#loooong post

To be fair to Carol, Henry and Ezekiel were the male tentpoles holding up her life at the Kingdom. That sounds terrible but I'm still gonna extend that metaphor to say that Rick and Daryl were the other male tentpoles in her life, supporting her life before/outside the Kingdom. She's lost 3 of those major, male tentpoles. Daryl is the only important man left in her life. Her tent is ragged and sagging, all but collapsed on the ground. She is barely holding onto her sanity so wanting to fall back on supportive, comforting, familiar dynamics is fair. While Daryl has been secretly waiting out her marriage to Ezekiel, probably clocking each red flag as it waves, Carol is still emerging from a somewhat controlling dynamic with what turned out to be a pretty underwhelming partner in a pretty unequal partnership. She is not ready for anything deep and meaningful, which is why she keeps it light with Daryl. They play, they laugh, they talk, they flirt. She enjoys being around him, free from Ezekiel's control. She probably hasn't been able to fully and open-endedly enjoy time with Daryl for years. She's got the wind in her hair as they ride through the wilderness on his motorcycle, and considering all she's lost, you gotta love that for her.

The line above comes after a scene in which they discuss Connie, Daryl assuring Carol that it's not "like that" and Carol asking "why not?". Twice. She encourages him into relationship he does want, but not with Connie or anyone else, adding:

Daryl grimaces, smarting inwardly because he didn't think he was alone. He thought he was with her. He's sitting right there with her, has been there all along, but to her, that doesn't count. Not for much. It's difficult for him (and the audience) to gauge just how much Carol knows here. Because how he looks at her when she asks why not? is pretty fucking clear. Why not? Why not??? Because he's in love with you, you insane woman!! Her obliviousness to his openly expressed love is hurtful but the source of it is unclear. Is it that she thinks Daryl would be better off with someone like Connie, someone kind and pretty and brave? Does Carol think that she is just too much of a mess for someone as pure and inexperienced as Daryl? She's some old crone with too many ghosts surrounding her and two unwise marriages behind her? Maybe Carol clocks the special affection Daryl has for her but is doing her best to redirect him to someone more suitable, less likely to hurt his precious soul. Because sure, Daryl may think he loves her, but that's more to do with his big heart and romantic naiveté than with her being worthy of his love or them being a good match. Right?

I think it's all of this. I think it's the timing. Her focus is elsewhere. But I also think Carol just has very low expectations when it comes to love. When it comes to men and sex and relationships. Her last experience of love was defined by Ezekiel's flowery speeches and subtle control. He loved her shallowly, never knew her deeply. He needed her for his kingdom and she embraced the part that was required. But he was not super tuned into her wants or needs. And this last marriage was an improvement. Like, a massive step up from her first. To Carol, her marriage to Ezekiel was a GOOD relationship. To her, a handsome man offering stability, safety and co-parenthood was "enough". She was safe. She had a son. Eh. Good enough. "Good" and "enough" is not only all Carol expects. It's all she knows. All she knows how to do. And to her, her relationship with Daryl is also good and enough. It isn't that the idea of being known and loved in a more profound way is terrifying to her. It's completely foreign, totally outside of her lived experience of love. Carol literally has no concept of what Daryl is offering. He's saying: Let's take this further, let's go deeper. And she's like: Further doesn't exist, bud, there is no such thing as deeper. This is as good as it gets, soz. Hence:

I doubt she relishes dashing his idealistic hopes and romanticism with her bleak af reality check. And at another time in her life, she may have believed in the sort of profound romantic relationship and lasting soul-deep connection that he desires with her. She's not necessarily rejecting what he's offering. She just doesn't think it exists. Or if it does, it doesn't happen to her. He might be able to find love like that. But at this point, she feels incapable, her heart drained and exhausted by unremarkable, undeserving men. Daryl deserves more than the measly dregs she has left to give.

