being a silly goose at the devil's sacrament

Salem, 23, tentative fic writer

[thesalemwitchtries]

Welcome, stay a while

This is a shoes off household, so please leave your crocs by the door

Hello, my name is Salem, I also go by Slim. She/they pronouns. The header photo is mine, I took it at a ski resort near where I live.

I can also be found on AO3 as 5alemwitchtries

Currently working on:

Dreaming of A Grave, a Matt Murdock x Reader fic

Chapter 8 coming soon!

Blog Info:

I'm new to fic writing, and newer to posting. Outside of this I write prose for a school journal and essays for a collection that I'd like to publish. I might post snippets here now and then, idk yet.

For now I'm just looking to post a Matt Murdock fic that's been bouncing around in my brain, I'm not taking requests due to my already poor time management and lack of confidence in that area, but I do like to talk about ideas or receive feedback, so feel free to reach out and chat in whatever way you'd like!

Minors please do not interact, I will block. I don't post my own smut, but I reblog as I wish, so please stay off of my blog. This also goes for racists, homophobes, and terfs.

Navigation:

#slim ficc - for any fic of mine

#slim speaks - where you can find my replies and chit chat

#slim's pickins - fic recs and also things that I like in general

#fic recs - fic recs, there are also variants that include the specific character or fandom, like mm for daredevil, or tgm for top gun

#that's so slim - either things about me or that I relate to

#doag or #dreaming of a grave - where you can find chapters of doag, if links don't work

[thesalemwitchtries]

Mer-Made for Each Other Moodboard

In the form of pages they would make on a hypothetical scrapbooking date.*

Set loosely in the beginning of season two, Pope finds himself an injured mermaid on the run. Desperate to prove to himself that he's good, he decides to help her blend into the human world.

You were forced onto land after an ambush from a neighboring pod chased you up-current. Humans are known to destroy everything they touch, but you'd rather be ripped apart by barbarians than allow the invading Belama the pleasure. Lucky for you, the first human to find you is probably one of the kindest to exist. Especially since it turns out that humans are a bit harder to fool than you thought they were.

Vibes are pretty much Corbin and Leeloo from Fifth Element, like fed-up and off-putting guy meets weird-but-alluring girl. She looks up to him to learn how to be human, and he tries to not let his cynicism of the world get to her. And with Pope, learning social skills is basically the blind leading the blind, love my unnerving king.

Rambling more about it below the cut:

*(I believe that Pope would arrange his with each picture evenly spaced and exactly upright, but that made my designer heart cringe, I didn't have the space, and I wanted to keep the pics inclusive by hiding the mer-model's skintones)

----

Reader Details: Has bad eyesight on land, in part due to how eyes have to work to see underwater, and just because above water it's too bright. No gills bc they gross me out, her lungs are dual purpose air/water. Will have long hair, though texture will be kept vague. Body is kept vague beyond saying she's in a "smaller" class of mermaid, specifically saying built for speed rather than combat. Tropical mermaid, so her tail is the brightly colored blue and red one on the moodboard, the Damsel tail by Merbella Studios x Finfolk Collections, model is The Caspian Mermaid on Pinterest, Tiktok, and Insta, if you're curious.

Grew up around the Revillagigedo Archipelago Biosphere Reserve, Socorro Island, off the Pacific Coast of Mexico, and bc the humans her pod has interacted with speak Spanish, her pod speak a pidgin version of Spanish, where they use Spanish words for human objects, though the meanings of them don't always line up.

----

Not sure yet if Cath is alive or not in this, and in general I think the plot of the show will only come into things when I want them to. Trying really hard to be less neurotic about canon bc fics are supposed to be fun. Also I decided to make Pope the wholesome version that he is with Lena and Amy, who would still kill, but out of love and not obligation. The ideas I had about a Dark!Pope will probably be a short run au or alt ending for the baddies who love horror and all of that.

