the perforation of the heart.

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the perforation of the heart.

Post  Dahmer Oriel on Mon Nov 25, 2013 1:47 am




This is long as fuck and I've been writing it on and off for like...ever. So it's all disjointed and probably doesn't make sense in a lot of spots. BUT IT WAS MADE FROM LOVE.



i would rather have a punctured lung,
than waste my breath on you


Dahmer Oriel just didn't know what to do with himself. Rather, he knew what he could do, but he just wasn't able to bring himself to do it. It was difficult, an issue he had never really encountered before – he was the decisive type. Choices were always settled with careful deliberation and quickly followed through with any action he deemed necessary. It was one of the reasons he had risen through the ranks of the Bureau, arriving at the title of Master Assassin along with his partner in record time. Pressure never handicapped him in the way it would others – situations would arise and Dahmer would keep a level head, moving forward and making split second decisions with a swiftness that left enemies astounded and struggling to react. But this was something entirely different. It had nothing to do with strategy and gaining enemy ground. It was an emotional matter, and his heart was complicating things. Fear was there, too. It was impossible for him to forget the feel of devastating lost that had torn at his insides as he watched his friend walk away from him. He had felt nothing but fury while it happened, but as time passed the anger transformed into an achingly hollow sadness and sense of loss. He was empty now, and couldn't bring himself to take a step in any direction.

So here he was, just sitting in his chair – his third day of doing just that and nothing else. Aside from a few talks with Ghost, Dahmer had spoken to no one since the catastrophic event now seen in his mind as “The Confession.” Which was probably a good thing, because he was completely incapable of thinking or speaking of anything else. He was dimly aware that Ghost had stopped by a few times, though he was fairly sure that he hadn't uttered a word worth hearing. He remained in his seat and she'd stay quiet, just keeping him company. She had brought a chair down from the tree house above,  somehow knowing that taking the place directly in front of him wasn't a good idea. The first time the white wolf claimed her own chair, Dahmer remembered briefly wondering at how she knew that sitting in Sherlock's place would cause him pain. His friend had come a long way – from someone who could barely identify her own emotions to being sensitive enough to realize something about a new friend.  Gratitude had filled him as he gazed at his companion, his eyes warming slightly. Then he thought of why Sherlock's chair was empty and abruptly fell back into the depths of his bleak thoughts and memories . He wouldn't emerge for a while.



i'm so good to you,
and you never did deserve it
curse your tendency to hide and ignore it
just know that i try, know that I go crazy
adding up all the wasted hours away...
from you



Now as he sat in the darkness of his home, Dahmer's mind continued to skip over the same key details, repeating themselves over and over as though his head had become a broken record. He wished desperately that he could unplug from everything and plunge himself into mindless things that would keep him occupied. Build an entire house. Prune every tree in the entire forest. Anything that would help him put off the inevitable – the moment when he had to stop running and start thinking about what really mattered. But it was impossible. If he couldn't even force his mind to do what he wanted, how could he possibly convince his body to cooperate? There were periods of time when he entered a sort of fugue state – hours would pass without him seeming to notice and he'd come to some time later, with no idea what he'd been doing. At first he assumed that he'd just be falling asleep – seeking the blessed relief of unconsciousness. It soon became obvious that sleep wasn't what was happening to him, for even in his dreams he was plagued. No, this was a little easier than slumber – at least in some aspects. He wasn't haunted by nightmares or the crystal clear image of Sherlock's scornful sneer. Instead it was a sort of idleness in which time passed him by, leaving him with no control whatsoever. It was terrible and horrifying in an entirely different way. He'd come to after minutes or even hours later, sitting in his seat, his hands tightly grasping the precious violin Sherlock had left behind in her desperate attempt to disappear from him forever. He would return to the present world with a jolting gasp, as though breaking through the water's surface after being submerged for a very long time.

Slowly he'd become aware of everything around him, the walls surrounding his possessions, everything that made his place home. And then the empty chair before him would intrude on his few seconds of peace and ignorance, making way for the unpleasant knowledge, the things that punched a hole in his chest. Memories of the words that had been flung back and forth between them, the looks she gave him and his answering snarls – most of all, the crushing blow of complete rejection that had almost swept his legs out from under him. He would drown in these feelings as he gently caressed the smooth wood, fingers running along the length of the violin's neck. The male would clutch the instrument close to his chest, as though it was actually her he was clinging to. Eventually the cycle would repeat itself...and he couldn't go on like this much longer. He needed to make a move, he needed to change something, anything. What he really needed to do was make the decision. It was a choice that would determine everything from here on out. His two options were painfully clear – it was just the aching doubt that made things so difficult. He was terrified of going through it all over again. He wouldn't survive something like this another time. But now that he was aware of certain information, doing nothing at all would probably cause the same emotional damage as getting hurt again.

