little and strange

wick / 28 / they/them / 🪦 🕊️🔞

[wicks-words]

hello hi! i am wick and these are my words 🕯

here you will find:

-my writing/poetry/blogging whatever

-fob/mcr

-lord byron, other romantics, Oscar Wilde and co, etc.

-lotr / the hobbit

-interview with the vampire

-other fandoms here and there!

please note that this is an 18+ and nsfw space. I do my best to tag so if there’s anything you don’t want to see in regards to that kind of content, you should be covered, but I will not be censoring anything beyond just tagging properly.

my tags:

#my art

#wicks words - text posts, asks, etc.

#my writing - poetry or longer chunks of writing

about me:

you can call me wick, I’m 28 and non-binary, they/them. I am pro-freak, pro-weird queer art in all its forms. always happy to chat with anyone about fandom stuff or just whatever so feel free to reach out :)

I will block:

- minors

- antis

- h*rry p*tter fans

- shit stirrers (i.e. inventing a guy to be mad at for engagement, instigating drama, etc.)

- bigots of all kinds (racist, sexist, xenophobic, colorist, homophobic, transphobic, TERFs, etc.)

[wicks-words]

Lord Byron

[wicks-words]

7/11/26

fresh tattoo

[attackedastoria]

The Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes 💧

(Wood, watercolor, vid under cut / sh○ppe)

[wicks-words]

tie the saran wrap around my eyes because i just can't bear to watch

[ransomnote]

mcr fans will be like "my heroes are selling a car on tv" and the hero is a band and the car is music

[wicks-words]

"i've unspooled, become undone, i feel so charlie gordon"

feeling very flowers for algernon today. like everyone knows this big important secret that i'm supposed to be in on. sometimes i feel like maybe i almost know it, but then the secret changes again.

(full blog post below)

i had two dreams last night. the orange cat from an older dream came back but was made of crystal this time. we were at a hotel. i don't know where the final destination of these dreams is going to be but this location was better than the last at least.

sometimes i feel like i need a manager. i'd probably hate that in reality but some days i hate this too. like i'm only half good at all the stuff that was supposed to be my life calling or whatever. never a protege and always the proselytized, too eager to try the next thing and the next thing and the next thing forever and ever. i'm having fun and i don't have much to show for it and i can honestly say that i don't resent that or regret it at all but it still feels like i'm bounding from stepping stone to stepping stone for some specific reason that i just haven't figured out yet. i wanna try everything until i find That Something and maybe i never will? it's hard to explain.

maybe it's just the weather but it feels particularly lonely lately, like more than usual. but no matter how hard it rains i cannot be convinced to re-download hinge. meetcute or bust (probably bust, huh? at this point). it still sucks, sometimes, to realize that help isn't coming when something goes wrong and no one is greeting you at the door with tea and an interested ear at the end of the day. just me and my cat in here meowing at each other, with our midnight karaoke duels and races to the automatic feeder because he doesn't like eating alone. if lord byron (cat) had thumbs and a bigger brain i probably wouldn't need anyone else at all. maybe that's why he doesn't.

when i post my writing on here, sometimes a few people see it and sometimes someone will even say it really connected with them and i feel more a part of humanity through that little interaction than i do in, like, hours of conversation in most cases, but it's really impossible to get people to engage with your stuff if it's just not the right timing. it's not that people hate it or are totally unwilling but you can tell that it's just never gonna click and i'm not one to beg, you either see me and i see you or we miss each other and continue on pretending like i never tried meeting your eyes in the first place.

it's not like i wanna be famous but i think the realization that there's like a handful of other weirdos out there who might think what i say actually makes sense has just made me wanna find them all like the 7 wonders of my weird little world. i want people to seriously engage with my writing but i don't want PEOPLE to see anything i make, i want specifically THE people, the ones who need to see it in the same way i need it to be found by them. then once we find each other we can form a boy band and take over the world, sell out, and retire by 35. if this plan appeals to you dm me.

-the cemetery florist

[wicks-words]

changed my blog name from butternotbutter to wicks-words btw :-)

[wicks-words]

I was bad so I dont get any wet food today, only dry kibble and no walk tomorrow I lost my privileges

[wicks-words]

July 8th's pete wentz livejournal post (masterdoc)

[wicks-words]

[wicks-words]

taking your side not as in defending you but as in taking up the space beside you so no one else can stand there.

taking your side as in the elephant in the room ensuring there's no space for anyone else in here but me and you.

taking your side as in a tattoo on your ribcage revealing to any future lovers that I was here first and I'll outlast them all.

[wicks-words]

Lord Byron

[wicks-words]

there's a lot of different ways to start a fire but all of them are violent

[wicks-words]

i've swallowed pills harder than you

[wicks-words]

Sometimes I think I'd do better on an invisible leash, but maybe I only feel that way because no one has ever wanted to claim ownership of me anyway. The illusion of freedom that gives me free reign of the big and beautiful backyard. Otherwise I just stay in my carrier, waiting for someone to take me on a walk so I can take the chance to break free and find my way back to the dark alley that raised me.

The trash scraps taste more like freedom than the dry kibble but maybe i just want the opportunity to be found again, and maybe this time they would give me wet food every day. Or maybe the change of scenery can be enough (has to be enough) until I can run away again, a new family every time, a fresh bath and another trip to the vet and maybe this time it's for forever for real (for real!), but it never ever is. I get too cagey in a cage but I'm lost without it, no reward on offer. "We tried but it wasn't a good fit." No re-homing, just rehashing the same story over and over again until I respond to it like it's my name.

They call me all sorts of things but they never asked me what I called myself and it's easy to forget after all this time and place. If I forget, did it never matter to begin with or is the wound just festering where I can't see it anymore? somewhere deep in my guts where the light never touches? behind my back where I can't quite reach? I don't bother checking anymore, eyes on the dotted white lines and hands brushing the wheel like a proxy.

Spinning and turning like a stomach or a globe, never on solid ground but never up in the air either, just forever waiting for the command that will never come. No one is coming. It's just me in here. No one is allowed in. I ate the key in the second grade to make sure of that. Anyone who can pick a lock is bad news and anyone who can't just isn't trying hard enough.

So I guess it's dry kibble forever until it's not until it is again. And again. And again.

[wicks-words]

June 22nd's pete wentz livejournal posts (masterdoc)