#saintswept

@saintswept​​     sent  in  an  ask  for  the  height meme   ( accepting )

send me 🎰 and i’ll randomise our muse lists and give the first five as possible connections !  /  accepting

jane 'eleven' hopper - eleadora wolfhart

i couldn’t see a bio for eleadora but listen,,, im always here for some overpowered gals being pals

eli cardale - thana ashail

THIS IS LITERALLY SO FUNNY catholic asshole who wont die, meet girl who is haunted by ghosts 

mara sov - rosalyn yang

ok this is the one that probably works the Least because mara is very strictly sci-fi but not in a way that fits with tma. mara would respect rosie tho

jesse faden - river

OKAY THIS I VIBE WITH. the game jesse is from is very much inspired by scp and stuff like house of leaves so that brand of haunted would be something river is familiar with and jesse would probably stop by their store looking for objects of power!!

eleanor spiros - yuri vedenen

                      𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙳𝙾𝚄𝙱𝙻𝙴 𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙵𝚃𝚂, there is an interest in seeing ones self as they are, as you are not. kevin watches with intent interest, eyeless gaze following cecil. he wonders idly what the other may be thinking, the details in a smile-less face.   “ your station is so  . . . . antique ! ”   he offers. it is nothing like his little studio in desert bluffs, with strex’s high tech mixers and microphones, and external and internal censors.    “ it’s very dry. ”   he giggles, and it is less of a personal joke and more of a joke he thinks the two are sharing, even if cecil doesn't’ quite understand it. he will, eventually. he . . . will.   nightvale is a strange place, isn’t it ?   certainly nothing like the bluffs.   “ the people here are so . . . well, they are so nice, and welcoming , oh isn’t it nice to know our little desert communities are so close, we’re just two peas in a pod aren’t we ? ! "   

“ skipping out so soon, jon? ” he hadn’t needed to look up to assume who it would be slinking back from friends and associates that had pressed in to watch the countdown tick down on the old media center dragged up from storage for the evening occasion. just as he didn’t need to guess the look of mixed surprise, horror, and sheepishness that would greet him for being caught, as if mike hadn’t already done it almost an hour ago. 

“ you don’t have to apologize. i know just as well as you do that they can be ... quite a bit to deal with. ” it was nearly over either way, if the united chanting muffled by the door had anything to say about it. pushing lightly from the counter he’d been leaning against, swirling champagne untouched in its flute. ( he’d never much like alcohol when he was alive, and now it couldn’t touch him, though neither fact were ones he liked to broadcast when normalcy was the façade of the abnormal workplace. )

“ they do say it’s bad luck to be alone when the year starts, ” he continued with a mild air of consideration, “ don’t think you need any help in that department, hm? ” a small, teasing grin accompanied the words, and as the clock chimed to scattered cheers in the adjacent room, mike leaned up to press a chaste kiss on the edge of jon’s lips. if it was the sudden, temporary rush of dizzying vertigo on mike’s part or just the archivist’s own surprise, there was doubtlessly little telling.

“ do try to relax a little, jon. ” with the murmur, the glass was pressed into one of jon’s hands, assuming he was not so stunned he couldn’t use his fingers. his free hand offered a few gentle pats on the arm as he finally brushed past. “ it is a party. ” 

@saintswept​   :  "It's okay." Words he has spoken so often & meant rarely. Unsure if he does now, but it's more talking to keep the nerves in check than anything else. Carefully, timid almost, does Jon wrap his arms around Kevin, rests his chin on his shoulders & remains there. It's strange, he is not one for prolonged hugs himself, but not yet uncomfortable. " & if it's not okay yet, it will be."

                      𝙷𝙾𝚆 𝙻𝙾𝙽𝙶 𝙷𝙰𝚂 𝙸𝚃 𝙱𝙴𝙴𝙽 𝚂𝙸𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝙷𝙴 𝙶𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝙴𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃 ?   since he wriggled his way into archives and made a friend. long enough he supposes, for the two to be . . . comfortable around one another. today is a rarity, a moment of clarity : his smile is different today. which is unsurprisingly hard to tell between the angry jagged flesh pulled towards ears, exposing too much bone, and decades of muscle memory. there is an ache in his teeth, a burning in his throat he cannot explain, would not. there are days, the power of the Smiling God is too much, too vast. kevin imagines it is much like being dropped in the middle of a deep sea, the waves pulling you under, salt water burning your eyes, your throat, your lungs. no, no that isn’t right. it is more like a sun being stuffed into your chest. it is warm, and encroaching, which is to say :  𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚜

                        𝙰𝚁𝙼𝚂 𝚆𝚁𝙰𝙿 𝙰𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳 𝙷𝙸𝙼,    and kevin’s body pulls tense. prophet is hot to the touch, even through his suit. as if he has been baking in the desert sun all day.   it’s okay.   he does not understand.   it will be.   he is okay, he is happy. he is smiling.   “ oh , ah . . . ”   it is all he can manage, his own arms wrapping around the archivist to return the gift he has been given ; it is strange being close to something touched by the divine, someone like him. 

          ‘ a girl has to eat, archivist. at least i’m able to give my clients some closure, unlike your institute. ‘ gertrude had understood the purpose of offering those that came in to give their statements some counseling to deal with the unspeakable horrors they had witnessed. someone who wouldn’t tell them it was simply all in their heads. someone who would believe them.

Agnes’ smile is small and she hides it behind a chuckle and a sip of the coffee -- scalding to anyone who may have touched it but her. “She used to say the same thing. She hated the place. Hardly can blame her, really. It’s ... culty.” A laugh escapes the messiah, soft an almost airy -- like the hiss of hot steam.

It’s hard to describe the feelings Agnes has towards Jonathan Sims predecessor. Complicated was perhaps the simplest word, a cop out, really, on the feelings towards her anchor. She prevented her from what she was truly meant to do. She had, in one fell motion, taken the last bit of her agency. Gertrude Robinson was like a weight and a tether to her and she’d felt it when the woman died. She’d been freed in that regard -- to continue to prefect herself as the Messiah.

She sets her cup down, looking at the white chipped ceramic with a sigh. “I’m sorry about your hand. Jude is ...” An exhale. “Well, she’s Jude.” Hands absently smooth the material of her skirt, a small smile as she thinks of perhaps in many cases the closest thing she had to a friend.

❝ hey ! wait ! just where do you think you’re going ? ❞ / also one from mrs rosie bc i love her ??

                                    IT’S NOTHING PERSONAL , really it has more to do with pissing off elias than it does with rosie herself, as he charges past her and toward the institute head’s door, irritation written across his features.   “ look, i’ve got like eight interviews later, so if i can get through to have some words with the boss before i get off schedule, that would be great. ”   his tone is harsh, the look in his eye even more so, and then he looks at rosie and thinks of rita, and what he would do if anyone ever talked to her like that. juno huffs, aggression bleeding out of his posture if only slightly   “ mind if i go through now ? ”