i'm so happy with the thought
of walking next to you,
i'm not sleeping, instead i think of you  
it's never that easy, i know


Ghost had found him on the second day. The two of them were supposed to meet up at one point the day before and when Dahmer didn't show, his friend became worried. Dahmer never missed a meet up. At first she assumed that maybe he was busy with Sherlock and hadn't wanted to intrude. She knew Sherlock was staying with Dahmer until the repairs on her house were completed. Ghost had happily lent a comforting ear for the male to talk into as his excitement had turned to flustered apprehension and finally frustration. She had even been able to get him to laugh at a situation he was convinced would be his most embarrassing moment ever: the first night of Sherlock's stay, when his offer for her to use his bed made it sound as though he wanted to use it together. He had been positive that making eye contact with the black female would be an impossibility from then on. But Ghost helped him see the humour in the situation. Then their conversations about Sherlock took on a more serious tone as she listened sympathetically to his complaints over his partner's behaviour. Ghost was able to talk Dahmer down when his frustration at Sherlock's silence boiled over – she was well aware of how difficult things were becoming with him. She knew just how close his anger was to the surface, and Ghost would search Dahmer out more and more to give him an opportunity to vent. She'd show up at Sherlock's home while the male continued building, helping when and where she could, but mostly she'd just listen. It made a big difference and on those days, Dahmer would be able to breathe a little easier when he returned home to his house guest. So when her friend failed to show up at their meeting spot the first day, Ghost figured that maybe the two of them had sorted things out and Dahmer wanted to spend time with his old partner. But when the second morning slipped by without any word from him, she set out to find her friend. On her way to his house, she ran into Sherlock and what followed after threw Ghost into a confused panic. Sherlock was in a hurry to get herself as far away from the area as possible. As far from Dahmer as possible. Ghost listened with growing horror as the usually composed wolf spoke of what had happened with her friend. She didn't know what surprised her more – that Sherlock Holmes was actually confiding in her, how disheveled and broken she seemed, or the fact that Dahmer had actually confronted her in such an angry matter.

Sherlock explained why she had to go, why she needed to leave for good. Her eyes were slightly red and swollen, her words broken and hopeless. She confessed that she loved him, had maybe loved him for a while, but just couldn't see it before now. And then the most shocking thing of all: Dahmer's reaction. He had been cold and furious, declaring that he didn't care in the slightest, that it didn't matter. He didn't want her. Ghost's eyes had widened impossibly as she took this in, shaking her head without seeming to be aware of it. She wanted to tell Sherlock that it wasn't true, none of it was real – Dahmer didn't mean his words to sound like that. He was hurt, of course – who could blame him? She had treated him badly, but he didn't mean to throw it all away like that. If she would just go back and talk to him again, everything would be okay, it would all be fixed. But as soon as Sherlock finished speaking, she was gathering herself and offering a crisp, slightly regretful goodbye before taking her leave. Ghost knew that Sherlock had only confided in her because of her emotional state and that if she wasn't in such a rush to get away, she would have put more effort into pulling the walls up around her. It was a mistake, and the white female chalked it up to the confusion of Sherlock's normally organized mind. In any case, it helped Ghost see Sherlock Holmes in a more positive light. Her distress and inability to completely compose herself as she once might have only proved how she felt for Dahmer – if she didn't really love him, she would have been able to move on easily. She would have been able to prevent herself from spilling out the truth to a practical stranger. She would have given Ghost a curt explanation as to why she needed to leave, and Dahmer probably wouldn't have been mentioned at all. As it was though, Ghost gave the fleeing wolf the credit she was due, and watched as the blowing snow swallowed up her retreating form. She stood silently for a moment or two longer before bolting for Dahmer's.

