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toiletwipes · 5 months

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oh, darling (make it go away) | c!wilbur

Give me these moments back Give them back to me Give me that little kiss Give me your hand

— "This Woman's Work" by Kate Bush

~2k words / I'm not sure what this is but it's the only thing I could write. Sorry for the shit quality [Winter comes and brings your depression. Wilbur, your roommate, your... something, is there to help.]

For the nth time, you’ve sat and stared at the wall instead of the monitor. It’s not easy anymore, it doesn’t feel like breathing… it just doesn’t feel. It’s not coming to you anymore. You know why, breathing out, you move from out of the desk chair and take the three steps from your desk to your bed. The blankets have a stale smell to them but you breathe it in all the more, your limbs full of lead and weighing you down to the mattress. You know why, it just doesn’t make it any easier.

You lost count of the days, the weeks— months you’ve spent like this. Everything is too much. Even something you loved doing, you couldn’t even muster the energy to turn the damn monitor on. It would send you to tears if you hadn’t already cried in the morning. Wait, you lift a hand to brush your cheek. Damn, guess you could still cry after all. After doing nothing but crying and staring at the wall for hours, all you can do is waste in bed and cry again.

The door swings open with a loud croak, “— sorry I’m late, I went to pick up dinner and then some fucker cut me off and it was a whole thing—” and it shuts as he continues to walk and talk aloud in the silent apartment. You let out a benign hum, blinking slowly. When did you last eat? Today… today was a waste and weirdly enough, you find you haven't had anything since the big lunch from yesterday. You should probably put something into your system. By the time you try to convince yourself to sit up, your roommate is already walking into your room. “Come on, food is on the table and the TV is on, it’s your favorite soap.”

You had barely turned onto your side and you could only blink up at him as he kicked his shoes off, sitting on your bed. His hair curls into his face as he peers down at you, one of his hands coming up and patting your blanketed side. “Bad day?” He asks, quiet and with that beautiful smile of his. You blink your teary eyes at him as you give him a sluggish nod.

“That’s alright, you can finish it out with a bang. Want a shower before you eat?” That raises the question when you last had a shower and when you can’t immediately find the answer, you frown. You nod. “Want help getting up?” You mumble an affirmative. His smile doesn’t diminish and he doesn’t scold you, all he does is move to his feet and pull your covers back, taking your left hand into his and gently pulling you to your feet.

“There we go, see, you’re nearly in the shower.” You huff, almost laughing as he drapes an arm around your shoulder and guides you to the shared bathroom. He lets you shower by yourself, saying nothing of how long you stand underneath the hot spray, only hands you your plate, and scoots over to his side of the couch.

Your soap is dramatic as it always is, something you can count on. And when it’s over, Wilbur has no problem taking your plate and washing it alongside his. The couch is comfortable enough to sit with your legs tucked close to your body, a blanket pulled from the top of the couch to cover you.

“Dishes are done, I threw out the trash last night, think that’s it, is there anything we need to do before bed?” You shake your head numbly, you can’t think of anything. (Can’t really think, why is your head so heavy, so empty, so useless?)

He doesn’t say anything for a second before the couch dips beside you and he’s pulling your legs into his lap, the two of you staring at the blank screen of the TV.

“I think I’m getting worse.” Your voice croaks after its first use in a while.

“Yeah?” He says, just as quietly as you did. You risk a glance at him but his stare is fixated straight ahead, his fingers picking at a stray string from the blanket.

“I’m going to fail this semester. I can’t even play any games. I’m just-” tears prick your eyes again, it’s been so difficult for no fucking reason. There’s nothing wrong at all. You decided on one class this semester so it would be easier, so you couldn’t fail something if it was the only thing you had to focus on. And then October came and went, November quickly followed and somehow you’re behind on weeks of homework and material. It takes you and Wilbur to understand your professor despite being the one you requested because of his teaching style.

Your games had previously helped you cope until it wasn’t about coping and more about having fun. Until that died out— scratch that, until your energy died out.

“Why can’t it be July again?” July had been the best you had ever felt, the sun beaming down your face and the wind tickling your sides between your shirt and skin, at the beach and on your balcony, in the streets in the middle of the night- this summer had been an absolute dream. So why now- why after such a good summer, the best one you had in a while, why can’t you be happier? Why can’t you just get up and do your work and be normal? Hold his hand again, smile his way? Why can’t you do things for him again? Why does he have to do everything for you every December?

He meets your eyes and you can see it there, he’s tired too. He needs rest too. You feel the guilt eat your insides, tearing down your rib-cage and you almost wail with the heartache. “I’m a terrible roommate.” You say and the tears drip down your cheek.

“You’re not.” The scoff is wet when it leaves your throat, and you have to look away, nearly choking on the air as you try to hold the sobs back. “What? You think I’m lying?” He asks, patting your knee and you look back at him. Looking at him. Seeing his own glossy eyes and thinking what a pair you must make right now. Crying, together.

“I think you’re full of shit if you genuinely think that.” It’s more bark than bite but you want it to hurt, you want him to leave you behind and live his life again. Why does he have to do everything for you just to get by, just to fail again and again.

“That’s not fair,” he starts, “to you or me. But I see what you’re doing, you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“You should be out there,” it’s his turn scoffing at the words you say, “having fun, living your life, with your friends. It’s not fair to you.” He picks your legs off of his lap and he takes your hand, pulling you to your feet, even when you protest.

“I only ever went out when you did, you know that right?” You open your mouth to say something but he just shakes his head, guiding you by the shoulders back to your room. “And it’s not to say I don’t have fun when you’re not around, but I don’t think it’s worth going out and enjoying myself when I know you’re at home and miserable.”

“You shouldn’t have to take care of me because you feel guilty.”

