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weatheredleatherhat · 2 years

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How about a little angst about Karl thinking that he doesn’t deserve you and he tries to push you away breaking your heart… I leave to you if reader is stubborn and stay with him or leave him be…

Of course you can! Love a bit of angst, me. Hope this is okay! I added an optional happy ending, in case you love one as a dessert to your angst. (It me, I fucking love it.)

Please be aware this isn't edited and first draft, so for now there may be glaring mistakes. I might go back in and tweak it over the next couple of days, but for now here it is. Hope you like it!!

cw: angst, alcohol, arguments, crying, whump

Karl had been drinking. Heavily. You knew it from the way the metal parts floating above the piece he worked on slightly wavered and swayed like they were caught in the tides of the ocean, paired with the many empty bottles of whisky scattered across the room. You also knew he was angry by the way he had his back to you as you entered into his workshop to see what the hell he was still doing down here. Usually, even when he was deep in work, his head would turn towards you and offer a flash of those brilliant white teeth, only to duck back down and continue working while greeting you with a little “what’s up, Buttercup?”

Drunk and angry never made a good combo for Karl, and it made it worse that you had no idea what had caused it.

“Karl? Something wrong?” you called out as you closed the door behind you, trying to keep a neutral expression as you crossed the room to stand closer. Maybe he’d had a bad meeting with Miranda and the other lords? No, that wasn’t it. He’d come home from one a couple of days ago, annoyed but still wanting your arms around him to comfort and ground him. Something wrong with the soldats, maybe? Sturm still giving him trouble? As your mind raced for the answer, you noticed he hadn’t actually answered. In fact, he hadn’t acknowledged you at all. Anxiety coiled in your gut as you considered placing a hand on his shoulder. Then again, when he was in a mood like this, touch probably wasn’t a good plan. You knew he would never dream of physically hurting you, but you feared that physical contact might be too overwhelming for him right now. Better to be safe than sorry. Clearing your throat, you decided to give him time. A good start would just to be in the room, doing something that meant speaking wouldn’t be the focus. You decided to start picking up the bottles to throw away.

A gloved hand came down hard on his desk, making you jump and your head to snap back up to face him. He was no longer focused on his work, and had swivelled his chair to face you. His glasses and hat were off, hair tied back, exposing a face that was contorted in an expression you could only really identify as anger and sadness mixed into one. The skin around his eyes were also slightly red and puffy. Had he been crying?

“What are you, my fucking maid now?” he snapped, eyes burning holes into yours as the intensity in his gaze brightened. The words were slightly slurred, but to you they rang in your ears clear as day. “Get the fuck out of here, out of my sight.”

The harshness of what he was saying caused you to drop the glass in your hands, clattering to the floor but luckily not breaking. Cold shame threatened to drown you as it washed over you, and it took a few heartbeats to try and find your words. The only ones you could muster came from your heart, which was threatening to break. He had never spoken to you like this before, and it had felt like he had stabbed you with an icepick. “What have I done?” was your reply, small and shaky as much as you tried to mask that.

“What have you done?” he echoed, shaking his head with a scoff that drove that pick a little further. “What you’ve done is be here, with me. Distracting me all day and fucking night, fussing over me like I’m a child. I should be… Months ahead from where I am now! But look what I have to show for all this work.” His hand swept across the air, small metal fragments getting dislodged as he did, punctuating his words to show an empty workroom. “Now I’m not repeating myself. I want you out. Out of this fucking factory, and I don’t care where you go. So long as it’s not here.”

