#i was in a constant state of panic and excitement and stress and sweat on this trip | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

Text

5 times Merlin noticed Arthur’s odd reactions to things,

+1 time he could start on the road to helping.

TW: Graphic descriptions of child abuse, claustrophobia, panic attacks/flashbacks/disassociating.

Merlin notices things. He always has done, ever since he was a child. Maybe it was the magic, maybe it was the ingrained fear of being snuck up on (as a Bastard child, as a citizen of Essetir, and as someone with magic) or maybe it was just some odd, innate skill. It doesn’t really matter: Merlin is observant, he has keen eyes, which is why he notices Arthur’s sudden change in disposition.

It was a normal afternoon, Arthur and Merlin had just gotten back from the first hunt of the spring and were filling The King in on how it had gone. Well... Arthur was, Merlin was just sort of stood there.

The servant was annoyed that Arthur had dragged him along, both to the hunt and to the meeting, but The Prince had been so excited (not that he showed it too much) at the prospect of telling his father how well everything went, he conceded easily. It was rare that Arthur got his father’s approval; Merlin had only been serving him for a few months, so maybe it was stupid of him to want to see Arthur happy, but oh well. He may be a prat, but he meant well and he loved his people, he deserved a little happiness occasionally.

Uther was in fact proud, and Merlin had better luck than Arthur at holding his grin in, though that changed quickly.

Arthur was looking out of the window and making casual comments on when he planned on going out next, and Uther, stepping quietly without even realising it, manages to move to the space just behind him without Arthur noticing. He claps a firm, but proud hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and if Merlin hadn’t known that Arthur would deny it later, he would accuse him of jumping a foot in the air. He turns around quickly, eyes wide and barely focusing as Uther gives his son another congratulations, as well as a terse “Make sure you keep it up.”

The sudden tightness in Arthur’s shoulders and his clear discomfort at having Uther so close do not go unnoticed by Merlin and he frowns, making a split second decision that could very well get him put in the stocks:

“Sorry to interrupt, My Lords, but The Prince mentioned wanting to join the evening patrol. Sir Leon and his partner will be leaving shortly.”

Uther whips his head around disapprovingly, and his anger at Merlin for interrupting whatever it was he was about to say translates to a tightened grip on Arthur’s shoulder. The Prince flinches slightly, but carefully steps away from The King, speaking before he can order the servant punished:

“Right you are, Merlin. If you’re happy for me to take my leave, father?”

Uther looks back to his son, confused, but approving of Arthur’s sudden eagerness to join extra patrols:

“Very well. I expect you to keep up the hard work, Arthur, I shall be disappointed if you start slacking again.”

Arthur nods and bows, but doesn’t say anything, his jittery demeanour getting worse with The King’s vaguely threatening tone. He walks stiffly from the room, and Merlin follows with a confused frown, making sure to keep his distance and step loudly on the stone floor; apparently Arthur was feeling jumpy today.

Arthur, still in his armour, leads them down to the courtyard where Sir Leon and another knight were indeed preparing to leave. The Prince doesn’t say anything to Merlin, simply nods in his direction before joining the others, and Merlin thinks he must have done the right thing if Arthur wasn’t shouting at him for giving him extra work that he hadn’t intended to do.

He stores this new, odd information in his mind for future reference, reminding himself to stay away from The Prince’s back and warn him of anyone approaching.

The next thing Merlin notices doesn’t come from a specific incident, more from a series of odd happenings over time.

When Arthur had been released from the dungeons after Merlin’s miraculous survival from being poisoned, he was a mess. At the time, Merlin had smugly suggested that it was because Arthur was worried about him; his hair was similar to a bird’s nest, as if The Prince had been running his hands through it and pulling it on a near constant basis, and the shirt he was wearing frankly stunk of sweat.

Arthur had rolled his eyes at that and slunk off to sulk in his chambers—once Gaius had assured him Merlin would be fine—and the young servant had taken that as confirmation.

The first time Merlin actually witnesses Arthur’s quick, shallow breath and wide panicked eyes, they’re rushing through the narrow servant corridors. The Prince’s grip on his sword looks uncomfortably tight and the sweat on his brow seems a little odd: they weren’t running that fast. Merlin figures that Arthur is just stressed out from trying to catch the sneaky arsehole assassin who was trying to do in as many councilmen as he could before getting away.

Which is an understandable thing to be stressed about.

Merlin only takes actual note of it when, after the assassin had gotten away, The King had demanded Arthur retrace his footsteps back through the castle to see if the criminal had dropped anything or hidden anywhere. Arthur practically freezes up at that, his wide eyes and pale skin making Merlin frown in confusion, only for his frown to deepen when Arthur stutters through his suggestion of having another knight lead the internal search whilst Arthur heads out into the city.