“I don’t. I take care of you because you are single-handedly one of the most important people to me. I take care of you because I want to. I’m here because I want to be here.” By the time he’s finished talking, you’re sitting on your bed while he digs through your drawers. “Do you want the matching set?” He pulls out the one you bought, the set that matches his own pajamas right now. You sniffle, wiping your snot as you nod.

“Get changed, I’ll be there in a few, okay?” And he nudges you to the bathroom.

When you’ve managed to switch clothes, you can hear the distant ambience on your TV, and he comes into the bathroom, sets the timer as he pulls out the raspberry toothpaste. Five minutes later, when the paste has been spat out and the mouth wash gets everything else, and you’re sitting in your bed while he fusses about. Coming up with plans to save your credits and schedules and the likes while you thumb the fabric at the bottom of your sleep shirt.

“Can you-” you interrupt his thinking-out-loud process and catch his attention, “can you sleep here tonight?” As if you hadn’t asked the same thing of him yesterday or the day before. He doesn’t say anything mean. Only let a brief smile pass through his face before turning the brighter lights off while plugging in the lava lamp in the corner, just like how you liked it.

Once he’s settled next to you, the ache in your chest and head increase tenfold. The guilt builds again and like an oracle, his eyes blink open slowly and he reaches to hold your hand in his.

“Do you remember that day in July,” he says, wetting his lips before meeting your eyes again, “when you kissed me?” You nod.

“Would you be okay if I did it? If I kissed you?” His eyes search for something in yours, nervous for your response. Tears pool back in your eyes, falling past your nose and cheek and sinking into your pillowcase, you whisper a broken yes.

Your eyes flutter shut, squeezing them as you feel the bed shift under his weight, as he leans closer to you, and you can feel his breath fan across your mouth. You couldn’t breathe, it felt so unreal.. And when you couldn’t feel his breath or smell the faint raspberry from it, you wonder if you disgusted him until he brushed his lips against your cheek, just on the corner of your mouth.

Your eyes open meeting him, especially when he’s still so close to your face, “you missed back then, too.” That day, that beautiful, warm day that reminds you so much of the boy in front of you that it hurts. It was perfect that day. It felt like a dream. And despite it being so cold outside, it felt warm here too. And suddenly, it felt like July all over again. Like you could be normal again, like you could be happy.

He moves his face away, shifting until his arms are wrapped around your shoulders and waist, pulling you into his body closer and closer, as if you’d sink into him and all of your woes would become his to bear too. Legs entangle naturally and you can’t help the sob that wracks through you again.

“I know, I know.” He whispers, tightening his hold on you and letting you soak his shirt with your tears and snot. “I know.”

It won’t be easy for a long time, maybe not even until July has long since passed again, the future is unclear and your head and heart is heavy with ache and guilt and love.

But you won’t have to bear it alone. You never have to bear it alone again, not as long as he’s there. You can almost hear the promise in the way his hands squeeze at the fabric and skin they find, the way he sleeps easier in your bed, holding you.

You sink into his embrace now, letting the scent of his soap wash over you, the sounds of a gentle rain pattering on the ceiling from the television and the warmth of his skin… they lure you under the blanket of sleep.

And for the first time in a while, you’re back in July, staring at a boy you’ve lived and loved with, remembering the sun on your skin while you smiled at him, holding his hand.

It never seemed so close, before.

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot x y/n #c: wilbur #c: wilbur soot #wilbur x reader #tw depression #tw depressing thoughts #this is very much self indulgent #idk #thought it would be nice if i had a pretty boy to hold me through my depression #i really hope this isn't romanticizing it #because i know that a pretty boy wouldn't fix me with true love's kiss #i just. idk #sdgdfjghslfjfhsd #gonna go to the bathroom now

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quaiids · 9 months

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how do you feel about where the boys is at? Any comments on like the quality of s1 vs s2 vs s3. What's like ur personal favorite (doesn't have to be like a critical masterpiece) and which character have u loved the development of the most

right now i feel like the boys is in a very tricky spot where it’s either going to go incredibly uphill and be restored or be completely fucked over by season 4. i’m not a huge fan of season 3’s writing, i feel like the direction it went with certain character arcs (coughcoughHughiecough) was kind of strange and could’ve been done WAAAAY better

my personal favorite will always be season 1 i think. peak hughie and i really enjoy how the story is built up (although my biggest issue 100% is how they handled hughie’s grief over robin. definitely not the best depiction of grief i’ve seen in a show)

honestly i’m not sure if any character’s development from s1 to s3 is very notable. it’s been a little bit since i’ve watched it so my memory is a tad foggy but the character with the most outstanding development to me is hughie’s. and god knows my feelings about how they did him in season 3 (the answer is not very good)

#the boys #hughie campbell #billy butcher #mother’s milk #frenchie #kimiko #the boys tv #text post #asks #send asks #i just. idk #hughies development so far has pissed me off n i hope that he gets straightened out next season #cuz rn hes just kind of an asshole with no real reason when he has so many reasons to be one #they couldve made the narrative push the idea that his grief and his constant surrounding of bad influence turned him into a piece of shit #but instead they just went with ‘haha its toxic masculinity lolz’ LIKE WHAT #WHAT HAPPENED TO THE MAN WHO WANTED TO BE BENCH PRESSED BY A PRETTY GIRL #idk. he just wasnt the right character to have a toxic masculinity arc imo #i notice this a lot with the boys #where they set up or they have these really good ideas for arcs #but the logic they use to implement them is kind of flawed and/or they just. don’t utilize it the way they should #the more i rewatch this show the more problems i find myself having with its writing #and this is coming from a place of love. i love this show and i enjoy watching it but it has so much potential to be so much more than what #it is currently. ykwim

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