if i look back, i am lost
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@hcllscage
* ooc ! omg sorry for being mia guys, life is super hectic atm. i have a ton of fam coming over this week so i've been busy helping around the house. i should be back online to do replies soon! in the meantime hmu for disco to chat and plot!
(๑•́ ₃ •̀๑)
HEADCANON 01: WHO IS HE ?
THE KID, OR SO HE IS CALLED, is an anomaly which exists in the realm of Castle Rock. The nature of his existence is shrouded in mystery and horror, draping him in a thick coat of suspicion. No one knows where he came from, how he arrived, or exactly how long he had even existed. He was discovered in the woods on a frosty winter night in December of 1991. The disappearance & mystical reappearance of Henry Deaver had left the otherwise sleepy hollow of Castle Rock in an upturned mess – and as the electromagnetic energy coursing its way through the woods grew stronger and stronger, some of the town’s most God-fearing people were roused to the presence of divine. Warden Lacy is the one to have found him, the boy, lost on the outskirts of Castle Rock. He looks small against the blustery white background of snow but as Warden Lacy comes closer, he can see just how tall & imposing he is. He’s draped in an expensive peacoat & a burberry scarf wrapped around his neck. Leather gloves are worn & frosted by a thin layer of ice – and as suddenly as he appeared, the boy was begging.
The kid, on the night of his first appearance, claims to be HENRY DEAVER, son of the late Matthew & still-living Ruth Deaver. He’s young, perhaps in his early 20s, and handsome enough – but Warden lacy had heard the schisma ( or, as he likes to call it, the word of god ) and he knows that the root of evil lies here, on the outskirts of Castle Lake. After all, it’s never the people who do wrong here, it’s this place – and God always dealt out tragedy after tragedy for a reason. Who was he to doubt His will ? And when he sees this boy – this kid – with the bi-colored eyes and trembling hands, claiming to a boy that’s already been found, he knows that this is not a boy at all – but a devil. He kicks, he screams, he cries, he sobs – and most of all, he begs to be released – but Lacy’s got his hold on him, and from there – his fate is sealed in a rusted cage ten feet below Castle Rock.
It took 27 years before the kid is unearthed from his hole – and by then, the trauma of his kidnapping & abuse has left its mark. Slurred speech, difficulty with socialization, stunted emotional responses – just as one expects from a human boy held captive for nearly three decades. However – his physical appearance hasn’t changed one bit. To say he’s human would be a complete denial of his physical being. How can one human remain youthful for twenty seven years ? It’s peculiar – and no matter where he walks, where he goes – tragedy seems to follow him. It is true that some unfortunate souls are cursed to be unlucky. But this ? This is a whole new beast. The Kid, formerly Henry Deaver, knows nothing more than what Lacy had taught him.
As time goes on, his memory slowly recovers – and he claims to have found the Henry of this world in his father’s basement. He tells tales of a world nearly identical to the one he is now with a few small differences. It’s a world that seems idealistic – almost too perfect. Where the sorrows never happened & the best outcomes survived. He claims to want to return to that realm, his home. He begs for someone to let him free, to let him find the dimension he belongs to… but now the question is – is he telling the truth ?
The Kid means no harm, no evil. He’s just a lost boy trapped in a world he doesn’t belong in – and subsequently forced to bear the trauma of being labeled something he is not. But the longer he stays here, the longer he festers – the more he begins to lose his humanity. Soon, he will become the devil they claim him to be. Soon, the Kid will be everything they feared. Given time, he sheds his humanity in favor for the evil – the evil that nips so closely at his heels.
* illyssa !