Dahmer heard the scratch on his door and the idea that it might be Sherlock lasted only a few seconds before Ghost quietly pushed her way through the door. Sherlock wouldn't have hesitated at the door. The male buried himself deeper into his chair, dragging his gaze from the floor and up onto the female. It felt as though he was looking at her from the end of a very long, very dark tunnel. She spoke so softly and kindly to him, gently pulling from him the entire story. Before long she was up in the chair with him, the two of them impossibly crowded as she rested her muzzle on his shoulder. He listened to the sound of her steady breathing and drew comfort from it. Then she spoke. Her words were soft and almost cheerful, and oddly insistent for a wolf who used to talk only to her own shadow. It isn't true, you know. Dahmer leaned away in order to properly see his ;friend. Ghost nosed his neck in a sisterly manner before hopping off the chair and sitting on the floor before him. Her tail thumped slightly against the wood. That she doesn't love you? Well, I mean...the right way. You think she loves you the wrong way, that she doesn't want to love you at all. But she does. She's just scared. And maybe she reacted in a bad way, maybe she said the wrong things. But you didn't do everything perfectly yourself. Dahmer had been astounded at Ghost's frank matter, baffled as to where this confidence and knowledge came from. Ghost never talked like this. It gave him a sort of off kilter feeling, as though he was in another dimension in which everything was just slightly out of place. But she seemed to know what she was talking about, so he listened intently. You could have been honest from the beginning, instead of keeping your feelings locked up like a secret you're ashamed of. Hiding and ignoring something doesn't make it go away. It still exists.
Her eyes had become a little angry at this point, as though she was also referring to something else that was on her mind as well. And it just gets bigger and harder to hide the longer you ignore it. Sherlock wasn't denying her feelings like you were. She just didn't know about them. And if you had've said something at any point, maybe the two of you could have figured it out together. Instead you kept silent and everything got bigger. Everything got worse. Until you made it into an ambush and Sherlock didn't know how to react. She didn't deserve to find out in that way. You know her better than any one in the entire world, Dahmer. You should have known that she'd need help! I'm sure she could have confessed her feelings in a better way...but a lot of things could have been done differently. And now you're going to wait until it's too late to fix anything. You're letting her get away because of your bruised pride. I get that you're hurt, I really do. But she does love you. And if you don't find her again, she'll never be able to learn how to love you properly.

Ghost trailed off at this point, her voice a little hoarse as she tried to catch her breath. Meanwhile, Dahmer just tried to get up. He was at a loss – where had all this wisdom come from? Not even a month ago Ghost hadn't known the first thing about friendship or family, let alone romantic love and the pride involved. And yet here she was, completely out of character and telling him exactly what he needed to hear. She couldn't have stepped out of her shell in a more convenient way. Question was, was he smart enough to take her advice? He was still hurt...and there was a lot of anger festering somewhere in there as well. So there they were – his choices. Would he put aside his anger and pride, risk being hurt again in order to go after their 'happily every after?' Or was he better off just sitting here, wallowing for the rest of his life? It should have been an easy choice, it should not have taken as long as it did. Yet he would sit there for a day longer, completely torn.

there – enough, i'm still in love with the false hope of us
stabbed inside my chest
although my dear,
i would rather have a broken heart
than give up hope on you.


It wasn't until dawn broke cold and snowy that Dahmer made a move. He thought of Ghost and the life she used to have – she had been trapped, too afraid to move outside the comfort and safety of the only world she knew for so long. She spent so much time in the darkness until she was brave enough to refuse the life Jahre was trying to force on her. Without knowing what was out there, she plunge forth and took her happiness into her own paws. And look at where she was now. If Ghost could do all that, what was stopping him from grasping at whatever happiness might be available to him? His stupid pride and a bunch of anger? If she turned him away, then he could spend the rest of his life with them, just like he planned to do while sitting alone in his home. But if she was willing to be brave along with him... well, the two of them could work on their issues together. So what the fuck was he still doing here? How far ahead had Sherlock gotten while he was feeling sorry for himself? Dahmer jumped to his feet, setting Sherlock's violin gently in her chair. He looked around him and then out the window, eyes wide with panic – was it even possible to catch up with her? Sherlock hadn't taken anything with her, he had no idea where her destination was. Did she plan to just wander in one direction until she found what she was looking for? Ghost had told the male which way Sherlock was heading, but with the large amount of snow they had and the flakes that were still falling, tracking his old friend was going to be difficult. But he couldn't give up just yet! He had to try, he had already wasted so much time.

The male burst out his door, slamming it impatiently shut behind him. He pointed himself in the direction Ghost claimed Sherlock was heading, and plunged on through the snow. It was deep and heavy, putting up just enough resistance to make him even more desperate. Giant flakes still fell from the sky, turning the land around him into a world of white, muffling the sounds of the forest. He plowed on with determination, initially opting to stay on two legs instead of the more convenient four. Traveling was a lot easier in his wolf form, especially in deep snow, but he figured the time and energy it would take for him to shift would outweigh any benefits having the extra paws might offer. After an hour or so of silent running though, Dahmer was forced to give in and compromise. He shifted to his halfling form – giving him the convenience and speed of all fours, while retaining the energy a full shift would have cost him. He made a lot better time after this, the secui form well suited for heavy running. He was able to push his way through the snow, shoveling aside drifts as he ran. He didn't have to worry about losing his balance, either. It wasn't too long before the male felt the need to slow, worried that he might run past any sign or scent of his friend.