This scene in "Bonds" is one of many one-on-ones in which Carol and Daryl basically sit in a log and talk about their relationship. (And bless every soul who brought us such content after 10 years. Or in my case, a couple of months). These scenes punctuate and essentially bookend the season, with "Lines We Cross", "Bonds" and "Find Me". Their position and regularity tell us that they aren't just fun, incidental fan/shipper service, they mean to tell us something about this pairing, these characters and their dynamic. These scenes explore wants, desires and possibilities. Before their first date in the season opener (in TWDU, this is fucking date okay), Daryl asks his newly arrived seadog bff: "So what do you wanna do?". Now, I'm gonna guess that it was Daryl who planned every aspect of this date. He's been waiting for Carol's return and thinking about a good place to take her (Carol says she's never been on the path they take so she didn't pick their course). He's thought of somewhere with a few walkers to kill but not too many. He parks by a log, provides snacks. This is a man with a plan. But it's still important that he actually asks her what she wants to do. In part because Ezekiel, did not. Ezekiel had a habit of folding Carol's needs into his own, even before Henry's death.

In fact, what Carol wants is a recurring theme in ALL of these scenes, in each of these episodes and in others throughout the season. There is frequently an exchange that goes something like:

DARYL: So you want to do this? CAROL: (shrugging, mumbling, rephrasing to something similar that sounds vaguely minimising, cloaking her desire in humour) Yeah, I mean, I wanna do that, I guess...but you don't have to come with me or anything....

For instance, in "Find Me", when Carol finds him on the road, follows him to his bike, Daryl asks: "But you wanna come, right?". Carol can't just say: "Yeah, I wanna come with you. Is that okay?". She has to deny following him, say she wants to hunt whatever's left, help feed hungry Alexandrians. She has to shrug off the desire to spend time with him, hide her desire to repair and reconnect behind cute banter and funny stories about feet. And don't get me wrong, I LOVE the cute banter. I LOVE Carol pushing her way onto his bike and smiling over his shoulder. It's shippy af. And aside from the entertainment value, you could say that these sort of interactions are just more interesting and human and realistic because in real life people rarely just come out with what they want. We all talk around it, hide our vulnerability because what if we state our wants and needs and the other person says no? We get hurt, right? You could also say that the reason all of these scenes have similar dialogue around what Carol wants is that she is the season's protagonist, what she wants drives the action, the antagonism with Alpha. Except that the motif of deeply and persistently questioning what Carol wants outlasts her successfully enacted revenge on Henry's killer. Which implies that there is something Carol wants beyond -- perhaps even more than -- Alpha's suffering, regret and death (as expressed in that cave to Daryl). This persistent questioning of Carol's deepest desires also appears in the form of Alpha's apparition in Carol's mind, taunting her to say what she wants. Say it. Think it. Admit it. Face it. Feel it.

Carol doesn't -- can't -- face her innermost desire in this episode or any other. Which is why she can't really express it to Daryl or anyone else. Whenever she tries to communicate his importance to her or what she wants from him, she phrases it in the negative. She can't say what she does want, so she says what she doesn't want. There are two major moments where she does this. The first happens in "Morning Star", in which Carol approaches Daryl and begs:

The second comes later in the season but earlier, chronologically speaking, because it occurs in one of the flashbacks from "Find Me":

She can't ask for his love or forgiveness or understanding or patience, despite the fact that he would 100% give it. She can't say I want your love, she can only say I don't want your hatred. She can't say I want you in my life, just I don't want to lose you. And while we're on the topic of Carol's negative or inverse expressions of love/desire, it's worth pointing out that the opposite of lose is find. (See this post for why THAT is relevant). Now, obviously this last line refers back to that pivotal moment in the stable in s2 when Carol told Daryl after Sophia's death that she couldn't lose him too. Back then, the idea that he meant something to her caused a minor bomb go off in his boyish head. His whole world shifted on its axis and he looked at her differently from that moment on. He scowls at her a second as if he doesn't know what the fuck she's on about. (I always think of this as their Ross and Rachel moment but instead of "You're over me? When were you...under me?", it's more like "You don't wanna lose me? When did you...have me?"). By s10 tho, this veiled declaration of value and attachment is no longer the mind-blowing revelation it was to baby Daryl. In fact, considering all they been through, how staunchly he's stood by her and how long the two of them have lasted (longer than every single person on that farm), it's actually low-key insulting. I think I have a slightly different interpretation to these scenes than some shippers because I think Daryl is somewhat hurt by the implication that he could hate her. Or that she could lose him. He's disappointed that he even has to spell it out for her. It denotes a lack of trust, a denial of what she knows of him, how well she really should know him by now. He does it in each case, tells her what she needs to hear. Because that is just how much he loves her and how far he will always go for her.