These moments were her favorite ones. The ones that made time stand still, and it was just the two of them. Illyssa found herself melting into the kiss, one hand coming to rest on the Henry’s chest as she pressed a little closer to him. Smirking as he teases her about resting
“I’m pregnant. Not dying.” She replied with a slight roll of her eyes but she didn’t fight as Henry’s gently movements guided her toward the stool in the kitchen. After making herself comfortable she turned just in time to see him sweep into a bow, just laughing at the sight “I believe we still have some of that fruit salad leftover from the other night? That would be perfect.” She suggested with a smile before fixing him with a look. “You don’t know it’s going to be Henry Junior Mister Deaver. Don’t get ahead of yourself just yet.” She added though her words were light and teasing and her smile warm.
❛ YOU SAY THAT, MISSUS Deaver, but all I hear is that there’s a certain chance that the baby might indeed be a Henry Junior. ❜ His grin is wide & toothy, odd-eyed hues gleaming mischievously before he finally sweeps up to his full height once again. The idea of a baby -- their baby fills him with a buoyant sense of joy. The idea of starting a family with the woman of his dreams had seemed so far away before, a figment of his imagination. After all, a man like him -- steeped in the trauma of a broken household & a troubled father -- is never the ideal candidate for something as serious as fatherhood. But now -- now, when he sees Illyssa, he sees a future.
He turns now to rummage through the cupboards -- fetching a bowl, a spoon, and whatever items are necessary for pancakes. ❛ How are you feeling ? ❜ The teasing edge fades into gentle concern as he peers at her from over his shoulder. Brows knit together and full lips are curled into a gentle smile -- an expression of pure bliss and adoration. ❛ Any morning sickness ? ❜
ＡＲＲＯＧＡＮＴ ＢＯＹ love yourself so 𝐒𝐎 𝐍𝐎 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐎. indie priv & selective dash only for zaiden hendricks ( fandomless oc ) redirect for rules & about. multiship & crossover friendly. side blog to @hcllscage
DON’T LET THAT FUCKING KID OUT.
indie priv / sel & dash only. the kid from castle rock. adored by addy.
( redirect for rules & about. )
* fleur !
Furrow of sculpted brows, purse of full, roseate lips – there’s slight irritation in her countenance; a sideways glance thrown towards the boy reveals he’s still casting glances here and there at her, and has been for a while. Fleur is used to it, stares, some more unsubtle than others, but sometimes it becomes tiring – still, she’ll stand tall from her bench, chin held high and snap her book shut, turn on her heels to face the stranger, “ can I help you? you have been staring at me for quite zome time. It can be considered rude to zome, you know? ”
HER BEAUTY IS STRANGE. There is something about her aura, her demeanor, that strikes a chord -- and the kid does what he is best at. He gazes upon her with sunken eyes, bi-colored hues little more than a thin ring circling blown pupils. The snap of her book is enough to pull a flinch from his tall, hunched figure -- and he has the decency to pull his gaze back. He knows better than to anger others. The bad always follows, regardless. There’s no need to stir up any more trouble than it is already worth. Full lips tremble, parting & closing laboriously -- as if forming words is a feat on its own. When he finally speaks, his voice is small. ❛ -- You’re different. ❜
* pennywise !
Tap, tap, tap.
The tip taps of its shoes echo out, its large body seeming to blend into the darkness that surrounded it. To the point that you could hardly tell where one started and the other began. But then it doesn’t matter as its long limbs seem to reach out, gloved hand wiggling thin fingers, as if beckoning, its eyes– or where its eyes were supposed to be were glowing.
IT BECKONS TO HIM, and yet -- all the kid can feel is an odd sensation of understanding. It reeks of torture, radiating torment with each lurking step it takes closer to him. It’s almost relieving -- to see someone ( or something ) that has the bad following it, too. He remains immobile, back pressed against cold stone. ❛ -- what -- are you ? ❜
Could you please reblog this if it is okay to ask you straight up if you want to ship?
* blaise !
The pen in his hand clicked nervously against the wooden table as he put it down, reaching for the tape recorder that he had just pulled out of his bag. The boy–man?– had physically pulled back when he had placed it down. He already knew that this meeting had been asking a lot, and he didn’t want to jeopardize the rest of it. “I’m sorry, here let me just put this away.” He murmured, looking down at the device in his hand before slipping it back into the bag at his feet. “I wasn’t trying to make you–well more uncomfortable…” He trailed off with a sigh. This was going absolutely terribly.
