#semira writes

[smimon]

Hello, have an angsty fanfic with Jesse as main character ✨

It's about height swap, except it's about sacrifice, but actually it's about panic attacks... The plot is linear, but long 😊

Big thanks to beta reader @j-restlessgeek 💛💛💛

[planets-and-prose]

NaNo 10K Excerpt

So I hear y'all want everything to be okay, have the very lightly edited last little bit that I slammed out last night!

Their last class behind them, Briar tossed their bag down in Dr. Adams’ office and slumped in one of the chairs. At least Dr. Adams was one of the professors that cared enough to have somewhat comfortable seating. Dr. Adams looked up, just a bit curious. Her right arm was in a sling, since the shoulder wound she sustained had apparently severed some tendons.

“Rough day?” she asked. Briar made a face.

“I am going to lose it if I don’t get my color vision back soon,” they grumbled.

“I mean at least you didn’t get the danged hospital bill that you didn’t wanna get,” Dr. Adams huffed. “The healthcare system in this country’s gonna give me an ulcer and then charge me way too damn much to treat it.” Briar smirked—Dr. Adams arguing with a nurse about how she didn’t need to go to the ER for severed muscle and tendons, using the words “it’ll just work itself out,” was still a funny image, and that nurse seemed so vindicated when Briar sided with him and made Dr. Adams head to the hospital.

“At least you’re still gonna have a working arm and everything. And you don’t have to deal with dog time.” Briar rummaged in their bag for their notebook and handed it over to Dr. Adams. “How do these data look, by the way? I feel like I’m missing something, but it’s not coming.” Dr. Adams took the notebook, and started looking through it.

“If ya ever need a babysitter—you know, during your time of the month,” Dr. Adams teased, “I’m sure ya got my number already. I’m sure I can make sure ya don’t tear too much up.”

“I told you, I have it handled,” Briar sighed, watching Dr. Adams look over the work. “You just wanna see me be a puppy now.” All Dr. Adams did was smile, still looking things over. “But seriously…thank you for everything. I…didn’t know how bad I needed to talk to someone about this. Until, well, I did.”

“Don’t mention it. I wasn’t lovin’ the whole “hunting alone” thing either, so I’m not too opposed to havin’ a right hand…person. Also, I know it ain’t what you’re lookin’ for exactly, but these PH readings can’t be right for your soil. Some of ‘em look fine, some of ‘em would kill the plants.”

“Did I mess up the reading again!? I swear to god, if they don’t come up with better PH testing systems for people that literally can’t see color—“ Taking a deep breath, Briar looked over the numbers, and let their face fall into their hands. “I’m waiting to try this again till I get my color vision back. Or I will go insane.” All Dr. Adams could do was put a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.

“Aw, hon, maybe we’ll have to find something else for you to do after the full moon. Cuz I think you might lose your marbles if I keep makin’ you interpret colors.”

“In fairness,” Briar sighed, “you didn’t make me do this one. It’s for my project. But I guess. Ugh. I hate that these things are different…”

“But I’d bet there’s some’a you that ain’t mad at it.”

Briar raised an eyebrow suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

“You took to fighting as a wolf pretty easy. I think you finally let your instincts take over instead’a overthinking. And learnin’ to do that’s half the battle of bein’ someone that can manage the twists and turns life throws at you.”

You finally let your instincts take over. Briar took a breath and thought about it. The minute they just let themselves be, without overthinking or stressing, things fell into place. But that caused a pretty big issue…

“I don’t think I can do it again…” they murmured. But Dr. Adams didn’t seem concerned.

“Has anyone ever gotten anything down without practice?” she asked. “It’ll come, just have faith. We’ve got plenty’a time figurin’ out the crazy in this town to get you feelin’ better about just…being. And now that you finally let me know more about you than your alma mater and your research interests, you got me at your side every step of the way.”

When they heard that, Briar couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, Dr. Adams. Again.”

“Don’t thank me yet, this means you gotta listen to me make all the werewolf jokes you can stand,” she teased. Briar tried to scowl and make a face at her in retaliation.

But this time, somehow, Briar couldn’t manage to keep the corners of their lips from twitching up in a smile.

Tagging @k-v-briarwood , @the-grim-and-sanguine, please let me know if you wanna be added!!

[actress4him]

Empires Rise, Kingdoms Fall - Chapter 1 - Calamity

Attention, everyone who voted for the winning choice on my “what should I write next” poll! It took me a bit longer than I anticipated, but the first chapter of my new series is here!

This will feature a female main whumpee, because it’s me so of course it will, but I do plan on bringing in at least one male whumpee later. So, if you enjoy multi-gender royal whump, this series is for you! Let me know if you’d like to be on a tag list for this series.

Contains: lady whump, dude whump, lots of blood, lots of death, murder, war, royal whump

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The kingdom is falling. 

From her bedroom window, Maela can see thousands of soldiers, crawling like ants over the hillsides. Smoke furls up into the sky from the nearest towns and villages. Her ladies-in-waiting have assured her time and time again that the war will never reach them here, that even if it did, the city walls are too strong, that Highlea cannot possibly fall.

Yet as she stands in enraptured horror, skirts clutched tightly in her fists, the entire castle is in an uproar. Servants are throwing jewels and tapestries into trunks in a desperate attempt to save them. The last of the Highlean army, those who have not already gone out to fight, are swarming along the tops of the walls, finding their positions to defend the keep. Somewhere down the corridor, someone is weeping loudly.

“Princess!” Her chief lady-in-waiting, Semira, appears at her side and grasps her elbow. “Come, we must get you somewhere safe.”

They were supposed to be safe here. 

Semira seems to sense the protest in her gaze, forcing a smile that is meant to be comforting. “It’s alright. This is all just precautions, I’m sure none of it will be necessary in the end. But your mother is already on her way to the great hall, we should join her there.”

Maela allows herself to be led away from the window. Her eyes drag across her room, taking in the canopied bed, the books, the painting of her with her family as if in a dream. There’s a sense of dread weighing down her steps, something telling her that she’ll never see this room again.

“What about Father? And…and Adler and Eiran?”