In the first instance, he's calm despite being inwardly crushed by her lack of faith in the man-of-honor loyalty he's been silently enacting for years. In the second, he's just received an ultimatum from Leah (and there's some implication that Carol has received a similar one from her jelly hubby) so his response is less measured, his impatience with her leaking out:

Here, Carol's insecurity around their bond doesn't flatter. Or assure. It insults. It smarts. Because he doesn't know what else he can possibly do to demonstrate his commitment, his loyalty and love. What does a lonely hunter have to do to once and for all prove to the longtime love of his life that it simply is not possible for her to lose him? He's hers. For life. She's married to someone else. He's wanted by another woman. And even then, he's hers, heart and soul. She's a warrior queen and he's a river-dwelling vagabond. But every time she shows up on the river bank, she gives him a spark of hope that part of him hates. He'd like to be a little less in love with her so he can conveniently and contentedly shack up with Leah but that just isn't who he is.

As hard and hurtful as this pattern is for Daryl, I think the reason he weathers it is that he knows exactly where it comes from. Such low expectations are the result of abuse and neglect. When people who are meant to love and protect you turn on you, you stop expecting love and start hoping to just not be hurt. You don't seek care or support. You just avoid violence and humiliation. You don't expect happiness or fulfillment. You just hope for survival. You stop having needs because then you won't be disappointed when they're left unmet. Carol's chronically low expectations in relationship were put in place during her first marriage (and potentially before). Her second marriage, in which she was caged, contained, controlled, used, objectified and invisibilised, hardly helped. Daryl wants neither to harm nor contain her. He doesn't want to make her smaller. He doesn't want to make her into a symbol. He doesn't want her to serve him domestically or his vision politically. He wants to set her free. He wants her to be as big and bold and fierce as she can be. He wants her to have expectations of him, high expectations. To unequivocally expect his love and loyalty and support.

Most importantly, Daryl wants to know what she wants. He spends all season asking her, waiting for her to decide, hoping that what she wants is him. Because he wants to give her whatever she wants, or help her get it. He'll chase it all his days if she lets him. One of the few times that Carol does express a want is right back at the beginning of the season in the first of these scenes in which they sit and talk. She doesn't say "I want this" but, perhaps high on the moment, she does straight-up ask him to come out on the boat with her. At first, Daryl says no -- boat, no, but bike yes (although the pirate book we see later suggests that he might have taken up the pirate life if it meant being with his beloved). This idea of them running away to New Mexico on his bike recurs throughout s10. He returns to it at the end of "A Certain Doom", deliberately reminding her that, despite everything they've been through, they have a future in which she can want and he will listen. Whatever it is she wants, he will try to make happen. Whatever she expresses, he'll remember. Whatever she expects, he will do his absolute damnedest not just to meet her expectations, but exceed them.

Because Carol having high expectations of him would be an indicator of healing. And not just for her. No one ever expected much of Daryl. But for years he's striven to prove his value as a community member, trusted friend and principled leader. Carol holding consistently high expectations of him would mean that the person that matters to him most sees this effort, acknowledges his worth and progress from redneck adolescent into deserving man of honor. It would mean he can finally relax into being who he is instead of endlessly proving who he is. It would mean that they could relax into being, living and thriving, instead of being locked in a pattern of just surviving. In this first scene, Carol initiates a conversation indicating that just surviving somehow might not be enough for her anymore:

Bela

The first time she sees you is in the forest

Dark, in the middle of the night

She saw the fog appearing from seemingly nowhere, heard a strange noise in the darkness

It’s late already, but she simply had to get out for a little bit, overwhelmed by the seemingly never-ending work and responsibilities awaiting her at the castle

Never did she think she would find you

When she first lays eyes on you, she thinks this must be an illusion

The darkness

The fog

Some trick

But as she steps a little closer, she sees you properly

A figure sat on top of a horse, black as the night, in dark clothing

Lacking a head

The figure’s body turns to her instantly. Clearly, Bela has not been as subtle and stealthy as she would have liked

She doesn’t move, her golden eyes set on you

You too notice there’s something about this woman

She’s different from the villagers, evidently. She wears an expensive, black dress, a black tattoo gracing her forehead

And her eyes

Beautiful

Golden

What a stunning sight

Bela tenses a little as you move from the horse, gripping her sickle tighter

With the warm temperatures even at night, she feels not an ounce of worry you might best her, though