Dahmer's run slowed to an almost meandering pace as he paused here and there, nose to the ground. His snuffs and the crunch of paws in the snow were the only sounds for what felt like miles. He was no longer moving in one direction, instead staggering his path as he moved back and forth in hopes of catching Sherlock's scent. He continued on in this manner for a while, long enough to allow for the sinking doubts and fears to take residence in his chest once again. Was he even going in the right direction? Was Ghost wrong? And if she was wrong about this, maybe she was wrong about everything else! Before long, Dahmer was ready to give in to his fears and despair, prepared to slink back home in order to wallow in his disappointment and stupidity. Completely at a loss, Dahmer gazed around desperately. Wait, what was that! His eyes narrowed as he struggled to see through the thick snow. There. Right there! It was a tiny blot of darkness a little ways ahead of him, maybe a cave. He would have shrugged it off any other day but the wind shifted slightly, bringing with it the slightest whiff of Sherlock's scent. The massive male almost collapsed with relief. He leaned in to the wind and plunged forward, his nose to the ground. As he drew closer to the cave, Sherlock's scent grew stronger and so did the male's relief. Originally an awful inconvenience, the snowstorm was turning out to be his best ally. Sherlock wouldn't have gone far in the middle of such a storm. She had made the logical move, finding shelter that allowed for her to spend the night in relative comfort. And because the snow hadn't let up, he knew she couldn't be far beyond him. There were no paw prints heading into the cave, but a trail definitely lead away from it – and the tracks were fresh. Dahmer stood outside the makeshift den, his eyes closed as relief washed over him. The wind continued to howl angrily, blowing snow whipping his fur all over his massive frame. He had to keep moving. She couldn't slip away from him, not again.

Another hour of diligent running and finally the cold and bleak landscape of white and skeletal trees gave way to a single image of hope. There, a hundred or so feet ahead of him and moving against the wind was Sherlock Holmes. The sight of her caused Dahmer's knees to go weak and he failed to catch himself before collapsing into the snow. He had told Sherlock that he didn't care if he never saw her again – and if he hadn't known it was a lie then, the warmth and love that filled him now would have chased away any doubt. He loved her more than anything possible. It was as simple and complicated as that. But for the first time ever, he was going to force himself to actually do something about it. She wouldn't get away again, not without knowing how he really felt. He couldn't watch her walk away without stopping her, not again. It would kill him. Where everything else that had happened between them weakened and hurt, this would completely do him in.

The male dove forward and gathered all his remaining strength in order to close the distance between them. SHERLOCK! He shouted into the wind. His voice was just as loud as it had been that fateful day before. Only then, his tone had been overcome with fury and confusion. This time the syllables were coated in warmth and love, buoyed by the hope Ghost had gifted him. He had to know if things could be fixed, right here, right now. Sherlock had different ideas: either she didn't hear him, or had no intentions of stopping. He watched as she faltered slightly for just a second before pushing on, increasing her speed. He moved as well, throwing himself forward once again as he spurred toward the female, kicking up snow in all directions around him. Though she had a head start, she was fully shifted and only on two legs, so Dahmer was able to take advantage of his speedier form. Just as he found himself within reach of her though, the male fell back on his hind legs. With the adrenaline that was coursing through his veins as the result of seeing her again, Dahmer fully shifted himself in order to have use of entirely formed hands. Sherlock, please. Wait! He pleaded, finally drawing even with her fleeing form. His left hand shot forward, grasping the female's arm and arresting her progress. His speed and strength caused the female to spin around to face him, and he took advantage in order to pull her close. Maybe it was wrong, but right now he didn't care about any walls she'd want to put up between them. He refused to let them keep him out anymore.

The snow swirled around them, but it was all lost on him. He couldn't even register the biting cold anymore. The only other thing in his entire world was her, nothing else mattered. His hand ran along the length of her arm, up and over her shoulder before he let it rest against her neck. He held her head gently, tilting it to look up at him. His eyes were sad and pleading, but there was also something else there, something bright and burning, struggling to break through. Please don't keep running. I need you to stay, please. Right here, for me. He pulled back slightly, relinquishing his hold on her. He had caught her and managed to stop the female from running further – but he wasn't going to force her to stay there. It was her choice. All he could do was ask and wait to see if she was willing to take the jump with him.                                                                                                                                                                   

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Dahmer Oriel
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Re: the perforation of the heart.

