Deemön? Deemön!! | Star Trek, Unsolved, She/They, Bisexual. Disclaimer: I did not draw my background! All credit goes to ravencross8019 on deviantart! Current WIP: Aberrant.
Seven years ago, my mother was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma, a blood cancer.
She fought hard, and she kicked it in the ass. Seven years of remission and close monitoring with nothing but excellent numbers, it was easy to forget she was ever sick.
But as expected by her doctors, my mother came out of remission four months ago. At the beginning of February, she underwent a second stem cell transplant. She's a week out of the hospital, now, and is doing well, though her doctors expect she will relapse again; this time, in five years.
Multiple Myeloma doesn't have a great many treatments. My family hopes and prays and begs that there might be some breakthrough, and there are promising trials, albeit quite experimental.
This November, my family is walking with a company called MMRF to raise money for Multiple Myeloma research. If you could please help, pitch in anything you can spare, it would mean the world to me, my mother, my family, and all the countless lives she has touched. Please help my mother live to see 65.
You can donate here:
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If you can't, that's okay. Any and all support is gratefully accepted.
Fjord: This is my fiancée Jester and her girlfriend Beau and Beau’s wife Yasha and Yasha’s best friend and also my partner Molly and Molly, Jester, and I’s boyfriend Caleb and Caleb’s other boyfriend Essek and Caleb’s exes/fwbs Astrid and Eadwulf who are married to each other and Caleb’s best friend Veth who is married to Yeza but half-jokingly propositions most of us regularly- and then there’s also Caduceus, our relationship counselor
Edit 21/5/24: Now on ao3! Added some additional lines to both versions.
Essek is kept from his bed by a few arcanely enhanced interrogations of the inn’s staff, who all corroborate the story of Desirat’s recent attack, in varying levels of accuracy and usefulness. It will be useful for a later report.
Reaching his own room at last is a relief, even if he is not such a fool as to take a closed door as security. Still, the quiet is pleasant. It has been an eventful day.
He saves his last seventh level—of course he does—and begins moving around the small, dark chamber. Each spell sacrificed weaves another strand of tentative comfort around him.
A twist of a ring, and See Invisibility spills like quicksilver through his vision. The lack of prying eyes sheds a weight off his shoulders, sweetened by the dropping of his Disguise. He runs an idle hand through his hair before summoning a ribbon to tie it plainly away from his face. An Alarm by the entry points—a spell he carries actual components for, in an act of sentimentality for the man who taught him—and he allows himself to feel the twinge in his neck, the stiffness running down his shoulder.
Essek sits on the edge of the bed, unbuttoning his sleeves. It is late, but … neither of them are sleeping early these days. He raises his hands and exhales into his Sending.
“Hello, Caleb. Is this a good time? I am well.”
It is a dear ritual, this distant exchange of words in the evenings. Each update feels particularly precious, with the powerlessness of blocked communication still a fresh bruise on his confidence. The world had never felt quite as vast as then.
The spell connects, today. It is easy, when unobserved, to soften with the anticipation of his partner’s voice. He leans into it like a hug.
Essek. It is good to hear from you.
A pause, as Caleb either sets aside his work or walks away from curious ears. Fondness grows thicker in Caleb’s voice when he speaks again.
You have reached Eiselcross, then? Keep warm. Keep safe. How are the adventurers?
Essek smiles as he listens, gently working rings off his fingers and piling them onto the covers. He stretches his hands and recasts.
“Hm, no, not yet. We are resting the night in Zadash. Lodge of the Eclipse, room four and seven. Should be safe, though.”
Even with the spell run out before his words, he waits for the response before recasting.
Shopping, hmm? I see how it is. I am glad to know where you are tonight. I am camping … ah, by some lovely rowan trees.
“Mmm, sounds scenic. Your adventurers … Well, they are interesting. You did not mention their dunamantic capabilities.”
He pauses, watching the string of arcana waver gently with his breath. A shock of longing sinks through him. It has been too long since they have shared a full night over arcane theory, with no apocalypse threatening like sunrise. Perhaps that longing is what sends his thoughts down paths of nostalgia.