“The king and princes have gone out to make their stand with the soldiers,” Semira answers gently. “But you shouldn’t worry about them. They’re strong. They’ll want you safe and protected, though.”

She knows they’re strong. They’ve been trained well, and her father has been to war many times. Adler, too, has marched out to battle before, and come back unscathed.

But Eiran, like herself, has never seen war. He’s only seventeen, a year her senior. All they’ve known is the aftermath, when soldiers are brought back on stretchers and draped over the shoulders of their comrades, bleeding and missing limbs and dying.

Will that be her family’s fate before the day is over?

Semira practically drags her through the corridors. They pass multiple servants, but none of them bother to pause and bow or even nod to the princess, too caught up in their urgent tasks. 

The great hall is in the centermost part of the keep, with no windows and great wooden doors that can be barred shut. They’ve never had to do so before. But now, as soon as Maela and Semira are inside, two guards drop the large crossbar into place with a thud that echoes through the cavernous room. 

Queen Haelyn stands in the very center of the hall, her back turned to them. She looks lost, and small. 

Taking a step forward, hands clasped anxiously in front of her, Maela calls out with a slight tremor in her voice. “Mother?”

The queen spins around, smiling with relief. It doesn’t quite cover the worry that’s etched into her face. “Maela. Good, you’re here. Thank you, Semira.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Semira curtsies in response. 

Maela lifts her skirts so she can hurry across the floor to where her mother stands. She searches her face, finding lines in her normally perfect brown skin, and strands of black hair that aren’t quite as neatly tucked away as usual. “Mother…I’m afraid for Father and the boys.”

Queen Haelyn’s attention has already been drawn elsewhere, her gaze seeming to pierce through the stone walls and out to where the fighting continues, but she drags it almost reluctantly back to her daughter. “Hm? Oh. I’m…certain they’ll be alright, dear. The city has never been breached before, and certainly they won’t make it here, to the keep. This castle was built to be easily defended.” 

It’s all just repetition of the same things Maela’s ladies-in-waiting have been telling her. As if she’s quoting something from a book, or information that has been passed to her that she has no choice but to believe. 

“If there’s no way for them to breach, then…why are we barricading ourselves here?” She waves a hand toward the locked doors. “Why are all the servants packing away our valuables as if the keep may be looted or burned?”

“It’s just a precaution, dear.” Again, she repeats Semira’s words, in a hazy voice that speaks the opposite of her words. She’s afraid, too. 

Everyone is afraid. The fear permeates the air, and has been growing thicker with each passing day. This army…it’s not like others who have marched against them before. Rumors precede it - of a number of soldiers beyond count, of ruthless followers and a far more ruthless leader, of kingdom after kingdom crumbling in its path.

So many towns and villages of Highlea have already been decimated. Now, it seems, it’s their turn.

Maela isn’t ready to die. Nor is she ready to lose everything she knows and everyone she loves.

But she’s not going to receive comfort from her mother. Giving the expected half-curtsy, despite the fact that no one is paying attention, she backs away and returns to Semira. She’s the only one of her ladies-in-waiting that she’s seen since the chaos began, and she’s afraid to ask where the others are. The only other people in the hall are the two guards by the doors, and a few of the highest officials of the court. 

Everyone else is out there somewhere, left to their own devices and the hands of fate. Inside this room, cut off from the rest of the world, it’s hard to keep her imagination from running wild of what that fate might be. 

Minutes stretch into hours. Semira, always vigilant about her princess’ wellbeing, tries to convince Maela to sit and rest, but she can’t. Anxiety has seized every inch of her body, thrumming through her veins. She can’t even stay still, much less sit down.

The silence from beyond the doors is nearly unbearable, until it’s broken and she finds herself wishing that it would return. At first, it’s thumping and banging. The fight isn’t close enough for them to actually hear the clanging of swords, but it has obviously moved much closer to the keep. Far too close. 

Queen Haelyn, across the room on her throne, goes from staring aimlessly at the walls to squeezing her eyes tightly shut. Maela grasps Semira’s hand so hard that she’s probably crushing it.

When the first scream erupts from somewhere across the castle, Maela jolts, then claps a hand to her mouth. She can feel the blood draining from her face. The screams multiply - some pained, some frightened, some dragging on in agony. Each one is like a knife to her gut. Tears stream down her face.

The army is here. They’re inside the castle. 

She finds herself looking to her mother again, but there’s still nothing to draw from her. The queen’s eyes are still closed, and now her lips are moving. Whispering prayers, most likely. Maela instead glances at Semira, hoping for comfort from the one source she can usually count on it from, but she’s gone just as pale and is staring wide-eyed at the doors.

Any second now, they’ll arrive here, at the great hall. And if towering stone walls and an entire army couldn’t stop them, then what are two wooden doors going to do?

They’re going to die. Highlea has fallen, their people are slaughtered, and they’re next.

Something slams against the doors, and the wood shudders. Maela cries out in fear. She wants desperately to turn and bury her face in Semira’s shoulder, but that’s unbecoming of a princess, even one who’s about to die. 

Another hit, and Semira drags her toward the thrones so that they can stand close to her mother. The other nobles and officials are clustered together on one side of the room, the guards facing the doors with their swords drawn as if the mere two of them can stop what no army has been able to.

The doors splinter on the third hit. 

On the fourth, they fly wide open. Soldiers in foreign armor pour into the hall past the battering ram. Maela stumbles backwards, clinging to the arm of her father’s empty throne.

The two guards are down within seconds, their blood leaking out onto the polished wooden floor. The officials are next, surrounded and murdered without even a chance to fight back. Their strangled gasps and cries imbed into Maela’s chest.

Then everything stops. The soldiers spread out across the room, filling up the corners yet leaving an open pathway down the center, and they simply stand there, facing the three remaining women. No one speaks, no one moves. Maela’s not sure she’s even breathing.

Footsteps click down the corridor, breaking the silence. A moment later, a woman sweeps into the room, her golden crown glinting in the torchlight. Her train, a brilliant red that nearly perfectly matches the blood on the floor, drags across the bodies of the guards as if they’re merely part of the landscape. 

There’s no mistaking who she is, even if Maela has never actually seen her before. She’s heard enough. The woman’s black hair is cropped close to her scalp in the style of the warm southern kingdom of Seland, her golden eyes outlined in kohl. 