There was a finality in his words as his chair spun back around, shaking hands finding a whisky bottle and draining the last fifth of it in deep gulps. If you thought your heart had broken before, it had only splintered. Now it was shattered, bleeding on the floor like melting ice with no chance of putting it back together. You were stunned. This had come out of nowhere, and it was the last thing you could have possibly imagined. You thought things were going so well. With so many months of gentle care, you had ignited the pilot light in the part of Karl that hadn’t been used in so long. The part that was so soft and caring. The one that would bring home little metal trinkets of your favourite things, just because he had thought of you in a quiet hour of waiting for a soldat to wake up, just because he cared. The one that snuck up behind you when you were cooking his favourite meals, to wrap his strong arms around your waist and press kisses in your neck, whispering his thanks in the shell of your ear between them. So many memories of his gentleness flickered through your mind, only to start burning up like a film exposed to the bulb. Just to be replaced with a hollowness; an emptiness that you were certain could never be filled. No more words needed to be spoken from your part, and it wasn’t as if you could if you tried with the rising lump in your throat. Turning on your heel, you exited the workshop, slamming the door in your wake. Everything was a blur from that point. You vaguely remember packing a small backpack with what precious few belongings you had, and you remember fastening a hip holster to yourself and placing your pistol inside it. The one he had given you for protection, now would be used for survival. If you could even survive that long outside the safety of this palace of industry. Before you knew it, you were curled up on your shared bed to pour your bitterness and broken heart out while you could. In the next few hours, it would have to be placed somewhere that you couldn’t reach it. For now, you would take the opportunity for one last show of emotion, before hardness would have to replace it.

Downstairs, the heart tethered to your own was also shattering, as if the tether between the two held fast, sharing the despair and misery. I had to do it, he thought to himself as hands clawed through his hair. They’re too good for this life. Too damn good for a callous old sinner.

He never wanted to see what happened to him, happen to you. The carefully placed emotional guards he had put up had been a necessity, to protect himself from the horrors that had become his life. Death and decay; a perfume of rot and motor oil permeated his very existence. To see your soul being tarnished would destroy him. To see that spark of life, of happiness, of innocence and vitality cruelly snuffed out would be his undoing. That’s why he had drowned the hurt of what he had to do with alcohol, to make it easier on his end. If he had to see your beautiful features marred with agony with anything less than blurry eyes, he would have changed his mind. Better to rip off the band-aid now, rather than leave it to fester.

The factory rang out with screams and the sound of metal on metal as he harnessed the full strength of his powers to destroy everything in his wake. In the morning, he would awake with a hangover, a ruined workshop and the love of his life no longer around. And he knew full well which one would hurt the most.

~OPTIONAL GOOD ENDING~

He awoke to absolute carnage, and the taste of bitterness on his tongue. He had fallen asleep hunched over his desk at some point, and the resulting ache in his back radiated through his body. Rubbing his head as he pushed himself up out of his chair, he pushed through the chaos, kicking away shrapnel to reach the door.

The walk to the living quarters used to be a joyous occasion. It would mean smelling a good meal cooking, and seeing the love of his life’s smile as they padded towards him to pull him into an embrace. This marked the first time in a long while that he would come home to the cold and empty shell of rooms that it used to be. Mentally steeling himself to face the consequences of his previous actions, the door to the living quarters opened, and his heart sunk into his stomach.

He didn’t expect you still laying there on the bed, fully clothed and curled up fast asleep. From the looks of it, you were getting ready to do what he told you to and leave. Your boots were still on, a holster on your hip, and by the foot of the bed was a backpack. By the looks of your tear stained cheeks and the small sniffles that you still made, you hadn’t been asleep for long. Very possible that you’d cried so hard that it had exhausted you, dragging you into slumber that probably wasn’t very peaceful at all.

Shame washed over him, threatening to pull him under and drown him. He had caused this. His actions had meant to protect you from harm, and instead it had broken you. He had become the very thing that he was trying to shield you from, and he knew for a fact that this would become yet another demon that would haunt him. Trying to push you away had failed. Whether it was intentional or not, even through his ugliness and aggression, you decided to stick with him. It allowed a small amount of hope to bloom in his chest; no matter how much he hated himself, no matter how ugly things would get, you would stick around and ride it out. Through the darkness, his love for you deepened that little bit more. It proved your loyalty that much more.