The relief on Arthur’s face when Uther agrees is, though brief and immediately hidden, immense.

Merlin thinks back on the state Arthur had been in after he’d quested for Merlin’s cure. Perhaps... perhaps Arthur had been such a mess because he had spent a night in the dungeons, and not because he had been worried about Merlin.

As much as Arthur might like to think Merlin’s an idiot, the servant makes quick connections, pieces things together easily, like a children’s puzzle. At least when it comes to Arthur.

The servant is also reminded of the way Arthur insists that Merlin leave a few candles lit in the evening. At first, Merlin thought it was because Arthur was sneaking out of bed to get more paperwork done (Uther may rarely see it, but Arthur works ridiculously hard), but he checked the paperwork one morning and nothing had been added or altered. Then he though that it was maybe so Arthur could see any attackers coming in the night, because he was paranoid like that, but the candles always burnt out after a couple hours anyway, so it wasn’t like they were lasting through the night.

Merlin figures he was probably just reading into things too much (plus, he knows that accusing Arthur of being afraid of the dark or tight spaces would get him nothing but a slap up the head and, depending on The Prince’s mood, a visit to the stocks), though Arthur refusing to stay in Merlin’s tiny bedroom for any longer than necessary, and insisting on multiple torches being lit whenever they ventured into caves, forces Merlin to reconsider.

It was after one such adventure in one such cave that Merlin took advantage of the castle’s funds being available to him, and heads down to the market to buy some larger candles (and if he cast a spell to make them last longer... well... no one needed to know). Arthur gives him an odd look when he walks into The Prince’s chambers that evening and begins setting up and lighting them without acknowledgement; Merlin answers his questioning hum without looking at him:

“I know you like to be able to see just in case attackers make it into your chambers: these ones should last all the way until the morning. I set up a standing order with a merchant in the lower town.”

Arthur frowns confusedly, knowing that no one had managed to sneak into his chambers in months; it was definitely odd that Merlin had suddenly decided that this was a good idea. Still, Merlin doesn’t look back at him as he casually moves around the room, lighting the new candles and hoping that Arthur wouldn’t notice him leaving the curtains open by about an inch. He notices, though he doesn’t mention it in his response:

“Hmm. It seems you’re finally putting that brain of yours to use, Merlin.”

Merlin finally turns to look at him, glaring half-heartedly as he sarcastically laughs. Arthur just grins at him, glancing at the strip of moonlight on the floor for only a moment before climbing into his bed, muttering for Merlin to go ahead and get an early night.

From then on, Merlin packs extra torches in his pack when they go adventuring, and if he has room, a candle, in case they end up in an inn. If Arthur notices any of that, or the fact that Merlin always opens the window whenever they’re in the tiny Physician’s chambers for more than five minutes and always keeps him company on the now-rare nights Uther is angry enough to lock Arthur in the dungeons... well... neither of them point it out.

The next odd reaction doesn’t happen until years later.

Of course Merlin keeps noticing Arthur’s aversion to surprise touch (especially from knights and his father) and general dislike of the dark/closed spaces, but dealing with it and adjusting to make things easier just sort of becomes part of their routine, without either of them really realising.

Arthur has been King for a few weeks when it happens. It's warm, too warm for armour, so the roundtable knights are practicing their hand to hand instead of using swords and shields. Arthur usually sits out for these lessons, teaching and observing from the side-lines as opposed to taking part in spars. Merlin had always thought it was odd, but the one and only time he had brought it up, years ago, Arthur had forced him to join in on the lessons. He had a lot of bruises that day.

But today was not a usual day apparently; Arthur joined in. He seemed reluctant at first, like he was unsure if he actually wanted to, but his first weeks as King had been going well and he’d had a successful meeting with some of his Lords the previous day, so he’s in a good mood. He finally caves when Lancelot offers to spar with him; there was something about the gentle man that just makes everyone in his vicinity feel a little more at ease.

The sun was shining, but heavy rain the previous week means the grass was bright and soft; all in all, it was a lovely day, but Merlin’s focus was still on Arthur and the way he and Lance dance around each other. All the knights were holding their strength back a little, the purpose of sparring is rarely to go all out, but practicing form and technique and footwork is always a good idea.

Arthur falls into the rhythm of the spar, dodging and side-stepping and blocking with ease, neither he nor Lance were eager to speed things up in the heat. He was moving automatically, running on instincts and just a little bit of adrenaline, which is probably why he freezes up when confronted with something so terrifyingly familiar.

A glint of sunlight off something metallic caches his eye, and his gaze moves away from the fight for barely a split-second, but when he looks back all he can see is shortly cropped brown hair, a bright red tunic, and a fist swinging for his face.