There have been many rumors about those eyes, mostly from superstitious townsfolk who whisper that she can burn down entire kingdoms just from the force of her gaze. Standing here right now, watching the way they bore into both her and her mother in turn, Maela almost believes them. 

“Queen Haelyn,” the woman purrs. “A pleasure to finally meet you.”

The queen sits stiff and poised on her throne. “Queen Edrice.”

“Actually, it’s Empress now, haven’t you heard?” Her smile makes Maela’s skin crawl. “Yours is only the latest in the line of kingdoms that are now under my rule.”

Without waiting for a response, she makes a motion with one hand and the soldiers closest to the doors immediately turn and walk back out of the room. A moment later, they return leading yet more soldiers. These, however, are dragging bodies behind them. 

The first is tossed roughly at the empress’ feet, and Maela’s gasp echoes through the room. 

“The king is dead,” Empress Edrice announces without breaking eye contact with Queen Haelyn. She raises one slender eyebrow. “Long live the king?”

The second body is dropped, then the third. 

“No,” Maela whispers. Her eyes dart back and forth between the three, grief seizing her chest until it feels like it will be crushed.  

“Oops.” Edrice gives a brief glance toward Adler, the eldest prince. “The king is dead…again.” 

She turns her head to consider Eiran, the youngest. “Oh. Well, this one is still alive.” 

Hope surges inside of Maela, despite how still and bloody her brother looks, only to falter when the empress speaks again. 

“Can any of you provide a reason that I should keep him that way?”

For an agonizingly long moment, complete silence falls over the crowded room. Maela looks desperately to her mother, afraid that she’s going to just sit there and allow this to happen. 

Her father is dead. Adler is dead. But Eiran is still alive, he can still be saved. Out of all the loss that has happened today, perhaps this one can be prevented. 

She and her brother are a long way from their days of sneaking treats to her father’s dogs and going on long horse rides together and making fun of nobility behind their backs. Their time now is spent in more appropriate pursuits for their titles, and very rarely in each other’s company. 

But she still loves him. 

Queen Haelyn finally speaks up, her voice a shadow of what it was a moment ago. “He’s…he’s just a boy.”

The empress hums in response. “Yes. A boy who is technically now the king. And unfortunately, I really don’t have a need for kings.”

“Please!” The word bursts from Maela before she can stop it, and she almost regrets it once she has Edrice’s full attention on her, shrinking back a little. She has to try, though, foolish as it may be. “Please…Your Majesty. Spare him.”

There’s that smile again, cruel and far too humored by the whole situation. “As pretty as your pleas are, dear, I’m afraid they’re not enough to stay my hand.”

She gives her wrist a flick, and the soldier who’d dragged Eiran in draws his sword, plunging it through the small gap in the prince’s armor. His body flails for only an instant before falling still again, blood spilling out from around the sword and coating his armor in a red sheen. 

With a wail, Maela crumples to her knees. It’s not proper behavior, but she doesn’t care. Her brothers and father are dead. Everything in her world is coming crashing down around her, and she has the horrifying feeling that it’s not about to stop. 

“Well that’s taken care of.” The nonchalance in her voice is maddening. “Now I suppose that leaves the queen.”

“No,” Maela sobs. “No, no, no…”

Another gesture from Empress Edrice, and two soldiers charge forward, seizing Queen Haelyn by both arms and jerking her from her throne. She doesn’t fight them, only stumbles forward as gracefully as possible under the circumstances, her chin lifted high as she’s planted in front of the empress. 

Maela lunges toward her, but is stopped by Semira’s arm thrown around her waist. She falls back to her knees, tears pouring down her cheeks. 

Even facing death in utter defeat, her mother is beautiful. She’s always been beautiful, always perfect, the picture of what a queen should be and what Maela must strive to be. Somehow she always knew that she could never be that perfect, though, and she feels it now more than ever. There’s no possible way that she will stare death in the face with that same poise and grace.

“Any last words, Your Majesty?”

Maela can see her mother’s shoulders rise and fall slightly as she takes in a breath, but the words that follow take her by surprise. “My daughter. She’s a child still, she’s no threat to you.”

Edrice’s lips purse in amusement. “Touching.” 

As much as she doesn’t want to watch, Maela can’t tear her eyes away. Another sword is drawn and thrust through Queen Haelyn’s middle, protruding bright red out her back. When it’s yanked back again, the soldiers let go of her arms, and she collapses to the floor. 

Maela’s whole family is lying dead in front of her. There’s so much blood, the wood underneath is barely visible anymore. 

Time warps, and she somehow spends an eternity staring at those four dead bodies while she weeps until her stomach hurts and her throat is raw. 

Meanwhile, Semira is pulled away from her, fighting desperately to keep hold but ultimately failing. Maela cries even harder at her loss. She wants to turn, to find out if her closest friend’s fate is the same as the others, but she’s trapped in this moment of unending grief, unable to move and too afraid to face yet another bloody death of a loved one. 

For an instant she thinks, a bit hysterically, that this can’t possibly be real. This whole day has been a dream, surely, a nightmare that she’ll wake from at any moment. 

But then the scent of blood hits her all over again, and she’s forced to face the terrifying truth. This is all very, very real. 

Suddenly Empress Edrice is standing directly in front of her. Maela can’t help flinching back. This is it, her time has now come. She wishes, selfishly, that she could have been first, that she wouldn’t have had to endure seeing everyone else’s deaths before her own. 

At least this way, her parents won’t have to witness her cowardice.

“Come now, dear, you’re alright.” The empress reaches out with long, slender fingers and tips Maela’s chin upwards so that she can look into her tear-soaked face. Her mouth twists into an expression that Maela doesn’t quite understand. 

“Such a pretty, pitiful little thing. Your mother was right, you’re no threat to me.” The fingers leave her chin and gracefully swipe some of the tears away before tracing her jawline. Maela shudders involuntarily. The touch is gentle, even kind. But she’s keenly aware that this same hand ordered the murder of her family just minutes ago. 

She’s also keenly aware that she doesn’t seem like she’s about to order hers. 