I will probably make a separate post for some lore, just bc I like what I've built but it's not super relevant to the plot or anything. Also the reader doesn't speak english or know much about the human world, so it's difficult and clunky to explain all that lore through that perspective, so there'll be bits and pieces where it fits and makes sense, but other than that anything more will be explained in detail on the lore page.

I love weirdos who feel incapable of connecting with the world around them despite being desperate to, and this says nothing about me as a person!!!!

[callsign-fangirl]

Andrew Pope Cody

2 3

@polaris-daydreams @pxpecxdy @erwinsvow @flofaiiry

[64mpg]

guy who has a mental health condition that comes and goes: i’m cured this time actually i can feel it

[64mpg]

same guy when they start having symptoms again: what the fuck is happening and why

[tiss-mushroom]

I'll add them separately. They're funny

[thesalemwitchtries]

Okay I don't have anything for my Matt fic, I swear that I've been working on it, I just haven't been happy with anything I've written in so long.

Butttt, I recently began lurking in the Pope Cody fandom, watched the first two seasons and love that messed up little weirdo. And I was inspired to write a very self-indulgent and low effort mermaid story.

Then I spent like a month working out the various social structures of a fictional mer society, before waking up and remembering the whole thing is supposed to be fun and chill. We're so back though and I will have the first chapter out soon. I'll try and post like a teaser of what it's going to be like tonight.

Also I want to shout out @bullet-prooflove and @alvfr for their work really getting me into the character and inspiring me to make a fic of my own, they're both so good, you won't regret checking them out.

[sadfey123]

Mood

[vigilantekisser]

the very injured caterpillar ⊹ ࣪ ˖🍃𖦹 ׂ 𓈒🐛 ⋆ ۪

pairing: matt murdock x kindergarten teacher!reader

summary: “don’t worry, the kids have zero survival instincts. you’ll blend right in.” or: in an attempt to get your injured boyfriend to take it slow, you bring him in as the mystery reader for today's story time. (2.6k words of pure fluff + matt murdock with kids)

a/n: i don't know what got into me okay. am i ignoring kinktober for this? yes i am! (⸝⸝> ᴗ•⸝⸝)

The morning light spills lazily across the bedroom, warm against the sheets where a very much not-resting Matt Murdock is trying to get up. One hand’s pressed to the bandage at his ribs; the other braces against the mattress, trembling with effort. 

“Matt,” you remind him. “You promised, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He bares a grin. “What? I didn’t promise not to move.”

“I know that look.”

His lips press together. You catch the faint, guilty smirk that means he’s pushing you to your limits before you snap. 

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, coaxing, “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

“Sit. Down.” 

Who knew the Teacher Voice would be effective even on vigilantes? The command hits him like muscle memory; he freezes and sits back down before his brain catches up. You fold your arms, shooting him a glare. “You’re not fine, Matt. You’re barely upright.”

He tries to shrug and immediately winces. “I’ve been through worse.”

“Try anything funny,” you say dryly, “and I’ll put you in time-out.” You suck in a breath. “Say it with me: ‘I am not going out.’”

“I am not going out.”

“‘I am not going to decide I am well enough for a ‘little walk’ when my girlfriend goes to work and then end up in an alley with a mugger and a new concussion.’”

“...It’s a little early for muggings, isn’t it?”

“Say it.”

Matt smiles impishly into the distance, seemingly not having heard you. You don’t know why he won’t just lie to you—hell, that’s what you’d do in his place—but all the better for it, you suppose. He turns his head toward your voice, those unfocused brown eyes catching the light just right, turning them to gold. “You really think you can keep me down all day?”

Okay. You want to stay angry, but that smile cracks through your irritation like sunlight through fog. You still remember the shaking in your hands when you stitched him up at two a.m., the heartbeat under your palms too shallow, like a spider’s fragile skittering.

“You know what,” you say. “Fine. Get dressed.”

His brow furrows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re coming with me.” 