You walk towards her, curious almost

You sense her, feel she is…different

Dark, but, there’s something else

Raising an eyebrow, Bela watches as you come to stand right in front of her

She notes the sword you carry, her golden eyes flickering to it

She almost anticipates an attack, but finds herself looking somewhat adorably confused when you thrust the blade into the ground next to you, instead

She hopes your lack of a head means you can’t see her expression

Tensing up, she watches silently as you raise a hand next

Whether you’re bold or curious, it’s a rather stupid move to even attempt to touch a Dimitrescu

But Bela stands still, almost like a deer in headlights

So she finds this…person? And yet you intrigue her so very much

You sense only confusion in her, curiosity. You know she’s tense and ready to attack if you give her a reason to

You’re determined not to, for her head is far too pretty to be cut off from her beautiful body, you find

Bela almost flinches when a gloved hand sets on her cheek, her curiosity turning to sheer confusion

What…?

You don’t talk, don’t move much

She wonders whether you even can talk

Instead, your thumb traces a pattern at her cheek, rubbing gently as through intrigued by the touch of her soft cheek

She gulps, unsure what to do

“Who are you?”, she asks then, turning her head a little

Your hand drops, you seem to almost stare at her, your turned body indication enough even with the lack of a head

You don’t answer her

But she’s curious

“You’re coming to the castle with me”, she demands, gripping her sickle tightly. She anticipates a fight, sure that you will struggle

Ah…but her head seems far too beautiful connected to her body

And so, having no real plans other than to occasionally make a trip to the village, you give in

Only do you surprise Bela again, making her shriek in surprise and swarm partly when your hands set to her hips and she’s lifted

She holds onto your shoulders tightly, curiously inspecting your neck

No head, but a body

She’s sat down on your horse, blushing slightly and dismissing her sickle again

You’re no threat

You’re…something

Something intriguing

As time passes and you begin visiting the castle regularly, Bela and you get…closer

A lot, even

She finds herself falling in love with you, your sweet gestures, your polite nature, the mystery that clings to you, too

She spends every day with you when you visit, holds your hand in hers subtly underneath the table when you’re invited to dine with the family

No one knows of your feelings towards her, no one but her

And no one but you know her her feelings towards her

While her mother certainly likes you, likes that you bow to her especially, you both doubt she would approve, having always seemed like she preferred Bela’s attention to be on the business entirely

As such, the two of you have decided to keep it a secret

In the warmer months Bela sneaks out, seeking you out in the dark forest at night

You’d hold one another, find peace in one another

You’d pull her on top of your black mount, hold her to you

And Bela?

She’d lean into your touch, sighing happily

All her worries, far away

Both of your responsibilities out of reach, too far to bother you in this moment of peace

She’d stay all night long, sleep in your arms until she must leave and hurry back to the castle before her sisters and mother awaken

In the colder months, you find your way into the castle

You use the shadows to your advantage, the quietness

You’re sure Cassandra knows, but she never tells, never speaks of her older sister’s secret

Even when you feel her golden eyes bore into you when you sneak in every night, finding peace in Bela’s room until morning draws near and you disappear again

It’s your own type of peace, your own type of romance

Your own type of love

Just for the two of you

Cassandra

Encountering you first in the forest, too, she’s immediately intrigued

She only hears the sound of your horse at first, feels the cold mist that seems to surround you

Her dark golden eyes flicker to your headless body, wide

A new foe?

New prey?

New prey, certainly!

She doesn’t think much, doesn’t strategise or plan things out as her older sister might

No,

Cassandra pounces

You feel it coming already, but still are knocked off the tall horse when her body collides with yours

She snarls on top of you, frustrated when her sharp nails and sickle just won’t pierce the black armor you’re in

Her hair falls down her shoulders, perfectly framing her pale face. Her lips, pulled into a snarl, are painted black and are bloodied

You take notice of her sharp teeth, of her dark golden eyes

You’ve never seen a sight more beautiful than this

She’s bent on trying to kill you, certainly, shoving the tip of her sickle to the exposed stubble of your neck

You don’t feel pain- haven’t, in a long time

But you indulge her, if only to hear her laugh happily

You fight back, push and try to grab her but only ever catch fistfuls of flies

She’s still trying to slice past your armor, creating little silver streaks along the black

She’s laughing as she fights, sadistic humor evident in her voice as your black blood slaps against her face

You think, you might just love her

She fights well, evades your kicks and punches, even steps down on your palm when you reach for your sword

