consider this a STARTER CALL . Mutuals only .
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@isdolores
consider this a STARTER CALL . Mutuals only .
deadfought:
THERE IS A MONSTER that sleeps, dwelling in his chest and in the dark corners of his mind, that is STARTLED to waking at this – everything about it SCREAMS for his interference, and something in him regresses. ( it isn’t the shield of his father – but it is shaded by the abuse. He looks at her and he sees the desperation that he’d known in childhood. It’s hidden beneath the locks of his memory, known only by uncomfortable proxy – ) but just as the door is going to shut she CRIES out.
PLEASE !
A snarl rips through him, vicious and UNFORGIVING. Eddie is hulking, enormous by comparison to this man. It takes very little effort to force him back from the door, shoving in with his shoulder hard enough to send him REELING. He doesn’t bother with a KNIFE – a huge hand eclipses his throat, crushes the hyoid and the trachea without caution or CARE, effectively silencing the shout now stuck in his throat – and putting an effective timer to his expiration.
( He can be horrified later – Eddie will be, at the blood on his hands, at the flashes of his father’s FACE … he could bash it in, could scream and scream but the sound is stuck in his throat and his breath is trembling apart in his chest as it is. The man goes down like a sack of bricks. Eddie doesn’t stop squeezing until the struggling stops, until his legs cease their twitching and his pawing at Eddie’s arms goes SLACK. )
He’s heaving great gulps of air into his own lungs, as though he’s the one who’s been strangled, pulling back from the corpse as though reclaiming himself, as though reclaiming location and thought. He’s present again, enough to look at the girl on the bed, half - dressed and in danger. He’d responded to her danger. ( He remembers being her age, but only in the dim flashes of memory that come between the shredded tethers of his mind. So much as been blocked out, black and blank spaces of time he isn’t aware are absent. How thin and quick time seems to pass when you’re short on memories. ) He’d responded to her distress – like family. She’s young enough to be his DAUGHTER, but the thought immediately strikes with repulsion. His sister, then. He’s never had a sister. ( Dimly thankful, somewhere in his mind. God only knows what would have become of her. )
“ — are you okay ? “ His voice finds him, quiet and edging on demure, hinting at the lilt of an accent beneath his words – one he’s shy about, tries to disguise, but has always been too stubborn to be shed. “ It’s okay – it’s okay. “ ( He says it – to her or to himself, it doesn’t matter. )
THERE IS A moment when Humbert looks back at her , eyes dark , for a great roar sounds &&. the door’s presumed protection is overrun with the force of a madman &&. his anger , great paw closing ‘round her captor’s throat and s q u e e z i n g . She watches , lip quivering , as Humbert kicks &&. kicks &&. kicks && a part of her wants to scream out — STOP IT , STOP IT , but there is a voice inside her head , a gentle reminder that a dead man can’t hurt her . She’s thought about it , hasn’t she ? About bashing his head in with that crowbar in the trunk &&. running but the thought , the memory of his warnings about child services , of being UNLOVED come to mind &&. she never goes through with it .
She won’t have to now , the man is taking care of it . His grip remains tight through clawing &&. wiggling &&. she sees Humbert’s face reddening , barely hears a raspy plea for help &&. she too is angry ( again ) . No help was had from his end . No mercy in nights when his arm snaked ‘round her waist and lead her the bed of whatever crappy motel they were in that night . There was no help when she sobbed &&. sobbed for her mother , dead , by his hand . Nobody cared , Humbert certainly didn’t , but this man does ( He must , he must , or he wouldn’t be SAVING her ! ) .
❝ I hate you . ❞ She finds herself whispering to the corpse sprawled ‘pon the floor ‘for the first of many a sob wracks her body &&. though shaky hands take the time to first slide the sleeves of her nightdress back over her shoulders , she clings to the stranger . She is okay , more than okay , her cries are not of fear or sorrow . They are full of RELIEF , of realization that she is free now , safe now , ❝ Thank you . ❞
Rules are in the bio. Read them please !
@isdolores
HE SEES THEM, and something about it stands out in his mind. He can’t say what it is, exactly – just that there is an unnerved thing in his chest, unhappy with the sight. It’s a curling, sick feeling. ( Some side of him knows, he thinks, he sees his father. he sees his uncle. His hands curl into fists at his sides, FROZEN at the sight of him. ) He feels TRAPPED, stuck to the spot and breathless, his heart leaping in his throat.
The paralysis and the abrupt terror and rage fade when he’s out of sight. The man ( and his daughter? ) are out of sight, retreated to one of the rooms for the night.
The repairs the motel has hired Eddie for are expected to take the better part of the afternoon, onward into the night. They’ve offered him lodging, since the trip out was pretty long. It’s late – really late, by the time he retires. The repairs are done though, so he can be on his way early come morning.
– it wakes him up. They’re yelling next door, loud enough to make clear words through the walls. There’s a rising, mounting panic again. ( He can’t see the man’s face in his mind, just the face of his father. )
He wonders if the Motel will notice. If they’ll do anything. If they’ll send someone. After a while, it becomes evident that the answer is NO. ( His feet move of their own accord, they don’t ask his permission, there is no conscious plan formed. He knocks, waits, with a simmering rage under his skin – )
THE YELLING DOES not cease ‘till Eddie’s fist raps ‘pon the wooden door , shouts &&. sobs morphing to a moment of dead silence from inside the room . A hushed whisper . footsteps . Door creaks open , predator peeking head out to apologize for noise with accusations of unruly behavior &&. tired minds but there is a story made clear in unzipped pants &&. disheveled clothing &&. a girl sat on a bed’s corner half - clothed &&. trembling , arms crossed ‘gainst her chest . Eyes , they plead with him in silence --lips parting to offer wordless puffs of air .
“ My daughter is tired . ” The monster speaks , an all - too - polite grin presenting itself ‘pon his face , shifting to block Eddie’s view as hand attempts to close the door &&. the girl will cry out ‘fore her chance is missed , ❝ Please ! ❞
Anyone get that “my childhood was stolen and it’s not fair” kind of angry
She was DOLORES, just DOLORES. no Lo, no Dolly, no Lo.lita. Plain and simple. She was NOT a Nymp.het, she was a SURVIVOR.
HIGHLY SELECTIVE + PRIVATE + dash only +low activity interpretation of Dolore.s Ha.ze from Nab.okov’s Lo.lita . As loved and cared for by Marti.
Sideblog to horrauer. Rules must be read before interaction. If you think Lol.ita is a love story or support ped.ophilia, this isn’t the blog for you. PERSONALS DO NOT REBLOG. psd cred.
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