Matt blinks incredulously, like he’s sure he’s misheard. “With you?”

“Yeah,” you say, slinging your tote bag over your shoulder. You jangle your keys. “C’mon. Get dressed, Mister, if that’s what you want so badly. You have”—you glance at the clock—“fifteen minutes before I leave without you.”

“You’re seriously taking me to school?”

“You bet.” You flash him your brightest smile. “Don’t worry, the kids have zero survival instincts. You’ll blend right in.”

You should clean up more. You know. Your classroom looks like something exploded in it—a mishmash of alphabet borders, crooked paper-chain rainbows, glitter perpetually embedded in the carpet. You’re both glad and saddened Matt can’t see just how much of a mess it is.

For the first hour, you stash Matt in the breakroom. This is partly to keep him from wandering, and partly to shield him from twenty high-decibel five-to-six-year-olds until caffeine has done its job. But it takes about three minutes for the other teachers to notice the mysterious man in the corner with the bandaged hands and movie-star jawline. They descend like curious pigeons, and within moments, he’s surrounded.

“So, you’re the lawyer?” asks Mrs. Kowalski, whose retirement countdown has been in progress since the Clinton administration.

“I am,” Matt answers smoothly.

“Do you work for one of those fancy firms?” another teacher asks. He’s leaning on the counter towards Matt like he’s in a rom-com coffee shop.

“Something like that,” Matt says, trying not to sound too much like he’s calculating the distance to the door by sound alone.

And then (inevitably) Mrs. Henderson, who once told you she “couldn’t be trusted to be left in a room alone with Ryan Gosling,” leans forward and says, “You’re not married, are you, handsome?”

The pause that follows could power the city grid. Matt’s head tips just slightly in your direction, as if to check whether this is some kind of prank. His mouth opens, closes, and then ever the gentleman, he clears his throat. “Uh… no, ma’am.”

Mrs. Henderson beams like she’s just won the lottery.

You sip your coffee and very generously decide that this is absolutely none of your business.

You come to collect him an hour later, and when you step into your classroom together, twenty pairs of eyes snap toward the door. 

“Friends,” you announce, your voice slipping into that vibrant brightness, “I brought someone new with me today. This is my friend, Mister Matt!”

A hush falls, followed immediately by chaos.

“He’s wearing a suit!”

“Is he famous?”

“Why you got sunglasses? It’s not even sunny!”

“He looks like he’s from the government.”

Matt’s mouth twitches. He raises a hand in a small wave. “Hi, everyone.”

You set a chair beside you, trying not to laugh as he navigates the forest of sneakers and rolling crayons. His cane rolls lightly against the carpet, a rhythmic sound that hushes them faster than your voice ever could.

“So,” you say, sitting on the rug, “today’s circle time is going to be a little special. Mister Matt is blind, which means he can’t see with his eyes”—you tap yours for emphasis—“the way we do. He’s going to tell us a little about what that’s like, and how he does things a little differently.”

Several hands shoot up at once.

“You can’t see anything? Like, nothing nothing?”

“Do you got a robot dog?”

“Do you watch Bluey?”

Matt takes it in stride, amused. “No, no robot dog—yet. And I can’t watch Bluey, but I can listen. I use my ears, my nose, my hands… and sometimes I just remember how things feel. Like how you know where your bed is when the lights are off.”

A collective “ohhh” sweeps through the group.

He lifts his cane lightly. “And this helps me find things in front of me so I don’t trip.”

“Like a hockey stick!”

He smiles. “Something like that.”

“Do you bump into stuff?” another asks.

“Only when the furniture sneaks up on me.”

Giggles ripple across the rug.

“How d’you eat spaghetti?”

“Very very carefully,” he says solemnly, which earns another round of laughter.

Then, a small voice asks, “But how can you read to us?”

You jump in, delighted. “Because, my friends, some books have braille. That’s a special kind of writing you can feel with your fingers.”