The expression on Empress Edrice’s face turns back into a smile. “Don’t worry. I’m going to take very good care of you.”

Maela stares up at her with watery, bewildered black eyes. She’s…not going to kill her. Why? She should be glad, should feel at least some form of relief at knowing she doesn’t have to die. 

But somehow, living now seems like the more frightening option. 

[shapeshiftersandfire]

doing some research for an au and YIKES semira got shafted twofold

not only did she lose vitkor’s favor because he adopted selene but she also lost his favor because kraven was the one to “kill” lucian

YIKES

[lemonositysims]

Round 1: Mt. Komorebi, Summer

Mt. Komorebi Sightseer [Explorer]

Eat Food at the Festival of Light, Snow, or Youth

Take a Selfie with the Mt Komorebi Mascot

Collect a Simmi by Popping Open a Simmi Capsule

Swim for 1 Hour in Wakaba’s River

As soon as Semira set up camp, she wanted to explore. She ran for the river in her new neighborhood, Wakaba to do some swimming. It was much more liberating than the pool parties she was used to as a child.

After a couple of hours, Semira was starting to feel hungry. She went into Senbamachi and unsuccessfully haggled for some onigiri. Maybe if I become friendly with the woman behind the counter my next attempt will work! She thought to herself.

To wrap up her first day in Mt. Komorebi, she found the perfect fishing spot, and sold enough fish to begin a knitting project and buy a Simmi capsule! Her first Simmi is Jasmine Holiday and she can’t wait to buy some more.

After all that activity, Semira just wanted to spend some time alone relaxing in her tent. She quickly fell asleep dreaming of what else Mt. Komorebi has in store for her.

[godtrials]

Jane ❤️ do you have any sick fics 🥴

ofc <333333 not gonna link sammyverse AGAIN but we all know i’m thinking it.

What John Saw by Semira John watches young Dean care for a sick, fevered Sam, and regrets the choices that have led them here.

A Promise by dragonflybeach Sam Winchester had been thirteen years old the first time he honestly thought he was going to die.

Winchester Rules by Visionairy Sam may be young, but he's beginning to realize that both Dean and their dad are keeping something from him. And if that's the case, a sick Sam decides, it can go both ways.

A Little to the Right by Zana_Zira Keeping secrets is a bad thing, especially in regards to one's health. When Sam decides not to tell Dean he isn't feeling well before a day of training, the outcome will not be pleasant. Sam is 15, Dean is 19.

Silver Lining by Cocoplumb It’s been exactly seven months and nine days since Sam left for Stanford. Since he packed up his protein shakes, his meds, his inhalers and his nebulizer and walked out of the door.

two basic motivating forces by sahwen He can’t cry, it’s not allowed; even as a child he was hushed into silence, whether his tears were from a long car ride or a late night or a raging fever. It’s never been an option, it’s never been an available outlet, and it’s not about to start being one just because he’s having an emotional breakdown on the bathroom floor.

Some Peace of Mind by authoressnebula Sam falls ill after a hunt in a marsh. Sick enough that Dean decides serious downtime is needed, not just two days rest in a motel room.

Tired and Hungry and Totally Useless by familybizness I was asked to write a story about Sam with Lyme disease.  This happened.  

An Alternative to Self-Harm by mentholpixie It's the first time Sam's been sick since escaping the cage and he's not handling it very well.

[dearevanhansenofficial]

“YOU WILL BE FOUND” NATIONAL COLLEGE ESSAY WRITING CHALLENGE 2021 | DEAR EVAN HANSEN

DEAR EVAN HANSEN “You Will Be Found” National College Essay Writing Challenge 2021

In partnership with Gotham Writers Workshop and the Broadway Education Alliance, DEAR EVAN HANSEN invited 11th-grade and 12th-grade students across the country to write a college-application style essay that describes how they channeled “You Will Be Found” to ensure those around them were a little less alone over the last year, or, alternatively, a moment where they found comfort in connection.

WINNER: Nearly 4,000 high school students across America wrote about impactful ways they stayed connected with others over the last year and we're delighted to announce Maxwell Silverman of Chicago, IL as the winner of the 2021 "You Will Be Found" National College Essay Writing Challenge and the $10,000 scholarship.

In June 2021, Maxwell graduated from Lane Tech High School in Chicago with plans to attend Boston Conservatory at Berklee, focusing on a degree in Musical Theatre.

FINALISTS: Seth Gorelik, Bellmore, NY Mira Kwon, Los Angeles, CA Anna Cappella, Pittsburgh, PA Semira Abdus-Salam, Rosedale, NY Filgey Borgard, Brooklyn, NY Lauren Escarcha, Orlando, FL Kacey Feth, Union, MO Paige Foltz, Stephens City, VA Sarah George, Chesterfield, MO Vincent Gerardi, Hauppauge, NY Ariane Lee, Syosset, NY Allison Lierz, Omaha, NE Megan Luong, New York, NY Kimberly Manyanga, Billerica, MA Orla Grace McCoy, Raleigh, NC Lucy Meola, New York, NY Sunaya DasGupta Mueller, Palisades, NY Liv Ollestad, Issaquah, WA Liana O'Rourke, Downers Grove, IL Isaiah Register, New York, NY Sydney Schneider, Los Angeles CA Ysanne Sterling, Centreville, VA Madeline Wiest, Peoria, AZ Samantha Williams, Providence, RI Laura Yee, New York, NY

FINAL ROUND JUDGES: Kelly Caldwell, Dean of Faculty, Gotham Writers' Workshop Logan Culwell-Block, Director of PLAYBILLder Operations and Community Engagement, Playbill Will Roland, Actor, Dear Evan Hansen Original Broadway Cast Member Crystal Su, Program Manager, The Jed Foundation Ekele Ukegbu, 2019 Jimmy Award Winner

READ MAXWELL’S FULL ESSAY:

Gram·pun·cle [geram-puhn-cuul] n. A gay man who formerly dated your grandmother only to later come to terms with his sexuality but still stay in the family to take care of your mother and aunt growing up.