“No, no you haven’t done anything, and i’m really grateful you decided to come honestly. I was just wondering if I could ask you some questions? ”
HE SHIFTS UNCOMFORTABLY IN his seat, the air growing thicker with each sharp inhale he takes. It feels wrong. It always feels wrong -- and this man doesn’t seem to realize. His lawyer has a brother & the brunette seated before him is his partner -- that much he knows. But why the other male seems so determined to ask questions and pester into the blood-soaked mysteries of Castle Rock is lost on the kid. No one’s ever wanted to know why. Warden Lacy had made it clear that there is never an explanation for the divine hand. God did as He pleased -- and to question His actions would brand you as a heretic. You do not question His grace -- and He had commanded that a boy like him is far more sinister than the naked eye can see. And so he festered for twenty-seven years, rotting in a cage until the darkness consumed whatever sanity the kid had left. Does he even have the answers ? The question burns on his tongue -- but his throat is too dry, tongue too garbled, to form the words.
Instead, he stares blankly at the brunette. Spindly digits twist tightly into the frayed hem of his flannel, clenching and unclenching the rumpled fabric in an attempt to ground himself back into reality. Odd-eyed hues dart away for a moment, staring past the other before finally sliding back to settle on a curious dark gaze. He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing as he does. ❛ Ask. ❜ The word is posed carefully, small voice hushed but firm. ❛ -- you start. ❜
* xander !
HIS JAW IS TIGHT, gaze studying the man in front of him with a rather frustrated expression lining the edges of his face. It had been a long day and it wasn’t even noon. The hunter wasn’t sure what to make of any information he’d been given — and this little place… well, it was UNSETTLING to say the least. ❝ I came… a very long way to meet you — so thank you for agreeing on meeting me. ❞ There’s a short pause as he considers his words, ❝ I know about what happened, and frankly — it’s some of the weirdest shit I’ve ever heard in my life but that’s not what I’m here for today. This place has always been on my radar the — activity… here…. is incredible. And… I need your help with something. ❞
’ WEIRD ‘ DIDN’T SEEM TO be an apt enough descriptor for the sleepy hollow in which the kid finds himself trapped in. It’s as if the very fabric upon which Castle Rock was built is carefully ripping at the seams, stitch by painful stitch, until the very contents of hell are let loose onto the streets. Warden Lacy’s quiet, reverent timbre echoes in the chambers of his empty skull. DEVIL, DEVIL, DEVIL. God was testing him with guilt, pushing his limits for every single night in which the kid was trapped beneath the depths of Shawshank. Bi-colored hues are vacant, glassed over & almost clouded with something far away and distant -- as if the man seated before him is little more than an imagined daydream. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s hallucinated. A beat passes, silence engulfing the room thickly before finally, the kid lifts his head enough to fixate a blank-looking stare upon the other. He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing visibly as he does. He looks small in spite of his imposing height, broad shoulders hunched & worn flannel far too large for his sickly frame.
❛ H -- elp ? ❜ The syllable leaves chapped lips almost brokenly -- as if finding his hoarse voice doesn’t come naturally to a creature like him anymore. ❛ -- do not… help. Cannot. Make things -- worse. Always make things worse. ❜
* hara !
her squint is violent, as if she couldn’t see the person in front of her in full. she’s got an unease that isn’t dissimilar to discomfort she’s felt before and yet, it kind of feels brand new. there’s something terribly off about him. he speaks like he’s never heard his own voice and she wonders if the skip in his voice is because she makes people nervous or because it’s an impediment due to some medical reasoning she does not understand. she white knuckles the pencil in her hand and the pop of her gum breathes like a warning. she’s like a wild animal. but the more she absorbs his energy, he seems quite animal-like himself. which would have pretty a deeper caution to someone else but makes her a little more warm to his presence. she prefers animals to people, after-all. you could always tell their intention. “and here i flattered myself in thinking you were talking about me.” she resumes back to shading eyes.pretty grotesque sketch, if she were commenting on her own work. “thanks..” she tosses it out like an after thought because it was.