She’s beautiful, dominating in battle

Or she would be, at the very least, if you were mortal

If you felt pain

If your blood was what fuelled you

If you feared death

Still, you struggle for the fun of it, ensure you try, but never get too determined. You don’t want to command your sword to take her head

No, not this one’s

Not the head of this beautiful, mysterious creature

Not when she looks at you with such excitement

Cassandra’s riled up in the best way, laughing and clawing until your armor is pierced and her sharp claw-like nails can sink into your somewhat already decaying flesh

You don’t feel the sting, but once again indulge her by flailing, then staying somewhat still

She giggles, as though satisfied with her hunt

Your rising chest indicates you’re still alive, as do your small movements

You’ve given her a beautiful, beautiful hunt!

And you will be rewarded for it

Cassandra gasps when your hand suddenly rises again, tugging at her lower arm and tugging her down

Despite your lack of a head, she almost feels as though lips brushed against her cold cheek

She doesn’t move, doesn’t know whether that is because she can’t, or won’t

In fact, she almost seems to lean in, her eyes wide, an excited smile still on her face

She’s panting, and tightens her hold on your chest when she feels almost ghostly lips brush against her cheek again

Her nails dig in deep, as though she looked for your heart

You don’t feel it, only sense her growing excitement

You just don’t die

Normally, this would perhaps annoy her, frustrate her. Normally, this would mean her prey begins to hate her

But you don’t hate her, don’t pull away

You pull her closer still, even as your dead body bleeds

And you kiss her cheek, almost seem to feel her soft skin below your ghostly lips

She decides, you’re hers

You allow her to take you with you, guiding your horse lovingly almost. You’re draped over it, and don’t get up to sit properly

You know, she likes how it almost makes you look like slain prey

The castle is dark and quiet at night, so that not even a single maid is in your way

You’re brought to what looks like her room

Cassandra is fast, eager almost

She pulls you with her by a rope around your arms, your sword carried by her

She’s intrigued, curious

You feel even more so

Cassandra doesn’t attack you again, merely sinks her nails back into your chest, the part exposed by the broken armor

You don’t stop her

Instead, she watches with care as you bring your arms up, gloved hands grabbing at her petite hips

She allows it, even laughs in delight when you roughly pull her towards you

She’s flush against you, her nails in your chest, her eyes searching, as if your head will appear

But despite the lack of it, she feels ghostly lips trail along her face again when your body leans to her

And she allows it, closing her eyes even

An unusual display of the huntress

But she can’t help herself

You kiss her, and you feel at peace almost immediately, ready to conquer anything with her by your side

She feels similarly

The two of you kiss until morning, when you suddenly seem to disappear, leaving her almost wondering whether any of it was real

Ah, but you return each night, your horse neighing outside the castle walls, your footsteps heavy

And she always finds you, always tackles you onto the forest floor

And she leans in to where your head would be, where your lips would be

And she feels them, moans each and every night

Sometimes, the two of you spend your time like this

At other times you venture into the forest, hunting and scaring animals away, or you race through the trees, chasing one another

Some nights are spent at the village, where you terrorize the fearful villagers and bring them to their knees

And sometimes you’re brought back into the castle, back into her room, to her bed

You’re hers, and she’s yours

It’s all that has ever mattered

Daniela

The first time she ever encounters you is at the castle’s gardens

She hears the neighing of your horse, hears the terror-filled scream of a maid

Naturally, she investigates

And she finds the maid, running, crying, trying so hard to escape the headless rider behind her

Intrigued, she moves closer, eager to see more of you

What a strange creature…

She giggles, flinching back when the maid is right in front of her, only for your sword to come down and sever her head

Blood splashes into her face and she laughs in delight

With the temperature warm, she feels no fear at all

She can’t help but glance at you, can’t help but take in your black armor

Royal, almost

Perhaps, her savior? Her lover? At last?