Post  sherlock holmes on Sun Dec 01, 2013 1:28 am


.
She had taken Dahmer’s words to heart and had made her way away from where she had called home for the last nine months. Oh, he hadn’t come right out and told Sherlock that he wanted her gone, but she wasn’t a dumb wolf – far from it, in fact – and she had been able to read between the lines with a perfect clarity. It had been worded in such a way that it seemed like Sherlock had had a choice, whether to stay or to go, but she really didn’t- she really didn’t have anyone to stay for, aside from Dahmer. So the decision to leave had been devastatingly easy, so with a hollow feeling in her stomach, Sherlock had set off in the pouring rain with no destination in mind, just as long as it was away from Dahmer.

Sherlock had hoped to have been miles gone by the time the sun had set, but it had seemed that everything was working against her that day. The ebony female had only travelled about half an hour in the freezing rain when she had bumped into Ghost. Although normally Sherlock would have been brisk and excused herself quickly, it showed how much of a state when was in when she found herself confiding in Ghost in a way she never confided in anyone. She could blame it on her exhaustion, on the fact that the walls she normally had constructed felt like they weighed a ton and she just needed somebody to talk to. So instead of being her typical Sherlock self, she had explained how she had screwed everything up, that she had blown it by telling Dahmer in the worst possible way that she had fallen in love with him, and because of that she needed to get away. Oh, she could have spun the tale so that it showed Dahmer to be the ‘bad guy’ of the story these stories normally had, but Sherlock knew the blame laid mostly on her – she wasn’t totally naïve as to take the entire blame – and thought Dahmer’s reaction had been justifiable. The truth of the matter, Sherlock knew she was all of those things her friend had accused her of being – arrogant, conceited, completely selfish – and it wasn’t the first time that she had been accused of being those things, but Sherlock had been surprised to find how much it had hurt coming from her friend. Having once again confided in this strange wolf, Sherlock had decided that she didn’t want to stick around and listen to Ghost spout off what she already knew, that she had deserved everything that Dahmer had said to her in the heated moment. So instead, Sherlock had offered the ivory wolf a hasty goodbye and had taken her leave.

oh, I had my heart set on you
but nothing else hurts like you do
who knew that love was so cruel


After her encounter with Ghost, Sherlock had only travelled another mile or so before she had to admit defeat. The storm that had blown in during her tremendous fight with Dahmer had transformed into a blizzard; not only did the assassin find herself soaked to the bone from the pouring rain, she found herself numb from the cold – and although it made her feel utterly dramatic, but she found it fitting that her insides would match how she felt physically. The snow was relentless and was falling quickly, making visibility abysmal, and on top of the dropping temperature, Sherlock knew that she needed to seek out shelter and wait out the worst of the storm. By the time she found a cave that was suitable, she was stiff with the cold and ready to get out of the weather. It had taken only another ten minutes of searching, tripping tiredly through the accumulating snow, for the female to find a cave that she could rest in for the evening. Tentatively peering into the cave, Sherlock found that she was finally getting some luck thrown her way- not only was the cave empty and dry, but it also appeared to have a few bundles of wood that would be adequate for building a fire. Easing herself into the cave, Sherlock had set about making a small fire with, one large enough that she could keep herself from catching her death and dry off, but not kill herself with smoke inhalation.

Gingerly sitting herself down in front of the fire with her elbows on her knees, Sherlock rested her head in the palms of her paws and finally let all of the tension out of her body. She was emotionally and physically exhausted, but it seemed that now that she had opened up the damn that had held all of her emotions, it refused to close. How could someone deal with these emotions on a daily emotion? The way they ate at you, demanding your constant attention was so incredibly draining. It seemed impossible to deal with them, especially the feeling of love, and to think that Dahmer had been dealing with these feelings for months, hiding them away so well that not even Sherlock had been able to read into them.

all this time with you
really loved me,
despite my faults and you knew


She closed her eyes, thinking that there was one way to ensure that she could rid herself of feeling these suffocating emotions, and that was to erase the one thing that had caused the cracks to begin with – Dahmer. It should be so easy to delete him, and once upon a time Sherlock wouldn’t have thought twice about deleting something that she deemed unimportant- but that was the problem, Dahmer wasn’t unimportant, now was he? In fact, he was Important, with a capital I. She had filled room upon room of information about him in her mind palace. He had such a dark sense of humour that made the two of them a perfect pair except when dark jokes (any jokes, really) involved her and then he got defensive for her (and for the longest time, this had baffled Sherlock), he was incredibly sensitive about his large stature, wishing he wasn’t so noticeable and a bit more graceful, and how he had sought out a teacher to teach him first aid and medical training, which was incredibly handy when Sherlock managed to hurt herself on assignment. But it were the little things that Sherlock had really grown to love, like how if he was reading a book he was enjoying, he would lose himself in it and wouldn’t notice anything that happened around him, or how much of a love he has for craftsmanship and was just content keeping his hands busy, but most of all, Sherlock loved how he secretly loved to read Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice but always denied the enjoyment he got out of reading them. Just the idea of getting rid of all of that information about her friend nearly gave her the same heartbreaking feeling she was currently feeling about the entire situation.