You woke up to the sounds of sobs, and when you opened your eyes, the source was clear. Karl was kneeling by the side of the bed, his head bowed and hands gripping the sheets so hard you were certain they would rip. You could hear through the hiccups of breath that he was murmuring, but for the most part it was unintelligible apart from the frequent word ‘sorry’. As much as it hurt to see him after what happened, it also hurt to see the strong and powerful Karl Heisenberg literally brought to his knees. Whatever he had done, no matter bad he had lashed out, he deeply regretted it. And regrets were something that Karl probably struggled with most of all, especially considering he didn’t have many of them. Watching him cry, to struggle so hard with his emotions, you made a decision. This was going to take a lot of work, but you would both make it work. There would be so many conversations, maybe more arguments, but you’d both been through worse than this before. This can work. You were determined.

Reaching out, you gently took his hand into your own. It earned his head to snap up, staring at you with that intensity that could shatter glass. It was like his eyes were searching for answers, and he was getting frustrated with finding none. But that eased to a softness that you were used to seeing from him. Pulling him onto the bed with you was so easy; he followed you so eagerly, settled down and wrapped you in his arms so tenderly, it could make you start crying all over again. You felt him nuzzle his face into the top of your head, breaking down all over again as you tried to hold him together with gentleness.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry Buttercup,” he hiccuped, holding you that little bit tighter. “I didn’t mean it, I was trying to protect you, I’m so sorry, I-”

You shushed him gently as you pulled his face downwards to see him, brushing the pad of your thumb under his eye to wipe away his tears. He could explain it all later. For now, you just wanted him here, with you. Pressing a kiss to his forehead, you cuddled up to him, letting him get it out of his system. All of this could be dealt with later. For now, you both needed to heal. For now, you both needed this time to cry together.

For now, and forever, you loved him with all of your heart. Broken parts and all.

#cw:angst #cw: whump #cw: alcohol #cw:arguments #cw:crying #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg imagine #karl heisenberg x you #karl heisenburg x reader #heisenberg x reader #heisenberg x you #resident evil 8 x reader #resident evil village #resident evil x reader

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wrenqueenisboss · 3 years

Text

You saved me, you know

TW: suicide, self-harm, depression, crying, cursing, arguing parents, mental issues, trauma, self-harm scars, abuse (physical and mental), self-destructive behavior, HEAVY ANGST Note: I believe that Tommy uses his phrase “big man” in a gender neutral way. The reader is gender neutral, but Tommy still uses the phrase because I think it just works.

Characters: y/n, Technoblade, Wilbur, Tommy, Philza, abusive mom and dad Pronouns: gender neutral Words: 2.1k+

PLEASE be careful. This could be very triggering very easily.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

Technoblade, Wilbur, and Tommy had burst into the room of their youngest sibling one night, concerned that they hadn’t spoken to anyone at all that day. When they saw the state that their sibling, Y/n was in, they called Philza.

While they waited for Dadza to climb the stairs and reach Y/n’s bedroom, Techno walked over and cautiously sat next to Y/n on their bed. He placed a gentle hand on their shaking shoulders, trying to calm their sobbing.

After what seemed like only a few heartbeats, Phil was already by Y/n’s side. Comforting; talking slowly in his soothing voice. Wilbur went to get his guitar, beginning to play a soft lullaby. Tommy just sat on the floor in front of his sibling. He knew that his presence was calming enough, as long as he was calm too.

“What’s wrong, Y/n?” Techno asked, rubbing circles on their back. “Why are you crying?”

For the first time since they’d walked in Y/n’s room, they lifted their head from their hands. Their eyes were red, cheeks streaked with tears. But surprisingly, Y/n was smiling. No, not the joyful smiles that hold captured sunshine or grins that shine with the light of the stars. This was a sad smile, a ripple in a puddle, a small ray of light in the clouds, a hazy rainbow.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Y/n whispered. “Not anymore.”

“What do you mean, big man?” Tommy was just as confused as the rest of the family. “Explanation please.”

So, with a shaky inhale, Y/n began their story....

I was in the darkest time of my life.

The darkness looked a little bit too much like home. It was too familiar. Death was starting to look a little too much like a solution. Drowning in my own shadowed thoughts became a horrible habit. It was a terrible cycle. One I knew I needed to break.

The problem was, I didn’t know how. Countless times, I tried to force myself back into the person I used to be. The happy, upbeat, extroverted, optimistic person I used to be. It didn’t work. Nothing ever did.