A chorus of little oooohs rises. You take the book from your bag—The Very Hungry Caterpillar. You had glued Braille labels on its pages one evening, just to test out Matt’s new label printer. You hold it up for effect. 

“See, you know how we use our eyes to look at letters—A, B, C? Well, braille has letters too! They’re made of tiny bumps you can touch instead of see. So people who can’t see with their eyes can still read stories and signs and labels and everything else.”

Matt tilts his head toward you, smiling fondly. He takes the book. “Ready to see if I can keep up with your reading level?”

“Think you can handle it?” you tease.

He runs his fingers over the thick paper, smirking. “I’ve handled hungrier clients.”

The kids gather close, cross-legged and fidgeting with excitement. Matt clears his throat, and when he starts to read, his voice seems to fill every corner of the room. Low and even, it’s rich with rhythm that makes every syllable and pause sound deliberate. Perfectly timed.

“In the light of the moon, a little egg lay on a leaf…”

You’ve heard him speak in his courtroom voice. You’ve heard him speak in the quiet drawl of late-night confessions. This is something else entirely. It almost sounds like poetry, his words slow and warm, like honey. The class falls silent, spellbound. Even the usually restless ones sit still with their eyes wide, breathing in sync with the story.

When he reaches the part where the caterpillar eats through the fruit, the kids finally join in, shouting out the fruits in chorus.

“One apple! Two pears! Three plums!”

Matt laughs softly, his shoulders shaking. It is real laughter, not the weary kind you’ve heard too often. It fills the little room like sunlight.

He reads on steadily, the lilt of his voice weaving through the children’s bright interruptions. (“He sounds like a nice Batman.” “Yeahhhh!”)

And when he closes the book at last, there’s a heartbeat of silence before the room erupts into cheers. Tiny hands clap wildly, mesmerized by the “magic trick” of Matt being able to read without seeing. Someone shouts, “Again!” and Matt chuckles under his breath, the faintest flush creeping up his neck.

Thankfully, snack time arrives before they can demand an encore. You set him up on a miniature plastic chair near the reading rug—ostensibly to “rest,” though you suspect that’s a lost cause. 

The moment you turn your back, the kids descend on him. They surround him like puppies, tugging at his sleeves, pressing crayon drawings into his hands, proudly narrating every squiggle. He listens to each one with his head tilted just so, offering gentle Oh, really?’s and That’s beautiful’s as he traces the surfaces of their paper with his fingers.

They also seem to enjoy dressing Matt up, for the sole reason that he “can’t see” (you suspect this is a premise to the natural conclusion of “therefore he can’t stop us.”) A tiny girl with pigtails climbs onto a chair and pins an apple hairclip on his head, her tongue sticking out in concentration. The room dissolves into giggling.

Matt adjusts it carefully. “Does it suit me?”

“Yeahhhh!” they shout, chortling so hard one nearly falls over.

You manage to herd them toward their snacks, but within seconds, Matt is surrounded again. Besieged by a crowd of tiny, sticky hands and juice boxes.

“Mister Matt, I can’t open mine!”

“Me too!”

“Do mines! Do mines!”

The chair Matt is sitting on seems seconds from collapse under his large body. His long legs are folded awkwardly; his elbows tucked in tight. His bandaged hands work slowly but surely, sliding straws into foil holes found by sound and touch. Each successful “pop!” earns an impressed “whoaaa” from his audience.

You stand by the wall, biting your lip to keep from laughing outright.

Matt Murdock is a lawyer by day, vigilante by night, and now juice box technician by popular demand.

When playtime rolls around, you guide him outside to the bench beneath the brittle autumn sun. The air smells of mulch and crayons, and the playground is alive with motion: squeaking swings, sneakers pounding the pavement, shrieks of joy no jury on earth could silence.

Matt sits with his cane across his lap, head tilted up and listening to it all with a faint, meditative smile.

