In discussions about mental health, I am so tired of the only voices mattering being other people or other people who do not deal with a condition/disorder or a specific situation.
"Here's how I deal with loved ones with [x] condition!"
"If you do [y] because of [x mental health reason], you're selfish and everybody who loves you is having their lives made harder by you!"
"If your symptoms are [z], you're gross, and you deserve no sympathy for struggling"
I understand to an extent why people do this, but holy hell, as somebody who struggles and struggles often, the last thing any of us need to be told is that we're a burden that others have to carry. And it's terrible how everybody else's feelings but ours matter - even if we are the ones most affected by our condition or situation.
If you are dealing with issues surrounding your mental health and well-being, know that everything above isn't true; you are worthy of patience, understanding, kindness, and love. You are worthy of being listened to without judgment. You don't have to apologize or "make up" for who you are or what you struggle with.
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quick refs for my cuttlefish idols
some info: tiramisu and marzipan arent their actual names, theyre stage names. they predate the squid sisters and were around in the squid 2000s, but because of low sales and in-fighting they disbanded. i imagine in current time theyre pushing 40 lol
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you mentioned that the rats had names. may i inquire as to the names of the saintly rats
Aaaaa of course! I tried my best to put some thought into the names of the rats- more specifically, since the character who named them is from the 12th century, I tried to find saints that were canonized before he was born, but were also related to some of his own interests and issues. It was a quick delve, so there might be a few inaccuracies over whether or not he would have actually venerated a few of these Saints (because if I'm assuming correctly, different denominations of Catholicism don't venerate the same saints as everyone else? idk im not catholic), but here's the current list!:
Tutilo (famous for the lyre)
Sebastian (patronage for soldiers and the plague-stricken)
Gertrude (specifically Gertude of Nevilles, invoked against rats and fevers)
Joseph (the saint associated with Aldwulf's birthday (but also for those in doubt))
Peter (involved against criminals)
Nonnosus (invoked against physical defects and chronic pain)
While compiling this list, I also decided to grab a few more names I could use for later down the line:
Leodegar (eye problems)
Hubert (patron of hunters)
Adrian+Natalia (again, guards and soldiers)
Gereon (knights)
Aldwulf also has another rat named Samson; I read somewhere that knights had long-ish hair as a way to emulate that same character from the bible, and while I'm not sure how true that is, I ran with it! Samson's his main rat, in the sense that he listens to Aldwulf a bit more; he's also the largest rat, so he visibly spends more time around Ald compared to the others.
Thank you for the ask, this was really fun!
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Nico waking up and he doesn't know who he is. He asks Hazel where he is - where's his kid, where's his wife. Hazel sits with him and assures him he's fine while everyone watches confused. He was sick for a bit, she tells him, and now he's just recovering. He'll get to go home soon.
She is comforting and warm and he relaxes a bit. Minutes pass by, turn into hours, and his memories come back. The knowledge that he is him. He is not the dead man who left behind a wife and child after being robbed at knifepoint. He is not the little girl choking to death with asthmatic weak lungs that won't inhale and a mother who doesn't care. He is not the old woman wondering where her husband is.
He is Nico. Son of Hades and Maria di Angelo. He is not dead, not yet. He is not survived by anyone, not yet.
Hazel holds his hand the whole time and he comes back to her weary smile and sighs shallowly as the edges of her face bloom back into his memory. Hazel, his sister. There are other people on the periphery but he focuses on her. Her brown skin. Her brown eyes. Her thick curly black hair. Her warm hands. The bracelet on her wrist.
Her voice beckoning him back.
"His wife looked like you," Nico says. "A little taller though. Older."
He was twenty-six. She'd been in his life since they were five, playing in the sandbox. She'd screamed at another kid for taking her shovel and he'd fallen in love immediately. Nico's heart holds onto that love, twenty-one years, even as the man's world fades. Slowly the love seeps away too, and he's just left with a strange longing for a life that wasn't his.
A life that doesn't exist anymore.
"Is he okay?" Hazel asks.
He closes his eyes and exhales shaky. There's a vicious pain in his abdomen. Another lingering ache in his throat. Screams still echo even as the world fades into wispy colours and a strange man telling him it's time to go.
"He's okay," Nico says, because there isn't any other answer he can give.
The man is dead. The man who lived twenty-six years and had a wife he loved from childhood and a daughter whose young hands never left his own as he laid bleeding on hot tarmac. The man who heard crying and pleads to stay just a little longer, to just hang in there, and couldn't. Try as he might, as hard he wanted to, he couldn't stay.
It was time to go.
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