#disparatae

meanwhile, jason is 6'5 …>:)

      ❝ — It will be fine... it will be fine...❞  Whether she spoke to herself, or the company - she sounds distressed, working on to secure their hide, before backing off from the entrance, sliding down on her knees. Four walls served an illusion of peace - away from open gazes - little barricade ( not enough to stop anyone who truly WANTED in ), but enough to warn about upcoming danger. It was enough for her to finally relax. A moment to finally sit down, and check the damage received. So far, she had not felt anything. Not untill now adrenaline finally wore off.

Sweeping mouth against hand, she tastes salt and iron on her lips, fresher than coat of blood that had dried against her skin. A thought she wants to spit - what if it wasn’t hers. 

THAT’S JUST MY OPINIOOOOON / ACCEPTING.

Development Questions.⤷ Accepting. || @disparatae.HEADCANONS. superstitious beliefs.

On a majority of superstitious qualities, he’s a skeptic to the point of being a critic. If it’s about ghosts/spirits/demons/religious figures, he’s more prone to roll his eyes and sit down with an ouija board to prove them wrong ; if you try that EVP stuff with him, he’ll make fun of the way they always sound distorted or garbled ; if you put ORBS in front of him, he’ll literally stare you down like, “Why the fuck would that prove shit?” ; spirit boxes are just noises from radio stations with coincidental words thrust through at a random algorithm.

On the basis of things like: STEP ON A CRACK, BREAK YOUR MAMA’S BACK… He was prone to grab some kid’s feet and forcibly stamp them down on to a crack to prove that line was just bullshit. Some children BAWLED but he proved it wrong and they were more relieved than anything. Today he calls those things, “old wives’ bullshit” as a play on the common saying (a partial reason being that he never knew his mother so he can hold some resentment toward her for the saying)…However, he does believe in ONE thing as a superstition and that’s “BAD THINGS COME IN THREES.” It’s not something he states out loud, in fear of being questioned, but it’s an underlying stress for him since it’s what happened to send him away to Ericson’s in the first place. If anyone ever does know about it, he’ll become defensive if they start hammering him about his OTHER disbelieving statements and likely storm off to sulk for a while over them pushing him.

salty af munday!

under cut for length!

     everything felt like a haze -- like his arms and legs were short circuited and not responding when his brain said move. brief flashes of fluorescent lighting burned his eyes when he could manage to open them, before lulling right back off. it felt like no matter how hard he fought, sleep won every time, and he couldn’t keep himself awake long enough to even speak. he picked up sounds, however: beeping, clicks, the sounds of a computer and people talking inaudibly. it wasn’t until a sharp pain in his left shoulder jarred him from what felt like months of unconsciousness, grogginess following a weak yet defiant ( and muffled? ) noise of pain. 

                                        where am i?                                         how did i get here?

     unfocused eyes managed to pry themselves open, hazel orbs weak against the bright light even as an unsteady hand reached to pull whatever plastic-smelling mask was covering his nose and mouth. glancing to it, then to the door as his vision was unclouding -- this was a hospital.

                     “... hello ... ?”