At some point, Sherlock must have fallen asleep because she was blinking herself awake, finding herself laying on her side, head cushioned under a numb arm and staring at the bare embers of the fire that had died during the night. At first she was confused and was about to call out to Dahmer to see where he was when the events from the previous days came back to her in full force, making her insides feel hollow all over again. Was this what she would have the pleasure of feeling every single day, this feeling like someone had scooped out her entire insides and left her empty? How did one recover from this heartache? This wasn’t some cut that you could put a bandaid on, it felt like an open wound that would surely continue to bleed and eventually fester.  

maybe tomorrow it won’t be this hard
who am I kidding?
I know what I’m missing


With a glance out the opening of the cave, Sherlock saw that the snow was still howling outside and she groaned in frustration. She eased herself up and rested her back against the closest wall, tapping a random beat against her knee as she stared at the outdoors. After only a few moments of watching the storm, Sherlock picked herself and scattered the ash across the cave floor and stepping out into the deep and heavy snow. She knew that it wasn’t the most logical decision to make, leaving the safety of the convenient shelter she had managed to discover, but she would much rather face the weather than be holed up any longer in the cave, suffocating in the hollow feeling- maybe the more distance she put between herself and Dahmer, the more this feeling would disappear.

The travel was difficult and slow, not only because of the deep and heavy snow on the ground but with the snow and wind pushing her around, but Sherlock found it a good distraction; she was able to concentrate more on putting one foot in front of the other and not toppling over. She couldn’t be sure how long she had been walking before she thought she heard a voice mingle in with the wind that made her pause in her travels. The voice sounded oddly like Dahmer, but Sherlock made herself continue onwards without instinctively checking behind her in a hopeful manner knowing that Dahmer wouldn’t be coming after her, especially in this terrible storm, not like the rain storm that had taken place the few weeks prior. It was much easier to keep going forward without having her hopes shattered, better to put more distance between what surely would never happen.

It seemed like mere moments later that Sherlock heard the sound of crunching snow behind over, over the howling wind. She was about to turn around when Dahmer’s voice sounded from behind her and she found herself immediately spun around as he grabbed hold of her arm, stumbling slightly in his embrace. Part of her wanted to relax into his body, but her natural instinct had her tensing up instead. What the hell was he doing here? Did he intend to confuse her, throw her even further in the ocean of emotions she was already desperately treading with no help in sight? His mere presence had her head spinning, possibilities and thoughts tumbling around in her mind as she looked into his eyes but managed to hear but not process the words that he was saying in favour of the roaring thoughts in her head. She needed to think, but she couldn’t think with him touching her and staring at her with those eyes.

Let go of me, Dahmer, she spoke in desperation, managing to yank herself out of his grip, stumbling slightly in the snow before righting herself and putting a few steps of space between the two of them. Turning her head away, she took a moment to compose herself and put her wall back up before facing her friend (and were they still friends, after everything that had happened?), finally able to think a bit clearly now that he wasn’t touching her. He had clearly chased after her for a reason, but Sherlock couldn’t be completely positive for the motive- it did seem like a lot of effort to just ridicule her even more, especially in this weather. She was just so tired, tired of these feelings she had no clue on how to handle, tired of the thought of having to trek even further in this relentless storm, just tired of everything that had happened within the last few days, but mostly she was just tired of fighting and she found she didn’t have the energy to have another row with the wolf standing in front of her. What do you want, Dahmer?
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Re: the perforation of the heart.

Post  Dahmer Oriel on Wed Dec 04, 2013 12:43 am




So I switched up the line. BUT ONLY VERY SLIGHTLY. YOU SHOULD STILL BE ABLE TO EASILY TELL WHERE I BLATANTLY STOLE IT FROM.