You move from your horse, intrigued by the woman standing in front of you

She looks curious, sweet almost, and entirely too innocent as she swipes the blood from her cheeks and licks her fingertip clean

When you lean down, grab onto the head and at last stand back in front of her, she moves

Fast, so fast you nearly will your sword to take her head, too

She doesn’t attack you, though

No, instead you feel her fingertip trace at your chest piece, teasing, almost

She circles you, trailing her bare hands across your shoulders

Standing a little shorter than you, she swarms up to glance down on your neck

“What happened to your head?”, she asks, curious

You don’t answer

“Who are you?”, she asks

You don’t answer, but your body turns to her, as though equally intrigued by her

You tense up when she takes the head from you, eager to reclaim it

Ah; but she isn’t mocking

She’s playful, you realize

Giggling, she holds the maiden’s severed head up to where yours would be

She traces the lips almost lovingly, almost gentle

Like a lover might

But it’s clear she doesn’t know the woman; or at the least not enough to feel any type of remorse or sorrow at her demise

She keeps playing around a little, going so far as to lean against you completely

You’re surprised, shocked, intrigued

You decide: you like this cute, playful woman

When she carelessly lets herself fall after hovering above you in her swarm you catch her easily, holding her in a bridal style that makes her heart beat a little faster

You don’t miss this, certainly, and when her hands reach up to where your face would be, you allow her to feel the hint of a ghostly cheek underneath her palms

She coos, her eyes wide

Could this be love, already?

She nuzzles you, almost, content in your arms as though they were the ones of a lover

A little delusional, maybe, but you don’t mind

You lean into her touch as much as you can, your headless body turning forwards as you lean to her

She feels your cheeks, the fainted touch of your lips against her fingertips

But the morning comes fast, and she frowns when you let her down onto the ground again

Then, you do something that makes her shiver and blush sweetly

You bend down, onto one knee, hold onto her hand and when you lean down some more she’s sure she feels the faintest touch of lips against her knuckles

You take the severed head back, bowing one last time to the beautiful creature before you must take your leave

Ever since then, Daniela is over the moons! She giggles and dreams of you, spends every night she can out in the gardens

And every night you come for her, too

You trace her cheeks and kiss her gently, hold her and she’s sure you listen as she talks

Sometimes, she picks flowers with you

Sometimes, you bring her a bouquet of wild flowers found in the forest

When the nights turn cold, she waits inside, so sad you almost can’t take it

But you wait outside still, find your way inside easily when she opens the doors for you and shuts them fast

You can’t keep her warm, but keep her happy, at least

She giggles every time you lift her, spins happily when you indulge her and dance in the opera hall in the middle of the night

A fairytale

Her favorite one

Donna

At first she hears of you only

She thinks you might be a legend, or a children’s ghost story

Whispers reach her only

Whispers, of a headless rider and a black steed

Black as the night, strong, terrifying

They say, the rider kills and snatches, leaving behind only headless corpses

Naturally, she’s curious, yet her dolls never quite manage to find this mysterious rider

Eventually, she decides she wants to see for herself

Staying within her domain, where only she is strongest, she searches the woods at night, where the rider is supposedly out to look for their next victims

And for a long time, nothing

The darkness makes it hard for her to see, and even surrounded by dolls to keep their eyes and ears open, Donna finds herself oblivious to much that goes on in the woods

She’s no huntress, after all. A spectator, rather, she supposes

Still, after some time, she hears it

The hooves against the twigs on the ground

The silence, heavier than normal

She sees the fog, then, suddenly, a horse emerging from it

You charge at her automatically, your sword raised

But before you even get close within reach, the mysterious woman seems to turn to mist, appearing a good distance away among the trees

The horse is loud, untamed, confused by the pollen in this particular part of the forest

Donna watches, curious, as the mysterious rider is knocked off and the animal runs, abandoning its master for the moment

But the headless creature rises still, standing on slightly wobbly legs

You too are affected by the pollen, your vision blurry, the sword suddenly oddly heavy

But- this woman…

You feel burning curiosity rise within her

She’s dressed in black, much like yourself, yet her face is covered by a veil

Donna approaches you, so silent on the forest floor you almost think she must be floating

She’s close to you, yet out of reach

You can’t help but wonder whether she’s even mortal

Whether she’s even real

Donna looks you over, her curiosity sated at last

You’re not a mortal creature, certainly

But- you’re not above being affected by her pollen, either

She hums, as though satisfied, and if you could, you’d gasp when she suddenly disappears, leaving you by yourself again

In the following days, neither you nor Donna forget about the encounter

She remains curious, commands her dolls to be on the lookout for more of the hushed whispers

More cries of terror

More hooves stomping against the ground

But the village seems oddly at peace, almost

Then, she finds why

She senses you within her domain, slowly riding up the mountain as though to get to her

She doesn’t stop you, though, curious

What drives you here?

