"Don't need to think. Know it like I know the reach of my sword and the sound of your footsteps, like I know when you're acting tough 'cause you're actually interested and when you're acting tough because you need me to stop." Erin breathes in deep, still nuzzling, enjoying Daisy's light touch, the scent of her body and the blood here in the bar. "...I know we're complicated, and you don't like Crabb, and there's shit that's gone down and will go down and you don't like being here and -" Breathe in, breathe out. In. Out. "And you're worth it. I wanna call you mine, my sovereign. Can I?"
Daisy draws in a shaky breath, one that quakes just as much when she releases it. She doesn't know how to do this; it's like forcing an atrophied muscle through the steps of rehabilitation even when it burns like nothing else. She doesn't know how people give their hearts out, how they can stand placing their still-beating bastions of weakness in another person's hands and not expect them to crush it right there in front of you, so you can watch the blood seep between their fingers.
Only once has she ever taken the chance. Basira had her heart in her pocket before Daisy ever told her it was there. It lived there, it went where she went, it thrummed and thrived... and then it drowned in Basira's blood as Jenny slit her throat. And then she was home and, like every other part of Daisy, it withered in the coffin and never truly recovered.
It still feels as if it's there, sometimes. Or as if Basira's hands are buried in her chest, cradling her heart where it mourns.
But then there have been other hands, too. Buried just as deep, as if seeking the soul that must be in there somewhere amidst the grime.
It feels like being torn apart. It feels like being reborn. It feels like dying a thousand different ways.
"I—" she chokes out, not even sure how long she's been silent. "I-I don't know— I-I don't know if I know how."
Erin presses her lips to Daisy's cheek and wraps herself around the hunter, cradling, warm. Protecting her sovereign from a world that doesn't understand, and casts blame, however right it might be to do so.
Her voice is quiet, and it is gentle. "I know you're trying hard already, in ways you don't really talk about with me. Teaching Johnny, and trying to get along with Ylva and Valdis. Letting me be gentle with you when it feels like a trap, I know. I...I know. And it's selfish of me to ask, but...do you want to try?"
"I knew who I was loving when I got into this. And I'm still here."
For once, Daisy seems every bit as small as she actually is. She curls into Erin's body and huffs, faintly.
"I don't even know who you're loving."
Who the fuck is Daisy Tonner, anyway? She's been trying to figure it out ever since she was dragged from the choking embrace of Forever Deep Below Creation and feels no closer to having an answer than she did down in the darkness.
Alice Tonner died when she was but a girl. Daisy Tonner lives, but who is she? Because it's not who that name was claimed for, not anymore.
"Someone fierce, and brave," Erin murmurs. "Someone who's faced her demon and called it by its name, even when she couldn't fight back yet. Someone not happy to be among the damned, who longs for the world of light and laughter like I do. Someone funny, and warm in her spiky way." The tiniest kiss, atop Daisy's head; Erin's voice warms for this last one. "Someone Welsh, you were pretty clear about that one."
There's almost a laugh, low and quiet. Does that sound like her? She doesn't even know. She just doesn't know.
"Back when I was a little girl. I was— I was Alice. Alice Tonner. Then, this." She reaches back to guide Erin's hand to the still-thick starburst scar tissue, stretched and thinned by time and age and growth. "Doctor called it a daisy. Trying to make the nastiness pretty for the sweet little girl he thought I was, I suppose. He didn't know I'd been— excited, when I saw the bodies. Or that I already wanted to make Calvin pay."
Pretty little Alice Tonner, in her dungaree dress and flowery t-shirt and her pink scrunchie. Daddy's little sweetheart, so well behaved at home, such an easy face to use for her old man's hatred. Tripped and fell after being lured into misbehaviour by that rowdy Benchley boy, that's how they saw it.
"And I liked it. Liked that they didn't know. Liked being the pretty little flower that no one expected to break their jaw. So. I became Daisy."
"...I know, love. I. I know." Another kiss, pressed to Daisy's hair, a squeeze in the hug. "...I'm not gonna try to say it in words. Ask me, sometime, to dress up for you as Liz Malloy, and you'll get it. I know. It feels good, taking advantage of people. Safe. Powerful. Like they're so stupid and you're too smart to ever be hurt."
"Yeah," Daisy says on a breath. Her claws are tracing harmless shapes on Erin's lower back. Little flowers, funnily enough. "And I don't— I don't think Alice exists anymore. First Calvin killed her and then. I did too."
Alice died the day Calvin attacked her and Daisy buried her when she killed Calvin in turn. If Alice wasn't the one Jon pulled out of Forever Deep Below Creation, then there's no saving her. Daisy is all that's left.
Erin buried Liz Malloy. Daisy buried Alice. Two sides of a coin.
"Whatever's left— I still don't feel like I've figured that out. Guess you can see better than me despite the lack of eyes."
"I can't describe you to you, but..." Erin sighs, heavy and hard. "...I'm not in love with Alice or her ghost. I love Daisy Tonner, and I think she can have her Spring, if she wants it. You don't have to be...you don't have to be innocent or blameless to be loved, my sovereign. You can't go back. That doesn't mean you can't go forward."