You join him after a round of pushing swings, handing him a coffee. His face softens instantly at the sound of your steps.

“So this is what you do every day.”

“This,” you sigh, gesturing toward the whole ruckus, “and reading the same book forty times a week.”

Matt chuckles. “This is incredible. I mean it.” He tilts his face toward you, the wind lifting a stray curl from his forehead. “It’s… peaceful here,” he says quietly. “I can hear their hearts, you know. All of them. They’re so... Light. Untangled. It’s nice.”

You don’t know how to answer that, so you just let your fingers drift until they find his, his hand curling over yours.

Then a little boy toddles up, wide-eyed, clutching something tight in his fist. His sneakers are squeaking with every step.

“Hi, Mister Matt,” he says shyly, shuffling his shoes.

Matt turns toward the voice, smiling. “Hey there, buddy.”

The boy squints, catching sight of the bandages peeking from Matt’s sleeve. “You hurt?”

“Hmm?”

“You hurt—your fingers?” he repeats, pointing earnestly.

It’s amazing how children can be so thoughtful and so observant, the way concern comes so naturally to them. 

“Oh,” Matt says, leaning forward slightly. “Yeah, a little.”

The boy brightens immediately. “My daddy gets ouchies like that too!”

Matt’s brows lift, amused. You turn to him, smiling. “Matt, this is Charlie. Charlie’s dad is a boxer.”

His whole expression shifts: surprise, then delight. “A boxer, huh?”

Charlie nods, all confidence now. “Yup-yup!! He fights bad guys!”

Matt huffs an amused laugh. “That so? You know,” he leans in conspiratorially, “my dad was a boxer, too.”

Charlie’s eyes go huge. “Reallyyyy!! S’he good?”

“Pretty good, you could say that,” Matt says. “Is your daddy good?”

“Uh-huh!! He’s the toughest!” Charlie announces proudly, chin lifted. You murmur his dad’s name under your breath, and Matt nods in recognition. “Oh, I’ve heard of him. Tough guy,” he says with an OK sign—and Charlie practically glows at the praise.

Then, a little shyer again, Charlie opens his small hand. A single gold star sticker glints in his palm, bent at the corner from being clutched so tightly.

“Ummmm, this helps,” he explains. His voice has dropped into a whisper. “I give my daddy stickers when he gets hurt. S’makes him betters faster.”

Your heart squeezes. You crouch beside him and help him peel the backing loose where it’s stuck to itself. 

“All right?” you say gently.

Charlie grins up at you, gap-toothed, then turns back to Matt.  Carefully, with all the focus in the world, he presses the sticker onto Matt’s sleeve. It’s crooked, just above the cuff. “Feel betters, Mister Matt.”

Matt’s fingers lift, tracing the sticker’s bumpy edge, the faint adhesive tacky beneath his skin. 

“Thank you, Charlie,” he says, smiling. “I already do.”

Charlie beams. The job is done, and just like that—with a “‘Kayyyy! Bye!”—he takes off toward the monkey bars, yelling the whole time.

You glance at Matt. His fingers are still ghosting over the star, and the gold gleams against the dark wool of his jacket. 

By dismissal, he looks lighter than you’ve seen him in months. One of the kids has given him a crayon-colored card, all rainbow scribbles and shaky hearts, and he carries it tucked under his arm. It’s too valuable to fold into his coat.

On the train ride home, Matt sits with his head leaned toward the window, lit by the passing gold of evening.

“See?” you say, nudging his knee lightly. “Not so bad, right? They loved you.”

“Mm, they have good taste.”

You snort affectionately. “Oh, don’t let it go to your head. They’ll forget you by snack time on Monday.”

“Still,” he murmurs, his smile deepening. A pause settles between you, then he adds, “Thank you for bringing me.”

“Just had to make sure you didn’t make a break for the rooftops,” you say. “How’s the ribs?”

“Better. A lot better.” 

“Good. If you ever get hurt like that again, I’m dragging you straight back to my classroom.”