“They remind me of old times,” he finishes.
Caleb’s huff of humor sounds edged with sleepiness.
How so, dear? Have they tried to hug you yet?
You will need to recount everything. When we spoke, they knew little of dunamis.
“They are not that fearless.”
Essek flops back onto the bed, sighing.
“A joke. No, I do not believe I look like I need it as desperately as back then. I think …”
Mhm mhm?
Another spell. They are easy to spend, like this.
“They are ambitious. But wounded, I think. Perhaps recently … Perhaps not. Wound tight with the scarring.”
He frowns up at the ceiling beams as they vibrate slightly, but it seems to pass.
“They remind me of the old me.”
I see.
Essek can hear the smile in his voice, and braces for a teasing line (which usually involves attempting not to immediately snicker in response. He has a reputation to uphold. Somewhat.)
Perhaps you shall be the hugger, then. Yes, roll your eyes. But you have been taught well, have you not?
Caleb Sends before he can, eager to finish his point. Essek knows just what his hands look like shaping this spell. Of course he does—the movements echo Essek’s own style.
In all seriousness, I hope they are not too much trouble. They are … important, I think.
And you have many wisdoms to pass along, yes?
“Mmm, certainly. Like the wisdom that it is far past your bedtime.”
Quietly, he chastises, “I would like you to save your spells, with where you are sleeping.”
Another Sending arrives. Silly man.
All right. Rest well, Essek. I miss you.
Remember your morning stretches. And your squats.
“Only if you wear your reading glasses tomorrow. And I miss you, too. Stay safe.”
He has space for I love you but knows it will prompt Caleb to Send again, to return the sentiment. His hesitation draws long enough for the spell to end, and regret pools immediately.
He knows, Essek reminds himself. Just as Essek knows. And they will speak again tomorrow, with many more miles between them than tonight.
The quiet of the room gains new depth as his hands fall to his lap, only deepened by the muffled sounds of late-night drinkers. The ceiling creaks again, something thumps.
Essek settles in to trance, mind far away from the creaking inn, drifting somewhere between rowan trees and a red moon.
One time when I was younger I was refusing to take headache medicine and my mom said “the person who invented that medicine is probably so sad you won’t let them help you” and now every time I find myself denying medicine I just imagine the saddest scientist making those big wet eyes like “why won’t you let me help” and whoop then I take the medicine
people saying they feel bad about reporting the new pornbots because the URLs are so good. i dont. i want to report them even harder. the URL pointless-soap needs to be liberated and reappropriated by the people
i was in the grocery store and saw an onion on the ground and picked it up, absently saying “poor little guy.” behind me a teenage girl started laughing and then stopped and went “aww. i’m sorry for laughing. that’s nice actually.” and the cycle of cruelty is broken for another generation as a young person realizes that it is not embarrassing to have empathy for another thing that was once living, because certainly to be a lone white onion rolling on the ground in a supermarket would be terrifying to anyone
Nintendo putting out a surprise update for the 3ds--a console they no longer produce and have as of this year since ceased supporting altogether--which has the sole purpose of fucking over people who've hacked the console is yet another example on the huge pile of examples that Nintendo has a frankly bizarre amount of absolute, nonsensical, self-destructive loathing for anyone who doesn't immediately drop Old Thing in favor of buying New Thing
Going feral thinking about how we have to pay for the privilege to NOT have to listen to nonstop sales pitches.
"What would your ancestors think of your whole gender thing-" What would YOURS think of being told to buy things every two minutes. I think they would kill CEOs in the streets for being annoying. They were known to do that.
the fucked up thing is how "Creep" by Radiohead will really get your ass if you hear it at the wrong time. that shit can be stupid and overdramatic or it can have the weight of an atomic bomb dropped on your heart it just depends
It's actually a song about self loathing and grief over perceiving oneself as undeserving of the love they desire. While this has much in common with the core of incel ideology, the key component it that incels blame this perceived inadequacy and poor self esteem on the women they feel entitled to, whereas Thom Yorke in "Creep" is saying "I hate myself for not being deserving of your love." Hope this helps.
Collective sigh @gatewaygeek - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