Alan Palmer was my Grampuncle. When my cousins and I were younger, we couldn’t figure out what to call him. He was our grandpa in terms of age and raising our mothers, but he functioned more as the classic “fun gay uncle”, so we settled on a combination, Grampuncle. While we all had amazing relationships with Alan, mine was special. I have known Alan and his husband, Bill, since birth (making them the first ever gay couple I knew in my life).

Growing up and struggling with my sexuality, I was always able to look up to them to show me that true love really does have no boundaries. I will never forget, in 2015, standing inside the Michigan courthouse beside Alan as he and Bill exchanged vows and got married. They showed me, a young, insecure gay boy, that there was a place for me in the world and that I had a future to look forward to filled with love and joy.

Along with that joy, there eventually came some pain. Alan was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer in the early spring of 2020. A week or so after the diagnosis, the world fell into a global pandemic. Those first few months were intense. I heard the horror stories from Alan of how scary it was going into the hospital for rounds of chemotherapy with people who had the Coronavirus sitting in the next wing over. Being constantly in and out of the hospital he was a risk to others, and the lung cancer made almost everyone else a risk to him. With the exception of his husband, he was fully alone.

Alan did not admit to his loneliness and pain. He did not want to feel like a burden, but after talking with Bill and hearing how Alan was truly feeling, my family began to make the hour and a half drive from Chicago to Michigan almost every other week to visit. We brought Alan a pop-up gazebo and some fancy sun hats to protect him (with the radiation he could not be in the sun for more than a few minutes at a time), and we would sit in the backyard just talking and laughing for hours until Alan’s body would give in to the exhaustion and he had to go inside.

As his birthday approached, I racked my brain thinking of something special to do for him. I thought back to a video I saw online toward the beginning of the pandemic and decided to make a “hug shield”. What better gift to give than a loved one’s embrace during the pandemic? Using a clear painter’s tarp, I cut arm holes and taped together closed arm sleeves. It took a good few hours, but I finally figured out a design that allowed for full protection on either side of the hug. On the day of his birthday, we packed up the car and headed to Michigan.

After talking and eating cake, it was time for the surprise. As we pulled the shield out and hung it from the gazebo, Alan did something I had only seen at the courthouse; he cried. I had the honor of the first hug, and as I slipped my arms into the sleeves Alan and I held each other and cried together. He pressed his forehead against mine through the plastic and in between sobs he said to me, “I am so proud of you.” I knew this was our final goodbye. When Alan died the next week, I knew he went in peace. He had felt my embrace through the shield of love.

SEMI-FINALISTS: Bailey Andera, Thousand Oaks, CA Arianna Arroyo, Brooklyn, NY Alexis (Lexi) Berganio, Honolulu, HI Avery Bielski, Los Angeles, CA Henry Boemer, Villa Rica, GA Isabelle Bulmahn, Imperial, MO Jane Butera, Phoenixville, PA Mia Cashin, Norwell, MA Sean Choo, Rancho Palos Verdes, CA Zuri Clarno, Columbus, OH Lydia Corcoran, Apalachin, NY Cody Coyle, Winter Park, FL Anna Dai-Liu, San Diego, CA Alexander Guerrero Diaz, Richmond, VA Isabella Dufault, Irvine, CA Edwin Ellis, Atlanta, GA Laurel Emanuel, Raleigh, NC Aubrey Fisher, Cobden, IL Sunny Fong, Brooklyn, NY Sarah Galatoire, Houston, TX Zhao Gu Gammage, Wyncote, PA Sarah Gomez, Anaheim, CA Rachel Gray, Cleveland, OH Jameson Huge, Chicago, IL Sarah Grace Hutchinson, Alpharetta, GA Catheryn Ibegbu, Dearborn, MI Nicole Jo, Andover, MA Kelsey Johnston, Prince George, VA Gabrielle Kashorek, Avon, NY Samantha Kern, Akron, NY Nicole Kowalewski, Sykesville, MD Anne Lee, Edison, NJ Amelia Lin, Mukilteo, WA Judianne Meredith, River Vale, NJ Rabi Michael-Crushshon, Minneapolis, MN Geneva Millikan, Maumelle, AR Samantha Moy, Long Island, NY Shaakirah Nazim-Harris, Amityville, NY Eleanor Neal, Springfield, VA Sofia Ochoa, Camarillo, CA Basilia Oferbia, Brooklyn, NY Annika Olson, Rathdrum, ID Kaden Polt, Osmond, NE Shreeyamsa Poudel, Federal Way, WA Noah Robie, South Berwick, ME Zainely A. Sandoval Martinez, Dorado, PR Devyn Schoen, Eldred, PA Yusra Shaikh, Edison, NJ Gabrielle Shockley, Egg Harbor Township, NJ Ava Sklar, Brooklyn, NY Mia Sunday, Sammamish, WA Christina Unkenholz, Smithtown, NY Emilia Valencia, Portland, OR Brianna Wallace, Fredericksburg, VA Charles Wang, West Hartford, CT Daniel Joseph Weispfenning, Ridgewood, NJ Jennifer Wheeler, Reading, MA Virginia Zanella, Collierville, TN Alessandra Zepeda Ortiz, Los Angeles, CA Anna Zhang, New York, NY Daniel Zhang, Cortland, NY

[stcriedtales]

{{ welcome to @stcriedtales , an indie multimuse blog for some original characters of my own creation. written by megan (she/her, 25+), and established Oct.8.2020 as a separate blog from my canon multimuse, @silentwcrds }}

google doc with muse info and rules

about semira (nephilim)

about luna (werewolf)

about ava (witch)

about uriel (angel) NOW found at @silentwcrds

{{ you can also find me on my lucifer blog ( @foreverfallen ) or my personal blog ( @firstofthefcllen ), if not on either multimuse. Discord and such is available to tumblr known associates, if we write/talk together here, etc... }}

[smimon]

just to have something on this blog until next week and I'm very indecisive so you get to click a button

if you read any of the stories in this series then you know the love shack option is a troll

[planets-and-prose]

Heads Up, Seven Up!

I was tagged in this by the lovely @k-v-briarwood and thanks to it being Day 2 of NaNo, I actually have snippets now!! Yay!!! So have the first official snippet from Continuing Education, largely unedited. For context, Semira is teasing Briar about them only calling her "Dr. Adams." (And the chapter is Briar POV, so that's why she's 'Dr. Adams' in the writing.)