All the while, the pressures of school were beating down upon me like the relentless waves of a stormy sea. I couldn’t catch a breath. Between all of the pressure and work and expectations that were the waves, and the mental demons that were the ocean rocks, I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t swim up to get air.

At a certain point... I figured it would be easier to just... swim down. I figured that the only way to end the terrible cycle was to end me. For the first time since I could remember, I was being kept up entirely by my own mind. And not my parents screaming at each other.

As the days continued, I became more and more fixated on the idea of death. You see, that’s the scary thing about depression. Towards the beginning, you can ward off your intrusive thoughts. You can list reasons as to why you should remain living, breathing, and maybe suffering for a little longer. You preach words of hope to yourself. Make yourself promise to hold on for a better future. But little by little, you lose those reasons. Your reasons dwindle away. So does your hope.

They fade. And whither. And shatter. They leave. And they die.

And soon, you’re left with an empty list of reasons and no hope. An empty promise to yourself. I was getting closer and closer to ending it all. Ending the insufferable sequence of torture.

Shockingly, my teachers began to notice my change in behavior. I thought I hid my emotions well. I was wrong. I thought a lot of things. I was wrong about those as well.

When I was partnered with some random kid for an annoying English assignment, I already knew that I had decided. I knew that I was going to die soon. I just hadn’t decided when. For some reason that I’ll never understand, my mind insisted on waiting until I finished the project. Until I got my grade back. Even then, the pressures of getting good grades were still ingrained in my scarred mind. At this point, my mind was just as scarred as my wrists.

But to my utter surprise, my English partner wasn’t a total asshole. Sure, he might have had the vocabulary of a sailor, was loud and slightly annoying at first, but I could tell he was smart.

One day, we needed to work overtime to finish the assignment. You see, this particular day wasn’t a great day at all. I had managed to retreat even farther into the hellish depths of my depressing thoughts. Death began to look even more like release. Like the perfect solution. Not to mention, my parents seemed to be at each other’s throats more than usual.

But school didn’t care. Life didn’t care. My responsibilities couldn’t wait. Neither could my English partner. He needed to pick up his grades or he wouldn’t be able to go to his older brothers’ football games. I was an only child. I didn’t understand that. He was insistent that we work at my house. Kept saying that his house was too chaotic and that we’d never get any work done.

I tried to explain the same thing. I tried to explain, without revealing anything too personal, that we simply couldn’t work at my house. The library would work. So would the park. Anywhere but my house.

He wouldn’t listen. My stubborn English partner walked me to my own house. He had looked up the directions after finding my address in the directory and was practically dragging me by the hand.

I couldn’t let him see the disaster that was my life. I had tried for so long to keep my school life and my home life as separate as possible. One disaster could not mix with another. That would breed catastrophe. I couldn’t deal with that.

But still, he walked me to my house, practically shoved me up my front stairs and waited expectantly for me to open the door and let us in.

I tried, one last time, to convince him that we should work somewhere else. I gave one more half-assed excuse. Unsurprisingly, my efforts were fruitless. Too emotionally and physically tired, I opened the door....

We were greeted by screaming. Accusations thrown like paper airplanes with knives for tips. Hurtful names called like names at morning attendance. Some things were broken. Yesterday, I cleaned up a broken mug. The one that I put my fingerprints on when I was three. The shards left a few small cuts on my hands. Nothing I wasn’t used to.

This time, there are a few picture frames laying face down on the floor. I can tell just by the frames what they are. The three of us at Disney. Mom and I at my kindergarten graduation. Dad and I at one of my sports games. All of these pictures are more than five years old. We don’t take family pictures anymore. Those are for real families. Real families are not us.

I grab my assignment partner’s hand firmly and lead him upstairs to my room. We can still hear the yelling, but it’s a little bit better. I make a mental note to clean up the mess downstairs later.

He sets down his backpack on the floor before sitting down. With the most concerned expression I’ve ever seen, he asks if I’m okay.

Tears nearly spring to my eyes. I’ve never been asked that question this genuinely before. It’s a question that’s only been asked to me out of obligatory concern. No one has actually cared. But my classmate seems to be different.

