’m sure our Lord’s words will remain with me for a long time to come, particularly since you’ve gifted me with one of His holy symbols.” He held up a fist; the priest’s cross on the beaded chain dangled from it. “Please, I’ll let myself out, don’t worry. You continue to rest.” His grin widened. “God bless you, Father.”
The leather-clad male shut the door behind him and sauntered off down the street, swinging the cross in circles. “God bless us all!” He cackled to himself, catching the cross in one fist.
He didn’t get very far before there was a flash of light, too quick for the human eye to catch, but not so for The Engineer. He didn’t react as it struck beside him, nor did he react when there was suddenly another man walking along at his side. Nobody looked twice at him either, not to gawk at his height or take in his fedora and vest and alarmingly green eyes.
The Engineer’s lips tipped up into a half-smile. “Hello, Sal.”
Sal frowned, keeping his gaze forwards. “The Engineer.”
“Fancy seeing you here.”
“You know why I’m here.”
“To bask amongst the humans? Yeah, me too. Love ‘em, don’t you?” He tipped his head. “Their stupidity is unmatched.”
Sal’s frown only deepened.
“Aw, c’monnnnnn, Sal! Humour me here.” When Sal didn’t, The Engineer frowned. “Alright, alright, I know. You’re here to tell me I’m gonna get punished for what I did! Even when I was entirely justified -”
“You just killed an innocent man.” Sal snapped, head turning sharply to the left so he could glare down at the demon in disguise. The two men came to a halt together. “I hardly think that could be justified in any sense of the word, The Engineer. I think you know that as well.”
The Engineer wasn‘t deterred. “Well! I guess we’re both guilty here.” He sneered at Sal. “After all…you didn’t stop me.”
Sal’s lips pressed together. He didn’t give a defence.
The Engineer enjoyed this, but he didn’t dare grin. “Now, what kind of angel allows a demon to kill a human like that?” He cocked his head so hard his neck cracked as his tone turned biting; it was a good thing nobody was watching. They would’ve seen a man break his own neck and nobody needed to see that. “I know! The kind that takes pleasure in punishing my species for so much as pissing at the wrong time of day! Even more so when punishing us for crimes that we didn’t even commit!”
The teeth on the right side of The Engineer’s mouth turned yellow and began to grow into sharp points as his head began quaking.
“You just killed an innocent man.” Sal repeated forcefully.
“You’re just afraid of justice.”
“This wasn’t justice. This was murder.”
“A murder well-deserved!”
The skin on the right side of his lips began fading into a deep, grey-blue and he twitched violently. Above their heads, the sky turned dark with clouds of black.
“No murder is well-deserved.” Sal affirmed. “Murder is a sin.”
“All murder is well-deserved if one looks back into a life far enough. If one looks thoroughly.”
The sclera and iris of his right eye turned yellow and the pupil became a mere slit, unseen because of his goggles.
Sal faltered, picking up something the humans did not, and looked over at a nearby house. Its windows were shaking in their panes, doors were quaking in their frames. He frowned tightly, then looked back to The Engineer. “That’s a vile way of thinking.”
“It’s my way of thinking.”
The nails on The Engineer’s right fingers became to lengthen into claws. Nearby, a dog began growling in his direction.
“Y’know who else I’m sure thinks that way? Especially when looking upon a lesser kind?”
His right ear became pointed, stretching out backwards. Thunder rumbled in the steadily growing black clouds above them.
“Your. Dear. Old. FATHER!!!”
Doors burst open around them, windows exploded into shards; houses were opened without consent. Car alarms came alive, lights flashed, and animals of all kinds cried out in their various voices. Lightning struck down a tree nearby, the wood imploding in on itself and splintering off in pieces, and people cried out and ducked for cover as burning branches rained down upon them -
“ENOUGH!” Sal shouted suddenly at the demon, swiping an arm out through the air. With his mere touch, he fixed everything: windows and doors were secure and closed, cars were silenced, lights and animals were calm, the dark clouds retreated and the tree was repaired and the debris was lost.
The Engineer glared at Sal, baring his changing teeth, and Sal calmly straightened his waistcoat. He looked to The Engineer out of the corner of his eye. “Your façade is slipping.”
The Engineer stared furiously beneath his goggles, then slowly raised a hand and wiped it across the morphing part of his face. As soon as his hand came away, everything was normal and human again. He wiped his left hand over his nails to change them back too. “…Cheers, mate.” With a sneer, he looked Sal up and down. “Speaking of facades, that one’s looking pretty good. One would think you do this often.”
Sal hastily cleared his throat, enough so that The Engineer’s ears twitched, and the angel in disguise went on “…Regardless…of what you or I think of our systems, The Engineer…you will be punished for this. Pappy will see to it.”
“I’m sure.”
“And I will warn you that it might be more severe than last time…It will be painful.”
“Boo-hoo. I’ll be sure to cry into my diary tonight before bed.” There was a pause. “…It’s always painful. You just block out our screams.”