“Alright, Dr. Rackham,” Dr. Adams teased.

“I haven’t earned the ‘Dr.’ yet, that doesn’t mean anything.”

“Hon, you haven’t earned it cuz you are the highest achieving student I work with and insist on finishing the world’s most elaborate thesis even though ya have more than enough there to graduate with. I have no earthly idea how you manage all you do and being a werewolf.”

“It isn’t so bad.” Briar rolled their shoulders back, in an unsuccessful attempt to alleviate some of the discomfort and pain that was trying to take up permanent residence. “It’s…kinda an excuse to get some sleep. I just make enrichment stuff and fall asleep in about half an hour, I think. I set up cameras, I think that’s about it.”

“Enrichment stuff?” Dr. Adams could barely hold back her laugh. “You get a toy with some frozen peanut butter and run around?”

Briar blushed. “Basically…I learned if the wolf brain doesn’t have stimulation, it wrecks things, just like regular dogs…so I got some of those dog puzzle toys and usually it gets the wolf stuff to quiet down enough for me to get rest.”

Dr. Adams laughed. “Lord, I know it ain’t funny to you, but what I wouldn’t give to see that.”

And ahh, my seven people--I'm so sorry if y'all are already tagged somewhere! Gentle as always :)

@mayarab @thedeerwight @halleyuhm @thepitflower @acertainmoshke @bonereliquary

[inacciaio]

@ofmusingsxandmayhem​ plotted starter

For ten years now, Semira had ruled over this kingdom, and in her eyes things were going well. Other than her dwindling funds, things were splendid. She was feared and respected by her people, and she kept the daughter of her “late” husband well in line. The girl was weak, she thought. Timid, docile, and weak. 

Semira loved three things in this world: her beauty and all things beautiful to her, her power, and combat. A gala such as today’s embodied all three. Her guests enjoyed having entertainment and Semira was more than happy to oblige. One by one, she was defeating everyone, be it knight, guard, or servant, in swordplay. They would use a sword that was identical to hers, in the guise of “fairness”. In truth, Semira outmatched all of them in skill, speed, and raw physical ability. 

“Yield.” she purred as yet another guard was brought to his knees by her sword. Her guests cheered, and the next opponent was brought forward. Her visiting guest himself; the Baron. Effortlessly she began fighting him mainly just focusing on dodging his swipes, since he clearly he wanted to talk.

“Your Majesty, it’s come to my attention that people have been spreading rumors about how close to destitute the kingdom is.” he spoke quickly as they parried. “If we were to marry--”

Semira just laughed at the suggestion. “Baron, you can’t even land a single strike on me, why would I consider marrying you?” 

“Security, Your Majesty, with my wealth--”

“Ah ah ah, save it.” she insisted. It was then she began making swipes of her own rather decisively. Semira swiftly backed the Baron into a wall, soon disarming him in one quick movement of her sword. She pressed it to the baron’s chest before calling to her right-hand. “Brighton, I want you to write a royal decree.” she stated, and Brighton rushed to her side. Semira’s voice spoke her next words so softly, in an almost demure tone. 

“Any busybodies... caught rumoring, gossiping, whispering, or even thinking about the supposed “struggles” of my kingdom... shall be put to death... by my sword.”

[hopeandlimerence]

( warning long post lol I’m sorry I got carried away also some triggering topics about ann’s life )

GETTING  TO  KNOW  THE  MUN :

NAME : Danielle NICKNAME :  Dani FACECLAIM :  

PRONOUNS : she / her HEIGHT :  5′3 BIRTHDAY :  January 25th AESTHETIC : Lots of t-shirts, jeans, I wear bows in my hair a lot, I almost always wear mascara but sometimes I like to wear the whole eyeshadow, foundation, eyeliner, lipstick, etc.  LAST  SONG  YOU  LISTENED  TO :  Ashes by Celine Dion  FAVORITE  MUSE (S)  YOU��VE  WRITTEN :  My top 3 favorites have been 1. Ann (this blog) 2. Semira from underworld @ my multimuse @inacciaio and Marisa Coulter, who I’ve yet to play on tumblr, mainly because there isn’t a His Dark Materials/Golden Compass fandom on tumblr but with the BBC/HBO show coming out soon, hopefully that will change~

GETTING  TO  KNOW  THE  ACCOUNT :