As a reward for his sincerity, his concern, I answer honestly. I answer with a dark laugh and a heavy-hearted no. That tells him what he needs to know. He can tell I don’t want to talk about it. He’s smart like that.

We work on the project for another hour before the screaming and shouting and accusing gets too loud. We decide together to work on the project together after school at his house. Before he leaves, we exchange numbers. Then, he sneaks out of the house as quietly as possible, trying not to catch my parents’ attention. But he goes unnoticed. Of course he does. Mom and Dad are too busy tearing each other apart with words meant only for people you are supposed to hate. Maybe they do hate each other. Nothing is clear anymore. It stopped being clear a while ago.

Fulfilling only one of my many self-promises, I walk downstairs to clean up the broken picture frames. Another smashed mug has joined the frames on the floor. It’s shattered irreparably as well. Just like my parents’ relationship. Just like me.

But of course, just as I bend down to carefully pick up the shards of broken glass and ceramics, I get yelled at. I get screamed at too. My relationship with my parents is just as fractured as their own. Or maybe it’s worse. I get hit sometimes. A sharp punch to the face, a horrible punishment, a kick to the diaphragm. It’s not always physical, though. The hateful words they use on each other are used on me too. It’s as if they don’t realize I say half of those things to myself already. I doubt they’d care if they did know. I doubt a lot of things these days.

In both of their anger - with themselves, each other, or me, I’ll never know - I acquire a few more cuts. A glass shard is pressed into my hand. I was shoved so hard I fell to the ground, right on top of the neat pile of glass and pottery that I had compiled. The skin on my knees splits open, as does the skin on my hand. Thank god it’s not my dominant hand.

Finally, I’m sent back to my room. I check my phone. I see a notification. It’s from my English partner.

He tells me to pack a bag in his text. Tells me that his father made dinner and that his brothers aren’t that scary.

I contemplate whether or not I should end it now. It wouldn’t be that difficult, I’m sure.

But I promised myself. I promised, for some reason I’ll never know, that I’d wait until I finished the project. Wait until I got my grade back.

So I do. I shove back the thoughts that tease me with the thought of death, of release. I shove them back to the dark space that is my mind. They don’t have a designated corner anymore. They’ve made my whole mindscape their home.

I end up packing my bags. I end up gathering my school supplies, two nights worth of clothes - just in case - and other basic necessities into two bags. Just like my English partner, I manage to slip out of my house unnoticed. Again, Mom and Dad are too busy arguing.

My classmate texts me his address. It’s actually close. Close enough to walk. So I do.

As I walk, I receive another text.

He tells me that he never got my name. Or that he did, and didn’t remember.

I tell him mine. Or I remind him. Same difference.

Just in case, he tells me his.

It’s Tommy.

Tommy introduces me to his family. To his loving dad, Philza. To his older brothers, the twins, Wilbur and Technoblade. They are kind and welcoming. And they love each other. Philza and his long-time girlfriend, Kristin. The family helps me become legally independent from my mother and father. They adopt me on my birthday. Everyone sheds a couple tears.

But now I finally have a proper family. One where I am loved. The love is like the calm tropical oceans. I remember when I used to drown in horrible waves of hate and pain and suffering and despair. Now I drown in different waves. Waves of love and warmth and family and support. And I’m happy with the way that I’m drowning. Which is more than I ever thought I’d be able to say.

Everyone is in tears as Y/n finishes their story.

“Oh my fuckin’ god, Y/n,” Tommy breathes, his voice shaky with the effects of his crying. Phil doesn’t scold him for his language. He’s too emotional himself.

Wilbur has long stopped playing his guitar. He sits beside Tommy now, holding his brother’s hand. For his comfort or for Tommy’s, it doesn’t matter.

Even the stoic Technoblade’s face has tear tracks that glimmer slightly in the light of the room. He’s crying. Mourning the pain his sibling - adopted, but sibling nonetheless - had to go through.

Y/n wipes their tears. Flashes that bittersweet smile again. The ripple in the puddle. The small ray of light. The hazy rainbow.

They take a deep breath in. They exhale. “You saved me, you know.”

“You actually saved my life.”

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