Sal’s expression fell.
“Now,” The Engineer cocked his head, “don’t you gotta fly on home before Daddy notices you’re gone?”
Sal stared at him carefully, like he was trying to find The Engineer’s next move, then he nodded slowly. “…I should be leaving, yes. Just came to deliver the message.”
“Message received. Now leave before I have the urge to shoot the messenger.”
Sal faltered, then raised an eyebrow. “Now, that really would get you punished.”
“But it would be worth it.”
“I doubt that.”
The Engineer scoffed, then took Sal’s hand and slapped the dead priest’s cross onto the palm. “There ya go. More of a use for it than I, I’m sure.”
Sal looked down at it, then placed it into his pocket wordlessly and pushed a strand of black hair back up into his hat. “You’ll be called before the council to receive your punishment. I suggest you prepare yourself.”
“Prepare myself to receive a punishment for a crime I did not commit?” The Engineer spat, then slowly tilted his head. “…I don’t believe there’s quite a preparation for that.”
The two stared at each other for a moment, then Sal sighed lowly. “…Right. Return to Hell soon, The Engineer. You know what will happen if you don‘t.” With another burst of light that only The Engineer saw, Sal was gone.
The Engineer clenched his teeth and threw his head back to scream to the sky, “YEAH, THAT’S RIGHT! RUN HOME TO MUMMY AND DADDY! TELL THEM THAT THE BIG, MEAN DEMON’S GOT IT COMING TO ‘IM!”
Nobody even blinked at his screaming.
The Engineer huffed and shook his head, then pressed his lips together and looked down the road. A house down there was where he was comfortable calling his base, with a child that looked upon him as a hero. Who had sobbed for him when he was banished from the house, who mourned his absence. Whom he would never see again, for banishment ran deep and he was not permitted to be anywhere within nor near the property.
The demon swallowed the lump in his throat, scoffed, then faltered as he witnessed a girl heading toward the door to Father Martin’s home. His eyebrows rose and he turned around to go, walking briskly down the street before a flame swallowed him whole, quicker than the blink of a human eye.
He briefly heard the girl’s traumatised screaming as he left and smirked.
"I said 'Bedtime' an hour ago. Why are you still up..?" The gentlest Sal voice possible. Bailey pls. Go to bed. You have school tomorrow.
Child-Edition {Sentence Starters}
Indeed Sal had said ‘Bedtime’ an hour ago; they’d even gone through the tradition of a bedtime story and Bailey’s special song, which usually never failed to put Bailey to sleep.
But not tonight. Tonight, he was determined.
It was amazing how a child so small could hold a grudge so big, but Bailey had managed. Sending him to that awful place - to school. How could Sal do that to him? And not listening when he’d asked so nicely to never, ever go back and to stay with Sal forever! He thought Sal loved him. Clearly not.
So he was mad with his big brother. Because Sal was being mean to him.
Bailey’s usually smiley little face was instead a frowning pout as he glanced at Sal, then he stepped out of the living room’s doorway without a word to his guardian and padded over to the kitchen. He was hungry and he wanted a snack; never mind the ‘no eating after bedtime’ rule. He knew where Sal kept the cookies.
Into the kitchen stepped the blond boy dressed in puppy footie pyjamas and over to the kitchen counter he journeyed. He looked up at it, too small to see, and jumped in a fruitless effort at reaching. When that didn’t work, Bailey pouted, then looked over at a nearby chair and smiled. He’d seen this in the TV shows he watched in the afternoons. Just gotta collect the chair and climb on, then cookies for him.
Bailey scampered over to the chair, struggled a bit to pull it over to the counter, then smiled proudly to himself and climbed on up. The cookie jar was just there, beside the toaster. He licked his lips in anticipation and went reaching for the ceramic cactus-shaped jar.
For every ✍ + a number I receive, I will share one headcanon for my muse about...
3. …how long they hold grudges.
[Oh. Oh. The Engineer can hold a grudge for-fucking-ever. He hasn’t interacted with people enough to be. rly wronged that badly (except those two girls who played him and some lil punks at his primary school) but when there comes a time for him to be wronged, he won’t fuckin forget it.]
5. …being complimented.
[UHHH. Depends.
If you’re complimenting him like. “wow you’re rly good at your job!”
He’s just “well no shit Sherlock I’m literally called The Engineer”
But if you’re complimenting him like. calling him handsome or some other. attractive quality. he gets rly flustered and tries to hide his blushing face.]
10. …their handwriting.
[MESSY AS SHIT. BOI SLOW DOWN NO ONE CAN READ YOUR FUCKING WRITING.]
14. …a beloved toy or pet they had as a child.
[Never had any pets, but he did have a beloved toy: a Spiderman action figure (one of the many superhero toys he used to collect) that he used to take everywhere with him as a kid. Its paint is chipped and scratched to hell, its head had to be glued back on and one of its arms is a gun taken from a Jurassic Park toy, but it’s still around and is currently on a shelf in his bedroom back in England.]