WHAT  INSPIRED  YOU  TO  TAKE  ON  THIS  MUSE : I am insanely fascinated with Ann Fleming’s life. Like I’ve always been a James Bond fan, ever since I was a child, and I’ve also always been into history, so when a biopic miniseries came out called Fleming: The Man Who Would Be Bond, I was really intrigued by that, so I began doing research on Ian Fleming, Ann Fleming, and when I started researching them, I kept having more questions, and those answers led to more questions because they were very complex people with very complicated lives and relationships, especially their relationship in particular. But after a while of researching Ann, I began forming an attachment to her honestly, like her life was hard, man. People made her out to be this person who had it easy because she was rich and because she came from a good background but like 1. her family didn’t even really want her, like her mother died when she was young, and her father wanted nothing to do with her until adulthood where they somehow became friends like ??? okay 2. she had such a lack of affection growing up plus physical and emotional abuse and neglect gave her such a warped view of affection and love, like it hurts me 3. her relationships were honestly so broken and painful and it’s complicated to describe them. like Ann enjoyed cruelty. she found comfort when her partner was cruel to her. at her core, in her subconscious, she craved things like agony, violence, meanness, and her last husband Ian Fleming had similar childhood abuse that led him to crave the same things, which was why they were both so connected with a deep understanding of each other, yet so volatile and destructive towards each other. and they both thrived yet were barely holding on by a thread at the same time with this kind of mentality and desires. they both insisted that they were each other’s true loves however, being very passionately in love and having a surprisingly loving and affectionate relationship despite all of the ways they hurt each other, and the only time their relationship ever truly “died” was when they got older, their sex life slowly diminished, and Ian began seeing other women, then Ann seeing another man out of spite.  4. she outlived almost everyone she ever cared about. She outlived a. her parents, b. all three of her husbands c. her youngest sister who died of alcohol poisoning d. a lot of her best friends e. she had a miscarriage d. and probably the most painful, her youngest son killed himself in his early 20′s. Like her life was tragedy after tragedy and in the end she had to face it almost completely alone. By the time she was near her death, now diagnosed with cancer, the only people who were really close to her and still alive were her two children Raymond and Fionn who both had their own lives and responsibilities, living far away, etc. So yeah, I became extremely attached to her and there have been so many times during researching her life I’ve just straight up cried. Was she a perfect person? No, of course not. But she also had a lot of wonderful qualities among her faults, like she was a wonderful friend who genuinely liked putting others before herself, she so badly wanted to be a good person and tried her hardest to be, and she recognized most of her faults when she either realized them or someone pointed them out to her. So me being so passionate about this person + the miniseries coming out, of course I had to make Ann into a muse. WHAT  ARE  YOUR  FAVORITE  ASPECTS  OF  YOUR  CURRENT  MUSE :  I love how charismatic Ann is. Like she can talk her way into a lot of things, she is friendly to pretty much everyone, and she can blend in to practically any crowd. Even people who are wildly different from her with wildly different opinions, 9/10 times she still wants to be friends with them. Also I 100% love writing all of the crazy shenanigans she got into. Like I have a book of letters written by her, to her, about her, etc. and so many of them contain fucking gems of wacky stories, wild adventures, quirky little happenings in life and her friends lives and they’re a a joy to read and a joy to portray.  WHAT’S  YOUR  BIGGEST  INSPIRATION  WHEN  IT  COMES  TO  WRITING :  When it comes to writing Ann, a lot of music and any kind of scenes from movies or tv shows that remind me of her or her life. The miniseries is especially an inspiration, Lara Pulver’s portrayal of Ann was absolutely perfect and it’s why Lara Pulver is my face claim for Ann. Her book of letters is also a huge inspiration to me, so if I ever need inspiration for writing Ann, I’ll usually either 1. listen to her ever growing playlist 2. watch the miniseries again or 3. read her letters FAVORITE  TYPES  OF  THREADS :  I love shenanigans. They’re probably my favorite of all time. Along with that though, I also like shippy things, angst things, with Ann they usually go hand in hand, but there will still be a lot of fluff in between. Some of my favorite letters between Ann and Ian are the ones talking about how much they love each other and how wonderful they think the other is, some of their letters are honestly so sweet and mushy, it’s adorable.  BIGGEST  STRUGGLE  IN  REGARDS  TO  YOUR  CURRENT  MUSE :  Writing some of the hard stuff is definitely a struggle. I’m always partially afraid of writing it because I don’t want to upset anyone who might be going through/has gone through some of these things, though that’s why in my blog disclaimer in my rules, I try to get across that I am going to be discussing these really hard topics on this blog, because they were huge parts of Ann’s life and personality, like without these things, Ann wouldn’t be an accurate representation of who she was. And speaking of accuracy, of course with Ann being a historical figure, I always worry that there may be certain things of my interpretation that are grossly inaccurate, or disrespectful, and it’s never my intention and I hope that this is never the case because as said above, I genuinely care about Ann. I love and adore her, if I could meet any historical figure ever, without a doubt it would be Ann. Not because she’s the best historical figure or anything, but because she’s so fascinating to me and I feel such a bond with her as stupid as that probably is. Like I’ve been researching her since I was 17 and I’m 23 now, I care about her honestly more than I probably healthily should lol. Ann means a lot to me and I hope that my writing is doing her justice, and I hope that I’m portraying her as accurately as I can without the ability to do something like interview her or have every single piece of information about her life.

TAGGED  BY : @shcrpwits TAGGING : @lettergave, @mysterymanjoseph, @warringpeace @revcl @wineinthewidow @motherwitch @magaprima  @killedinstead @betterhealing @blockbustertm @ineffablemum @pressedsuits @pierre-renaldi @hatesamateurs @hrhmonpetitchou and anyone else who would like to do this! 

[hypnocutiegypsy]

Camp Nano Day 4, 5, & 6

The Goddess

Yes, folks believe it! *insert naruto gif* I am catching up for three days of writing! After a very unplanned power outage stole my thunder and my sleep and sanity for two days, I am doing some much needed damage control. I have been writing on and off all day. Baby at breast, toddler wrapped around ankles, both children beneath the writing desk pulling at my toes and laughing, but I did it! 

7/6/18 Progress: 1491

7/7/18 Progress: 384

It was getting so confusing keeping my word count. I am writing by hand [as if often most convenient] and also by laptop, so I have to add written by hand to typed and I nearly made my brain explode a couple of times. I don’t math well. This is why you use the counter ppl. Geez. Anyway, it only counts as today because its after midnight. XD 

Total Progress: 2570/ 10,000

Daily Goal: 400

I. Can. Do. This.

I’ll be posting three excerpts to make up for three days.

Excerpt One:

“But what did they say?” pleaded Hassan lengthening his stride to keep up with Semira.

Inyanga rushed to follow them. She had been I her own world, Semira noticed, when she walked past her.

“It doesn’t matter what they said. I don’t have their blessing,” Semira said simply, not slowing her pace.

Inyanga caught up with them and grabbed Semira by the hand. Hasan immediately enveloped them both in an immobilizing hug.

“You’re amazing and beautiful and kind and successful and you can do everything in the world because you’re you!” gushed Hassan. His eyes were shut tight and he spoke quickly on a long exhale as if willilng the words to life with his fervor.

Semira and her friend couldn’t restrain their grins. Inyanga squeezed Semira’s hand, still in her grip.

“I just love you guys so much!” cried Hassan, tears beginning to stream as she bawling without restraint as he often did when under the pressure of intense emotions.

“Okay, giant man baby, we love you too…” grunted Inyanga as she patted his back from within his crushing embrace.

“You’re sure?!” he sobbed with a grimace. His giant brown eyes were now bloodshot. “You’re not mad? You don’t hate me now?”

“No… still love!” squeaked Semira from the crook of his elbow. “Mmf! Air!”

They both gasped and he released them and wiped his eyes, snuffling and snorting.