Curiosity, boldness?

Unfinished business, perhaps?

You tread carefully, though, don’t even stomp on the flowers grown in her gardens when you step from the horse

She greets you outside the manor, her expression unreadable due to the veil covering her head

You’re still missing yours, but your body is…inviting, almost

You aren’t tense, don’t grip your black sword as though your life depended on it

Clearly, you’re not here to collect her head

Quite the contrary, she finds

Donna gasps when you toss a bag to her feet, multiple heads rolling out and stopping by her feet

Still, you stand unmoving

A threat?

Or an offering?

She inspects them, finds all of them severed neatly from the body. A single swipe was all it took

Then, when you take a step forwards, she rises again

Unsure how to convey your curiosity and that you mean no harm, you’re left improvising

Then, in a show of trust, almost, you bend down to one knee

Donna watches, equally curious

You kneel before her, leaving your sword wedged into the ground

She walks slowly, more of a ghost than a person in case you change your mind and attempt to attack her

But you don’t, not even when she circles you, not even when she rests a finger on your shoulder

She trails her hand from your shoulder to your neck

If you could shiver, you would

Then, when her hand, cold, but gentle, trails a little higher you allow her to feel the faintest touch of a face

She can’t see, can only feel a chin beneath her fingers, your jaw and a cheek, your nose, your forehead, your hair

My blog is first, and foremost, a place for me to post about my personal life views and opinions and I stand by that. I was medicated from the ages of eight to eighteen, wherein I was abandoned by my psychologist and left to detox off of vyvanse, wellbutrin and prozac all at once (all dangerous to quit cold turkey) I was put on multiple medications as a child despite being, for all intents and purposes, a very mild case of both adhd and depression. This deeply affected my ability to feel emotions, to the point it would be my family reporting to my care team how I was feeling and behaving any given week because I didn't know. It affected my ability to experience sex, sexuality, sensuality, explore my body at the times when I should have started to do so. It left me emotionally numb, unable to eat to the point I was the same weight for a decade. I was let down by the adults and professionals in my life.

As an adult, because I was alread diagnosed, I was able to access and dicatet my own dosage of adhd medication as a way to exploit the system in order to manufacture disordered eating in order to lose weight. This slipped under the radar of both my therapist and psychiatrist. This medication also affected me to the point even friends at the time who hadn't seen me in years said, yeah, your personality is unrecognizable.

Medication, of the six different types I have been on, has never worked for me. It is frustrating to have to have this battle with every therapist because it is always their first and last solution, with the undercurrent of 'well I cant help you unless you are on drugs' and I simply don't accept that. Medication is support it Is not a fix and it is treated like that by so many therapists and mental health professionals.

And to therapy, I have been through seven therapists in my life and go into it with them being confident of being able to help me, and end with the message of 'well there's nothing seriously wrong with you, but also you're beyond my qualifications to help.' This has ranged from councilors, social workers, people with doctorates and masters and an array of years of experience. I am both an easy case and impossible to help. I've been posited as having autism, as having bpd, and then both retracted with a shrug.

I believe that we overmedicate people rather than deal with the root issues. Therapy, real therapy, is majority inaccessible to the people that need it most, and most people are not equipped to deal with people with serious mental health conditions. I have seen the system let down countless people.

When I say me personally, I mean I personally have deep, complex, negative feelings around medication and therapy.

To Gale, and Cicada Season. Again, this fic is for me. I love that people love it but the reason I wrote is because I almost ended my life last year and have only recently started talking to people about it. I had nobody on my (metaphorical) bridge; I didn't have a therapist, I didn't have medication. So I wrote a fic where Gale gets those things and those things work. And medication isn't for him. He's going to go off his medication because he doesn't like it and that's just fine! He can learn skills without it.

To first anon! Therapy works. with the right person with the right credentials with the right style. I am less anti-therapy for myself (cause damn I keep trying it) than I am anti-medication. But I have found myself frustrated, lost, forgotten and slipped between the cracks and the one style that everyone thinks might help me I cannot afford. And often it is a cycle of getting an expensive test done, and then getting no answers. Rinse and repeat. It's frustrating, it's isolating, it makes you feel uniquely sick in the head and broken and confused about what your own reality and mental state is. So yeah. I have little interest in pursuing further therapy at this time. But it can be beneficial to people. It just has not been to me.