Matt chuckles, fingers finding the sticker. “I should get hurt more often, then,” he jokes, and you kick his shin so hard he lets out a yelp.

bonus:

By Monday, the week begins as usual. The shoes squeak, and tiny voices rise in overlapping chatter. You’ve barely settled when Charlie marches up to your desk, flashing you his famous gap-toothed smile, clutching a folded sheet of paper.

“This is for Mister Matt,” he says solemnly. “You gotta give it to him, please, thank you.”

You take it carefully, smoothing out the creases. The handwriting is large, wobbly and nearly illegible, done in thick black marker. They are the kind of letters written with a tongue peeking out in deep concentration, under the guidance of a well-meaning parent.

Dear Mister Matt, I hope your hands feels better. When I grow up I want to fight bad guys but only if they are mean to dogs. —Charlie

You laugh so hard you have to sit down. 

a/n: i love matt murdock (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑) matt taglist! @mayal0pez @sixpossumsinaclownsuit

[thesalemwitchtries]

First Matt fic I’ve read in a few months, perfect one to break a slump with, so cute

[theautomattic]

Matt Murdock in an unbuttoned white shirt I need you biblically 🥵

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

//hi i know this is the pot calling the kettle black but.

"matt murdock who fucks you so hard and makes you cum" "matt murdock who is a sex god" IM TIRED OF IT. BRING BACK YEARNING.

matt murdock who does not believe in soulmates until he meets you.

matt murdock who learns you, who memorizes you-- your favorite foods, your hatred of certain textures, the last color you painted your nails, the things that make you tick, the way your breathing changes when you've had a long day.

matt murdock who finds himself distracted when he hasn't heard from you, wondering if you're doing okay.

matt murdock who sends flowers to your office, just because.

matt murdock who goes from bachelor with only beer in his fridge to keeping the pantry fully stocked with snacks for whenever you get hungry.

matt murdock who feels his skin start to burn when you give him the gentlest of touches-- a caress of his arm, a hand on his shoulder. it drives him crazy.

matt murdock who is intoxicated by the mere sound of your voice, learning all the different tones you take in various situations, the way your voice softens when talking to anyone you deem a baby (cats, dogs, kids, drunk foggy), or the way it hardens when you're dealing with someone you find annoying (clients, assholes at the bar, etc)

matt murdock who gets drunk with his best friend one night and leaves you 27 voicemails, ranging from twenty seconds long to fourteen minutes, all rambling about how much he loves you.

matt murdock who spends months trying to hint that he likes you, buying you lunch, asking if you need anything, always pouring your coffee just the way you like it, asking if the book you finished was good and letting you ramble about it for twenty minutes.

matt murdock who has the biggest, fattest, most disgusting crush on you.

matt murdock who blushes whenever you enter the room.

matt murdock who yearns. yearns for you.

and yeah, also, he fucks. of course. get yourself someone who can do both. get yourself someone who makes you cry from overstimulation AND spends hours kissing literally every inch of your skin because he can and he wants to.

get yourself someone like matt murdock, who can only be described as head over heels in love with you.

[thesalemwitchtries]

Why were you waiting till next week

Besides just being too busy this week to give it the full attention that I want, I’m pms-ing and had a good feeling that something awful was going to happen that would really upset me, so I figured I could wait till next week and get an extra episode to maybe take the plot away from focusing on that, while also being able to sit and watch it with a snack and a face mask or something

[thesalemwitchtries]

so glad I went through the effort of blocking spoiler tags for born again, just to get a spoiler in literal 60 pt bold font as soon as I open the app 🫡

[stumbleonhometomycats]

I don’t know how to explain this well…but I’m 30 years old and I feel like I’ve had to ‘sacrifice’ my entire adult life to unprecedented times, the pandemic and daily anxiety over hateful politicians and whatever rights they want to take away on any given day and I’m just so fucking tired

