Skin: Commonly described as fair, clear or white. (ref: Diodorus,
Hair: Long hair was the fashion, described as “thick and shaggy like a horse’s mane”, even satyr-like due to the treatment with limewater; the aristocracy favored large moustaches; and the Celts generally shaved their entire bodies, Caesar’s account further proven by iron razors and sprung iron shears found at the site of La Tene. Hair was variously mentioned as blond, flaxen or tawny, but either way further lightened artificially with lime. (ref: Caesar)
Height: Frequently described as very tall - taller than the Romans, the women bigger and stronger than Roman women. (ref: Diodorus, Marcus Borealis)
Fitness: The Celts are frequently attributed by historians with great physical prowess (“with rippling muscles”). In fact, fitness was so inherent to their customs, that any man exceeding the standard size was punished. (ref: Strabo)
Food/Diet: Grains, fruits, nuts, meat. Caesar describes them as living on “milk and meat”; Poseidonius also points out bread and fish. Cattle, dogs, hares, fowl and geese they grew only for entertainment or practical use.
Fashion: Striking clothing, dyed and embroidered in bright colors, striped or checkered cloaks. They wore form-fitting pants called “bracae”, tunics that were red, purple or multicolored, elaborate torcs as symbols of power, brooches, bracelets, hairpins and rings. They took great interest in their appearance, so that not even the poorest wore soiled or ragged clothing. Even cosmetic grinders have been found in Iron Age British contexts, signalling they might have used eyeshadow or blush. (ref: Diodorus, Flavius Arianus, Propertius, Amnianus Marcellinus)
Tattoos: The Britons were unique for their tattoos and the blue woad they painted their bodies with. (ref: Caesar)
Music: The most famous Celtic instrument is the Carnyx, styled in the form of an open-mouthed boar, emitting harsh, discordant sounds suited for battle. (ref: Diodorus)
Personality: High-spirited, hospitable, fond of feasting, straightforward, frank, courageous, etc. (ref: Diodorus)
Notable traditions: The head as the throne of the soul, hence the custom of severed heads as trophies; comradeship was important (those with most followers considered most powerful). (ref: Polybius)
Traveling: Some tribes were nomadic, ridden with wanderlust, others settled down in farming communities.
Sexuality: Homosexuality was common and they were very nonchalant about it, showing they were comfortable with varying sexual orientations as well as sexuality in general. (ref: Athenaeus)
Spirituality: Animism (the notion that everything is animated with life, including nature), the worship of nature, a vast pantheon of gods that differed from tribe to tribe, but had common deities as well (ie. Cernunnos).
J: “Oh no, no no nononono. Danny?! D-don’t worry, we’ll fix you up! I’ll just get you back to your anchor and you’ll be just fine after a while. Yeah, that’ll work.”
*Jasper drags Daniel away by the collar, in a near panic and muttering to himself as he goes.*
(( Well this took forever to make but the suplex seemed like too good an opportunity to pass up. We’ll be getting back to normal asks and I think I’m just going to open up the ask box again and just delete the repeat asks I get. ))
based on a number of conversations with the ever so lovely @rocketdocket. this fic is based on my own personal experience with antidepressants and is by no means true for all people who take medication for mental health issues.
PACKAGE LEAFLET: INFORMATION FOR THE USER
Citalopram 20 mg and 40 mg tablets
What Citalopram is and what it is used for:
Citalopram belongs to the group of so-called SSRIs (selective serotonin re-uptake inhibitors) and is used to treat depressive illnesses (episodes of major depression). People who are depressed have lower levels of the substance serotonin in their brain than others. Citalopram may help by increasing the levels of serotonin.
‘It’s been almost an hour,’ Aaron says, slumping back on the sofa and crossing his arms over his chest. A quiz show plays on the television in front of him. ‘Are you sure they got the order?’
‘Yes I’m sure,’ Robert says, settling down on the sofa, handing him a beer. He sits close to Aaron, their knees and elbows touching. It’s a casual closeness that Aaron wouldn’t have believe to be possible a year or so ago.
‘Well where are they then?’ Aaron asks, tugging up the tab on his beer. It snaps off in his hand. ‘Well that’s just bloody brilliant and all.’ He gets up to fetch himself a fresh one.
‘There’s more in the fridge,’ Robert says, taking a sip of red wine from his glass. Aaron can’t understand why he likes that stuff. It tastes like watered-down vinegar. ‘And pass me my phone while you’re up, it’s in my jacket. I’ll give them a call, see where our curry has got to.’
‘What did your last slave die of?’ Aaron grumbles, but extracts himself from the sofa as instructed. He pads over to the dinner table taking Robert’s jacket from the back of one of the chairs and fumbling around in his pockets. When he pulls the phone out, a crumpled slip of green paper falls to the floor. Without thinking, Aaron crouches down to pick it up.
It’s a prescription. Aaron’s chest constricts.
‘What’s this?’ He says, barely managing to keep his tone casual.