Daisy huffs softly. "Just wish forward wasn't so— unpredictable. I don't— don't even get how you did this, to me. Feels like you've pried open my ribcage and taken up residence."
Daisy, your legally not girlfriend is now blushing so hard the heat of her face can be physically felt, burying her face against your neck, and unable to talk.
It probably says something about Daisy that she genuinely didn't realise that might sound romantic enough to get that reaction. It also probably says something about her that her only metaphors for this feeling still involve violence.
"Oh, don't you— I'm just— mmm." Words are harder when you're doing them on purpose. Deep breath. "What does trying even— mean? What changes?"
"...Aside from Crabb and I having a talk she damn well knows is coming, considering we've had all the lead-up talks to it? Maybe not much. Maybe a lot, who knows. Could be that we don't work out and that's that, but..." Erin puts a finger on Daisy's lip, light and unsure. "...It'd be nice to say, hey, this is Daisy, she's my girlfriend, she could kill me and I like that about her."
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hadnoright) wrote2022-11-01 01:56 am
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Daisy draws in a shaky breath, one that quakes just as much when she releases it. She doesn't know how to do this; it's like forcing an atrophied muscle through the steps of rehabilitation even when it burns like nothing else. She doesn't know how people give their hearts out, how they can stand placing their still-beating bastions of weakness in another person's hands and not expect them to crush it right there in front of you, so you can watch the blood seep between their fingers.
Only once has she ever taken the chance. Basira had her heart in her pocket before Daisy ever told her it was there. It lived there, it went where she went, it thrummed and thrived... and then it drowned in Basira's blood as Jenny slit her throat. And then she was home and, like every other part of Daisy, it withered in the coffin and never truly recovered.
It still feels as if it's there, sometimes. Or as if Basira's hands are buried in her chest, cradling her heart where it mourns.
But then there have been other hands, too. Buried just as deep, as if seeking the soul that must be in there somewhere amidst the grime.
It feels like being torn apart. It feels like being reborn. It feels like dying a thousand different ways.
"I—" she chokes out, not even sure how long she's been silent. "I-I don't know— I-I don't know if I know how."
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Her voice is quiet, and it is gentle. "I know you're trying hard already, in ways you don't really talk about with me. Teaching Johnny, and trying to get along with Ylva and Valdis. Letting me be gentle with you when it feels like a trap, I know. I...I know. And it's selfish of me to ask, but...do you want to try?"
"I knew who I was loving when I got into this. And I'm still here."
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For once, Daisy seems every bit as small as she actually is. She curls into Erin's body and huffs, faintly.
"I don't even know who you're loving."
Who the fuck is Daisy Tonner, anyway? She's been trying to figure it out ever since she was dragged from the choking embrace of Forever Deep Below Creation and feels no closer to having an answer than she did down in the darkness.
Alice Tonner died when she was but a girl. Daisy Tonner lives, but who is she? Because it's not who that name was claimed for, not anymore.
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There's almost a laugh, low and quiet. Does that sound like her? She doesn't even know. She just doesn't know.
"Back when I was a little girl. I was— I was Alice. Alice Tonner. Then, this." She reaches back to guide Erin's hand to the still-thick starburst scar tissue, stretched and thinned by time and age and growth. "Doctor called it a daisy. Trying to make the nastiness pretty for the sweet little girl he thought I was, I suppose. He didn't know I'd been— excited, when I saw the bodies. Or that I already wanted to make Calvin pay."
Pretty little Alice Tonner, in her dungaree dress and flowery t-shirt and her pink scrunchie. Daddy's little sweetheart, so well behaved at home, such an easy face to use for her old man's hatred. Tripped and fell after being lured into misbehaviour by that rowdy Benchley boy, that's how they saw it.
"And I liked it. Liked that they didn't know. Liked being the pretty little flower that no one expected to break their jaw. So. I became Daisy."
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"Yeah," Daisy says on a breath. Her claws are tracing harmless shapes on Erin's lower back. Little flowers, funnily enough. "And I don't— I don't think Alice exists anymore. First Calvin killed her and then. I did too."
Alice died the day Calvin attacked her and Daisy buried her when she killed Calvin in turn. If Alice wasn't the one Jon pulled out of Forever Deep Below Creation, then there's no saving her. Daisy is all that's left.
Erin buried Liz Malloy. Daisy buried Alice. Two sides of a coin.
"Whatever's left— I still don't feel like I've figured that out. Guess you can see better than me despite the lack of eyes."
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Daisy huffs softly. "Just wish forward wasn't so— unpredictable. I don't— don't even get how you did this, to me. Feels like you've pried open my ribcage and taken up residence."
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It probably says something about Daisy that she genuinely didn't realise that might sound romantic enough to get that reaction. It also probably says something about her that her only metaphors for this feeling still involve violence.
"Oh, don't you— I'm just— mmm." Words are harder when you're doing them on purpose. Deep breath. "What does trying even— mean? What changes?"
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There's a long pause, follow by a slow inhale, slow exhale, and a murmur of something that should be familiar, "And I didn't want it to fizzle out..."
She nips gently at the finger on her lip and then, before she can psyche herself out, kisses Erin far more gently than she ever has before.