“Who needs those bloated old goats and their stupid blessing. We can achieve our dreams without them,” Inyanga said with one last squeeze to Semira’s hand. She grabbed onto her friend’s necks and pressed their heads to her shoulders as they began their descent on the stairs.

Excerpt Two:

They walked through moonlit garden of ice flowers. Semira sniffed the scent, unlike anything she’d ever smelled before. She struggled to place it; like the smell of... coldness, but sweet like the taste of sugar cane was or honey. She could almost taste it on her tongue. She inhaled deeply again  by immediately regretted it.

“Careful! You’ll freeze your nasal passages!” warned Lunavira with a soft smile.

Semira grimaced hard as she smashed her palm against her temple. She squeezed one eye shut as she made a silent scream. The sensation threatened to cleave her head in two.

“Ack!” she choked.

“First brain freeze?” asked the princess.

“Yes is that what this is?! You could use it as torture!” Semira cried as she shook her head to rid the remnant of the intense chill.

Excerpt Three:

“Your Highness?” a soft questioning voice called to Ahumai from inside his quarters.

“I’m here Goshen,” the prince replied as he moved toward the wide banister fo his balcony that over looked a courtyard below.

Beyond that was the Royal Temple, and beyond that the sprawling city of Oshani, and beyond that the magnanimous Sea. She was fitful this early morn. Rejecting the dull early sunlight with her dreary gray clouds of fog, the waves made little white crests off the coastline.

“Your Highness is up early. Again.”

The slender young man appeared beside the prince, a look of concern on his auburn face. A long, tawny colored braid swung to his waist with a tilt of his neck. His sandy lashes batted as he carefully observed the prince, gleaning his disposition.

“I’m fine, Goshen. Just another dream...”

Ahumai waved his hand dismissively at the servant, his mind still foggy.

“I think I’ll make you a tincture,” Goshen began, scrutinizing Ahumai’s face ever closer, “You look positively flustered. Just look at your mark; it’s all pink and flushed.”

Ahumai scowled and looked away from the thrashing Sea.

“Don’t mention this cursed mark to me!” he growled. “I hate it. it’s the reason all this is happening you know.”

 I hope you all enjoyed the story and all the characters so far. Please leave me a comment, because I about blew a circuit this time guys, I swear. Anything you got I’ll take it! lol. Smooches.

Shout out to folks who motivate me:

@sincerestaffect , @zekethegm, @paper-shield-and-wooden-sword, @siarven, @creativityflows

[dearevanhansenofficial]

“YOU WILL BE FOUND” NATIONAL COLLEGE ESSAY WRITING CHALLENGE 2021 | DEAR EVAN HANSEN

In partnership with Gotham Writers Workshop and the Broadway Education Alliance, DEAR EVAN HANSEN invited 11th-grade and 12th-grade students across the country to write a college-application style essay that describes how they channeled “You Will Be Found” to ensure those around them were a little less alone over the last year, or, alternatively, a moment where they found comfort in connection.

READ FINALIST SEMIRA’S FULL ESSAY:

      I never noticed the negative outcomes that could come from growing up in a sheltered environment. Constantly being surrounded by hijabs and no more than 100 students at a time, I never felt out of place; and with ethnicity being the only difference between me and my peers, my melanated skin and curly hair were the only things I was forced to appreciate at a young age. Not understanding how very few forms of adversity I had faced, I assumed that the confidence that my mother had cultivated in me was enough to enter any foreign environment. I felt prepared enough to proudly walk into my new school head held high, with my hijab on full display. I was anxious to finally be able to express myself in ways that I never could. But in the presence of other students, my confidence suddenly faded, leaving me feeling awkwardly subconscious, yet astonished by the diverse wardrobes unknown to my school culture. With the overwhelming urge to embrace my style, I felt like I needed to be a part of it, especially if I had any interest in blending in. But I felt as though this was impossible with such limitations put in place by my traditional dress code. So I tried to change everything, and constantly feeling like these adjustments weren’t enough, by 2019 I had completely lost myself and my religious identity.

             It didn’t take until looking at myself from an outside perspective to realize what I had done. My hijab no longer grounded me the way it was supposed to. I lost my humility, modesty, and most importantly my purpose for attending tech in the first place. I was ready to make a change, but I had no clue where to start and I certainly did not expect the emotional and mental toll that came with it. There wasn’t a moment when I wasn’t filled with disappointment and regret. Still, I worked tirelessly everyday—balancing school, work, and my mental health—to find myself again. Constant panic attacks on top of mental breakdowns for months on end - giving up seemed blissful, but I refused to let temporary obstacles deter me from achieving my personal goals. Eventually, my results began to manifest in everything from my grades to my mental health. But the icing on the cake was the recognition I got when I launched my clothing line: one that abided by my traditional dress code. The amount of attention that my outfits received proved that I never needed to change to be accepted; I realized that embracing my own style through my traditional dress code was a huge part of me that I should never be embarrassed to put on display. I hope that one day my clothing line will inspire other girls like me, teaching them the importance of retaining their identity, and not conforming to societal expectations of what a girl should be. I want to make modesty a trend, not an obligation. I want girls to dress for themselves, and not for others’ approval; to understand that attracting people shouldn’t result in losing yourself.

         Throughout these three years of high school, I learned so many lessons that I will always cherish; some that I wish I was correctly equipped with earlier. Similar to my GPA not being able to define me as a student, I’m learning that what I wear is just a mere expression of my creativity. The adversity that I faced only made me more independent, resistant, and more equipped for future challenges. What I'm most grateful for is having the ability to mature in such a short period of time - I grew into a young lady with a unique identity and purpose, still on a mission to find herself. They say you judge a man by how he handles adversity, and I’m more than ready to take on life’s next challenge.

Semira Abdus-Salam Brooklyn Technical High School Rosedale, NY

[inacciaio-archive]

@halfvampirehalflycan

(I have been attacked by this :P )

Feel free to reblog it on Alexia’s account. XD 

[stcriedtales]

{{ I feel like doing some writing here a bit, so please--LIKE and SPECIFY who you’d like a starter from? Links with info about Semira or Luna or Ava can be found on THIS post. }}