A part of Dahmer was thoroughly convinced that Sherlock would bolt as soon as she could shake him off. That same part told him to let her go, if that was really what she wanted. It wouldn't be fair of him to continue chasing her, if distance was all she really desired. After all, how upset had he initially been when Sherlock followed him all those months ago? If that was what she wanted, he'd give it to her. It would be the most difficult thing he'd ever have to do, but he'd let her go.
Her words were as desperate as her struggles frantic and he was about to release her arm when the female managed to yank free. Dahmer stumbled back slightly, hurt registering on his face for a few seconds before he managed to reigned it in. He was so used to feeling the immediate sting of rejection whenever she moved away from him, whether she had ever intended it or not. It was difficult to remember that this had nothing to do with not loving him - she had been the rejected party this time around. But still, to have her move away from him in any capacity was painful. Even after he'd been so furious with her, even after she had insulted him so horribly, the distance between the two (both mental and physical) gave him an aching pain he was desperate to alleviate. But the only way to do that was to pull her close again, and she was having none of that. Instead he gave her the space she desired, struggling to catch her eye. Sherlock was desperate to avoid his gaze, so he settled for scrutinizing her face. She looked so tired and miserable. And it was all his fault. Dahmer's conscience smote him to his core. It didn't matter that she had hurt him over and over again throughout their entire relationship. None of that made the pain on her face acceptable. He'd never let it happen again. Even if it meant leaving her in the end, he'd do it. But not just yet – he had to know if there was a chance for them.

Dahmer watched as the female turned away, taking time to compose her features. This hurt him as well – it was impossible for Sherlock to show her emotions to him, to anyone. He thought back to the other day when his angry rejection had registered with her. The male had been so furious and hurt, but there was a second when he almost faltered: Sherlock's eyes were over bright, and he had thought that maybe she was crying. His face had crumpled for a second at the thought of her tears but as soon as Sherlock had looked up again, she was once more composed, her face completely indifferent. It had chased away his sudden doubts. What was it about her, that she just couldn't show weakness? It killed him that even now, after they had been partners for so long, she still couldn't let herself go. He could deal with it though, if it meant being with her. They could work on things together. That was all he needed, that one word: together. Everything else could follow after. So what was he waiting for?
 Several moments had passed since Sherlock broke away, asking him what he wanted. The defeated tone she'd used had stymied him, and he was finding it difficult to speak. He knew that every second counted, that it could all become too much for the black female and she'd take off again. But for the next moment, all he could do was stare.

The wind howled angrily, sending swirling snow all around them. It startled him out of his reverie, there was a sharp hiss as his breath caught in his throat. This was the moment that counted – the one last chance he had, and he was at a complete loss. He knew exactly what he needed to say, but how to say it was an entirely different matter. He was afraid that if he just blurted it all out, he'd say the wrong things and ruin everything. Well. Ruin it even more. This horrifying thought spurred him on, and finally Dahmer was able to answer her question. I want... I need you to stay. With me. His words began quietly, broken and sad. As he spoke though, they became stronger, his conviction more clear. He was inwardly elated that sounds were actually capable of coming from his mouth. He didn't know if they were the right words, if they'd even make a difference. But anything was better than silence, right?

For a moment, Dahmer was going to leave it at that.  He considered her question perfectly and reasonably answered. What more could she want? But as silence fell between them once again and another minute passed without bringing forth her voice, he was stricken to realize one very large, very crucial fact. She didn't know that he loved her as well. He was sure that she was aware of some amount of feelings on his part. But as for love, he had never said that specific word to her, had he? He went over their entire confrontation in his head, astounded to realize that he had never made those feelings perfectly clear. He had been so busy venting his fury that he neglected to say the one thing he had wanted to blurt out for the longest time. He'd been dealing with those emotions for so long, he just assumed she knew. His love for her affected his every move around her, every thought he had of her. Surely it was obvious? Surely she knew! But one look at her exhausted and drawn face told him otherwise. If he had any chance of salvaging whatever the two of them had or could have, he needed to make his feelings perfectly clear.

Dahmer gathered his courage and closed the distance between the two, reaching for her arm once again. This time his hold wasn't restraining, instead he held her hand between his two as though it was something sacred to him. You make it so difficult sometimes, Sherlock. But I love you. I have for....ever, probably since the first time I met you. But I didn't want to ruin...what we had, because our friendship is the most important thing to me. But god damn, you made it so hard. He swallowed and looked away, suddenly finding it very hard to focus on the female's face. He couldn't let his words fail him now though, he needed to make her understand. I was just scared, Sherlock. Got kind of hurt before. But then you were gone and I thought about you.... and being scared didn't matter that much. Dahmer had to struggle to prevent himself from pulling her into his embrace, but he managed to fight back the urge. He wasn't going to force her any closer to him unless she wanted it – he felt himself lucky enough to be just holding her hand.  