HE’S NOT QUITE SURE if he said the wrong thing -- and with full lips curling at the ends into a ghost of a frown, the kid falters. He surveys her carefully through odd-eyed hues, watching the careful flicks of her wrist with each stroke graphite makes against paper -- and he wonders how it must feel to be so steady in hand. The kid is all knobby limbs & awkward movements, each forward step little more than a jerk-like lurch. He stares down at his feet, worn sneakers shuffling awkwardly amongst the grass. Her afterthought, no matter how carelessly thrown between them, lingers in his mind. A long minute passes -- and he’s still standing somewhat awkwardly to the side, but he pays no mind. ❛ You -- are… too. ❜ His words are spoken with less of a stutter. Instead, each syllable is carefully mumbled out, as if the kid is taking great care to be heard, to be understood. Sad eyes always look tired and full of exhaustion, bruise-like bags pressed deep into hollowed cheeks. But he offers a smile nonetheless. As much of a smile as he can muster, that is. ❛ You are too. ❜
* ooc ! uwu i've been out all day but i just got home so i'm gonna get all cleaned up n stuff then i'll be online! i just jumpstarted another sideblog so i gotta make some icons & some gfx but i'll slowly be chipping away at the drafts i have. if u wanna plot hit this w an mf like & i'll slide into ur dms to chat n stuff! oh also -- lmk if any of yas wants my disco!
✦ FELICIA ADALASIA CARBONE ✦
⇾ vampire . six hundred ninety eight . nyc . ⇾ penned by faith since jan 2015 . ⇾ nsfw . selective .
ＡＲＲＯＧＡＮＴ ＢＯＹ love yourself so 𝐒𝐎 𝐍𝐎 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐎. indie priv & selective dash only for zaiden hendricks ( fandomless oc ) redirect for rules & about. multiship & crossover friendly. side blog to @hcllscage
* hara !
a piece of gum snaps into two pieces between two fingers before it’s shoved into her mouth and obliterated. it’s full of sugar. the kind of gum that sticks to your face if you blow too big and it pops. she finds comfort in the messiness of it. but it’s merely a distraction piece if anything. something to busy a fraction of her as she draws in a stolen sketch pad, on a blanket in the grass. she notices him as a blur in the corner of her eye — she’s always cautious of the people around her, always counting heads. but she doesn’t think any of a pass-byer until he stops and utters something. green eyes glance up, take a quick double-checking sweep around her, until she settles on the fact that they’re the only two around. “what?”
A CREASE APPEARS BETWEEN his brows -- an almost sheepish looking expression tugging upon chapped lips. The kid, in spite of his strange demeanor, has the decency to look almost embarrassed. He feels caught, spindly fingers twisting to grasp at the hem of the oversized flannel hanging off of his lanky frame. It’s all stray threads & worn edges -- but he hardly seems to notice. Wide eyes drop in their gaze to fixate upon the grass beneath his borrowed sneakers, shoulders slouched and spine bent ever so slightly. It’s almost as if he’s trying to huddle away in spite of his imposing height. Lips purse as he stutters -- words, after all, feel foreign on his tongue. ❛ -- p - pretty, ❜ he echoes again, voice still small. A shaky hand lifts and he points one finger down at the sketchpad held open in her lap to indicate what he’s referencing. ❛ Your -- your drawing. ❜ And this time, the sheepish, almost embarrassed, expression shifts & lips curl into a small, hesitant smile.
DON’T LET THAT FUCKING KID OUT.
indie priv / sel & dash only. the kid from castle rock. adored by addy.
( redirect for rules & about. )