[thesalemwitchtries]

Dreaming Of A Grave Masterlist

“I can’t think of any greater happiness than to be with you all the time, without interruption, endlessly, even though I feel that here in this world there’s no undisturbed place for our love, neither in the village nor anywhere else; and I dream of a grave, deep and narrow, where we could clasp each other in our arms as with clamps, and I would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us any more.” - Franz Kafka, from Franz Kafka's The Castle

Series Warnings: Canon typical violence, Swearing, 18 + due to Mature Themes MDNI, Medical Experimentation, PTSD due to captivity, strong themes of depersonalization, tags will be added as necessary and specific tags for chapters as needed.

Reader Character has a name but no other physical description, this is because I cannot write in 3rd person and make it sound good, I'm sorry. I keep her backstory as vague as possible and its not even confirmed if she has hair atp.

Summary:

Accepting Sra. Cardenas' tenancy case comes with the added complication of an assault victim with a fear of lawyers and a grudge against law enforcement. From the moment they meet, Matt is hellbent on helping Charlotte and gaining her trust. Charlotte has a lifetime of experience in hiding, but there's more at stake than just her safety— there's something threatening Hell's Kitchen. Against every instinct, she decides to trust Matt and his fledgling firm.

As their lives (and double lives) become more entangled, they each find mysteries within the other that they're desperate to solve. Evolving from Can I Trust You? to How Can I Keep You Here With Me?

Main Storyline:

Read On AO3 (click here)

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight out soon! Ask to join the taglist if you'd like to be notified!

5/9 is my birthday, and I'd like to do a blurb or ask night to celebrate, please feel free to send in whatever you'd like. My inspiration is at an all time high right now and I want to get out as much as I can to try and keep this flow going!

Tidbits and Extras:

Igor Schematics

You can buy a cat a toy, (but you can't make it play)

Tree concept art coming soon

[thesalemwitchtries]

We’re so back babes! I have chapter 8 and a tangentially related oneshot ready to be up in a week, doing a lot of maladaptive daydreaming to manage the way that society is currently collapsing 🫠

[thelimehazard]

Sailor Moon Knight

[abiteofhoney-deactivated2025030]

the ever terrifying and exhausting cycle of “i don’t want to share my writing bc it feels disheartening when not many people are interested in it” and “i have to post the writing for people to become interested in it”

[thesalemwitchtries]

I'm still alive!

No promises on when my next post will be, I've been away dealing with a lot of stuff concerning my neighbor and a car accident I was in (I'm fine, just broke a toenail stubbing my foot on the glove box 🫠 the EMT laughed when I told him) and I'm kind of behind on schoolwork as it is. Regardless, I'm looking to move towards shorter chapters, because I do like posting and I want to be able to do it more, especially since I'm starting to go a little nuts in anticipation of the show coming out. I appreciate all the support and patience from everyone 💕💕

I might be entering my fanart era too, I have like three wips rn, so we'll see if they get finished anytime soon.

Also exciting: I went to Comic Con with my sister and some friends!

I struggle a lot with crowds and even just leaving the house is very hard for me, but I had such a great time! I dressed up as Elektra in the Born Again arc, I fucking love that costume so much, its an incredible design, looks cool and is practical? Truly a blessing for a female superhero.

I've never dressed up at a Con before, and only had two weeks to put it together (the helmet took so long and I think I lost my mind a bunch, literally was spray painting it at 3 am the night before the con)

A bunch of people gave me compliments and asked to get pictures with me, which I didn't expect, it was so cool! It was really nice to put myself out there and do something I was scared of and have it pay off in a noticeable way, I think I'm still a little high off of the joy and confidence.

Also I'm a glasses girly, and genuinely could not see when I put the helmet on for photos, but people just thought I was joking when I said that. I kept asking people before I took my glasses off to lmk where the camera will be and if you want to pose or something, but no one believed me so most of the photos are just me standing like this🧍‍♀️