Robert looks over his shoulder. When he sees Aaron holding the prescription his face hardens. He’s up from the sofa like a shot, rushing over to Aaron and snatching the paper from his hands. The motion is so sudden that Aaron actually takes a step back.
‘What the hell was that?’ Aaron asks, watching as Robert crumples up the prescription and shoves it into the pocket of his jeans.
‘Doesn’t seem like nothing. You practically tore my hand off trying to get it.’
Robert shakes his head, turning on his heal and heading for the staircase. He doesn’t shut Aaron down like this anymore. Not unless something is really wrong. Aaron’s vision clouds with tears as he watches his husband go.
‘Are you ill?’ Aaron asks, his voice cracking. Robert stops in his tracks, one hand rested on the bannister. He turns to face Aaron, who expects him to still be wearing that impenetrable mask he always wears at times like this, but he isn’t. His expression has softened.
‘I’m not ill,’ he says, turning to Aaron. He crosses his arms and uncrosses them again, like he’s unsure what to do with them. ‘Not exactly.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Robert closes his eyes, his expression pinched. He sinks down onto the stairs, one hand massaging his forehead.
‘What’s wrong?’ Aaron demands, his voice far too loud now. Liv can probably hear him over the music that thuds through the floor above them, but in that moment, he can’t make the space in his head to worry about that. ‘What’s so bad that you can’t even tell me about it?’
‘They’re antidepressants,’ Robert says, his voice low and resigned. ‘Citalopram is an antidepressant. The doctor prescribed me it yesterday.’
‘Why?’ It feels like a stupid thing to say, but Aaron can’t help it. Robert has been in counselling for three months now, and he’s seemed okay. He has his moments, they both do, but nothing Aaron would have thought warranted meds.
Robert actually laughs at that. A gruff noise that is supposed to suffice for some kind of answer.
‘You don’t know why?’
‘Of course I know why,’ Robert snaps. His voice is quick and sharp like a slap across the face. ‘My counselor doesn’t know what’s wrong with me. She wants me to get a proper psych consult so she contacted my GP about it. He put me on the waiting list but it’s as long as a piece of string so he gave me the prescription to tide me over until then.’
Aaron feels himself relax slightly. It’s okay. Robert is okay. Well, okay as he always is, anyway. He’s not dying of some kind of terrible ailment that’s so horrific that he decided to keep it from him. This is fine. He’s fine.
‘I’m not going to take them, though.’
‘What? Why not?’ Aaron says, frowning.
‘Because they’re antidepressants. It makes this, y’know,’ Robert waves one of his hands in an abstract motion, ‘a thing.’
Aaron pinches the bridge of his nose.
‘You needn’t look so pissed off either,’ Robert says. ‘You probably wouldn’t take them either.’
‘Yes I would.’
‘No, you wouldn’t. You’re stubborn.’
‘Pot, kettle, black.’
Robert brings his feet up onto the bottom step and props his chin up on his hand. It’s only now that Aaron notices how tired he looks. He looks older, like something is draining his life force.
‘I don’t want any of this to be a thing,’ he says, staring at Aaron’s feet. ‘Like counselling is one thing, and that’s taken me long enough to get used to, but meds? Psych consults? I don’t know if I can do that. It’s too much.’
Aaron crouches down in front of his husband, taking one of his hands in both of his own. It’s cold and clammy, a sign that Robert is far more upset about this than he’s letting on.
‘I don’t know how I got to this point,’ Robert continues, unable to look Aaron in the eye. ‘I don’t know how I spiralled out of control to the point that I can’t trust my own mind anymore. It’s like I have this massive cut on my leg and I don’t remember how I got it but it’s getting all infected and disgusting and it hurts and no one can bear to look at it. That’s how my brain feels right now.’
Aaron takes a moment, running his thumb over the back of Robert’s hand and considering.
‘Would you let them give you antibiotics?’ he asks.
Robert pulls his hand back. ‘What do you mean?’
‘If you did have a big, gross, infected cut on your leg, would you let a doctor give you antibiotics?’
‘It’s not the same thing.’
‘How isn’t it the same thing?’
Robert covers his face with his hands and sighs. ‘It just isn’t.’
‘If you can’t think of reason that it’s different, then it probably isn’t different.’
‘People don’t think you’re crazy if you take antibiotics.’
‘For God’s sake,’ Aaron sighs, trying to fight down his frustration. ‘Who the hell cares? If it’s going to help you feel better than you do now, then who cares?’
‘What if it doesn’t help?’ Robert says, uncovering his face. He’s not crying, because when does Robert ever cry about anything? He just looks resigned. ‘Nothing seems to help.’
‘Then you can come off them again and try something else.’
Robert falls into a silence that is only broken a minute later when the doorbell rings. Aaron gets to his feet. He presses a kiss to his husband’s forehead, feeling relief wash over him when he leans into it.
‘That’ll be the curry, at last,’ he says, giving Robert a small smile, silently trying to convince him that they can carry on as normal in spite of this. ‘Just think about it. We can get your prescription filled first thing tomorrow, if you want. Or the next day. Or the day after that. Just think about it.’