Character/s: Merlin, Arthur
Summary: Merlin has a bit of anxiety about writing.
Word Count: 382
Prompt: 284, Anxiety
Author's Notes: Somewhat autobiographical.
Merlin turned on his laptop and waited for it to boot. There was no getting around it—the thing was due today and he had to get it done. Well, he didn’t have to get it done; it was a completely optional bit of fun he chose to do every week to keep him in touch with writing, now that he found himself so creatively stymied.
There, it was on. He opened up his e-mail to check it. After he’d read all that, he opened up his browser and went to his favorite online haunts. This was getting him absolutely nowhere, but it helped him procrastinate. Or was that “beat down the anxiety”?
Finally, after he’d checked Facebook and all his forums, he turned on his word processor. His drabbles file was well over two hundred pages by now. He should be proud of that, but looking at all he’d accomplished only made him more anxious. Would he be able to do it again?
He stared at the blinking cursor until his eyes crossed. That’s when Arthur happened to walk by, sandwich in hand. “Writing more fanfiction?” he asked.
Merlin chuckled. “I would be, if I could get over myself.”
“Are you kidding me? Why do you do this to yourself if it makes you so anxious?”
“I ask myself that every week, believe me.”
Arthur sat next to him on the couch. “Look at how much you’ve written already. I can’t even count the amount of drabbles you’ve written. And they aren’t even all in this file—you incorporated some into other stories.”
“So, that proves you can do it. Look how long you’ve been writing these things. Over two years. That says something, Merlin. You can totally do this.”
“You really think so?”
Arthur patted Merlin’s back. “Hundreds of comment don’t lie. People DO read what you post. So shake something loose in that big head of yours and get going.”
“You’re right. I can do this. Thanks Arthur.”
“No worries. I just wanted you to let go of your death grip on the remote.”
“Why you . . .” Merlin chucked the remote at Arthur’s head. Arthur ducked, so it missed by a mile.
“Thanks for that! Now get going. Knock ‘em dead, one drabble at a time.”