Finally, he had told her. The words he'd fought so long to keep silent were no longer held back. And maybe they wouldn't even matter now, maybe it was all too late. But that didn't prevent the strong sense of relief that surged through him – it was as though he was finally able to bleed a long festering infection clean. Keeping those words back had been killing him, and finally he was free. Whatever she decided now – it would change everything. It could either make or break him. He knew this though: whatever her response was, he'd always be glad that he was finally able to speak the truth. Now there was nothing else to say. He held his breath and waited.                                         
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Re: the perforation of the heart.

Post  sherlock holmes on Sat Dec 07, 2013 11:05 pm


let me say one more thing before these
beautiful mistakes we’ve made run dry
well i thought this would all blow by
and everything would just turn out alright
and this would all be fine.


It seemed to be the time for firsts. First love. First rejection. First heartbreak. But most of all, it seemed like the first time that Sherlock wasn’t sure how something was going to play out. When she looked at Dahmer, someone she thought she knew inside and out, she found that she couldn’t read anything about him- not what he had been doing for the last few days. The only thing she could tell by looking at her friend was that he hadn’t slept, but that was mere child’s play. She found that when she looked at him, his activities were a huge mystery to her and Sherlock wasn’t sure why. Was it because she was absolutely exhausted, or that she was just being overrun by all of these emotions? She wasn’t sure how people handled them on a daily basis, because they were leaving her exhausted and confused, unable to properly function.

She knew that logically it was impossible, but it felt like time and space was completely frozen, the only thing moving around them was the storm. So while the two of them seemed to be physically frozen, Sherlock was stuck with her thoughts. Why did all of this have to be so complicated? While Sherlock lived for complexities, she found that she was not enjoying this situation at all. She would much rather have a week full of black days of boredom than have to figure out where the two wolves stood at the moment. Instead, she was left standing there, trying to figure out if Dahmer was there to offer her an olive branch or was just there to make sure that she stayed away from him.
Finally, Dahmer broke the silence with his quiet words, and while he technically answered her question, Sherlock wasn’t sure what to do with it. Was she supposed to thank him and apologize for mucking things up? Was he apologizing for chasing her off, when Sherlock should be the one apologizing for the way she had reacted the other day? Were they just going to return to his den and pretend that nothing had happened? Or should she attempt to reword what she had meant that dreadful day, when things had gotten so heated between the two of them she had let her emotions get the better of her?

Finally, it seemed that Dahmer was taking pity on the ebony female- and while normally being offered any form of pity would get her hackles up, Sherlock took it as the gift it was. He closed the distance that Sherlock had put between them and took hold of her paw between his own. She glanced down at the joined limbs, not knowing what to do. Was she supposed to cling back to it? Pull her hand away? Leave it hanging there limply in his grasp? She just didn’t know. In the end, she became too focused on the words that he was finally speaking. For the first time since Dahmer had arrived, Sherlock locked eyes with him as he spoke. She wanted to believe so badly that this olive branch that he was offering her was sincere, but deep down she was expecting him to yank it away from her in a cruel manner. The longer she listened to his words, to the tone that he was delivering his words with, she was beginning to see that he was completely sincere, that he wanted to stop her from leaving – she couldn’t understand why, but she was finally believing that he truly wanted it.

As Dahmer spoke his words, finally being completely honest, Sherlock felt her body relax. The hollow feeling in her chest felt like it was receding and she listened to what he was saying. It was odd, hearing Dahmer confess that he was in love with her; with the help of Ghost, she had deduced that he had feelings for her, but finally hearing the words seemed to make it official. Dahmer loved her. It was incredibly hard to comprehend, because not once in her life had she imagined that someone could fall in love with her- of course, she always assumed that she would never fall in love. When the feelings snuck up on her, she wasn’t sure how to handle them – that was why she taking herself away, so she could process everything – and while she found herself terrified of these new feelings, she also knew that she was willing to take that jump with Dahmer.

Once Dahmer had finished speaking, the silence fell between them once again. The ball was now in her court, and what she said could make or break them both. She knew what she wanted, even though it terrified her (and who would of thought that Sherlock Holmes would be absolutely terrified of anything), she knew that she wanted to try. Looking away ever so briefly, Sherlock closed her eyes and took a deep breath, finally letting her guard down around Dahmer. When she looked back, it felt like her heart was thumping rapidly within her throat, and she hoped that Dahmer could read the love and fear that she felt. I’m…I’m not perfect, Dahmer, and I’m not sure how to do this. She paused and swallowed, hoping her voice didn’t waiver as much as it sounded to her own ears. But I am blindly, stupidly, indefensibly in love with you. And if this is what you want, what you truly want, then I want to learn how to do this. With you, only with you.


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