Lancelot yelps when Arthur doesn’t block like he had expected him to, and Merlin is sprinting over before The King’s head has even finished rocking to the side. The other knights go to crowd closer, worried for their leader, but Merlin waves them off harshly and they keep their distance, trusting him. Lancelot looks horrified, but dutifully steps back as Merlin puts one hand on Arthur’s shoulder and uses the other to tilt his chin from side to side.

Merlin’s frown deepens when Arthur just lets himself be manhandled. Even in his worst injuries he was reluctant to let people check him over; Merlin quickly notices his wide eyes staring vacantly and the breathing that was far deeper than it really should be. He tries to get The King to look at him as he speaks lowly, so the others can’t hear him:

“Arthur? You with me?”

Arthur gulps, blinking rapidly and meeting his gaze, though Merlin can tell that he still isn’t really seeing:

“I... I’m sorry, I... I didn’t mean... I wasn’t...”

Merlin can only just hear Arthur’s whispers, and he’s grateful for the fact that the others definitely can’t hear them. He moves the hand on Arthur’s shoulder down to grip the other man’s hand and squeezes, and uses the other to shield his eyes from the sun as he mutters:

“Arthur, it’s Merlin, you’re out on the training field with members of the Roundtable, it’s late Spring, and you were crowned King three weeks ago. Arthur?”

It’s only then that Arthur’s eyes come into focus.

Merlin has never been grateful to have the bones in his hands almost break, and he doubts he’ll ever be grateful for it again. Merlin’s squeezes back, digging his nails in just a little as a subtle “please don’t break my hand”. Arthur loosens his grip and Merlin raises his eyebrow slightly in question; the blonde groans slightly and lifts a shaking hand to rub his eyes:

“What happened?”

Merlin glances at the huddle of knights behind him and gives them a reassuring smile before he looks back to Arthur, speaking so everyone can hear:

“You took quite the well placed hit from Lance, got a mild concussion and lost yourself for a minute. You’ll probably be fine by this evening, but I want to get you in the shade just in case, ok?”

Arthur seems surprised at the explanation, but nods wordlessly, letting Merlin guide him up towards the castle without a fuss. That just worries Merlin more, and he speeds up slightly as he yells over his shoulder:

“Leon’s in charge!”

Leon just chuckles, knowing that Merlin wouldn’t be paying them the slightest bit of attention if Arthur was even close to being seriously injured, but Gwaine just tilts his head and frowns:

“I love the guy but since when does Merlin decide who’s in charge? If he had said Elyan was in charge would we have just... gone with it?”

Leon shoves him playfully and tells him to get back to work, giving Lancelot a comforting pat on the shoulder as they all look away from the servant-King duo.

Merlin doesn’t take Arthur to the physician’s chambers, but goes to The King’s bedchamber instead; Arthur wasn’t actually concussed, but his mind had been elsewhere for a moment, so much so that he hadn’t recognised Merlin and spoke to him as if he were someone else. He sits The King down on the edge of the bed and kneels in front of him, hands on his knees as he frowns:

“Arthur? Still with me, or gone again?”

Arthur takes in a sharp breath, making eye contact with Merlin again as he straightens his back and answers confidently, his voice wavering only slightly:

“Yeah, yes, I’m with you. Sorry, lost in thought. I don’t feel concussed, are you sure?”

Merlin nods and stands up, leaving Arthur on the bed as he moves to open the window and get him a goblet of water:

“Hmm, I lied, I don’t think you are either, you weren’t hit that hard to be honest, but you weren’t really... with it, thought it best to get you away from the others.-”

He turns around the see Arthur tense and angry-looking, though Merlin gets the distinct impression that it’s not aimed at him:

“-You probably just got dazed by the hit, that and you’re overtired, you’ve been staying up late the last few nights. Drink this, maybe have a nap, or at least stay out of the sunlight for a few hours, you’ll definitely be getting a headache at some point soon and I don’t want you to make it worse.”

He hands over the goblet of water, holding it slightly out of Arthur’s reach so the other man has to stand for it. He manages to stand on his own two feet with no issue, and the shaking in his hands is lesser than it was before, though not gone entirely, so Merlin makes a mental list of all the chores that he could finish here, in Arthur’s presence. The King drinks the water absent-mindedly, leaving the goblet on the side table as he mutters:

“Overtired... yeah, probably.”

He wanders towards his desk, collapsing in the seat and staring half-heartedly at the paperwork spread all over the place. Merlin relaxes slightly, deciding that maybe there was a reason Arthur never joined in on hand-to-hand.

Merlin wasn’t fond of Arthur’s current visitor, Lord Algere, but he was pleased to note that Arthur didn’t seem all that fond of him either. He was an old supporter of Uther’s, which meant the occasional snide remark about how Uther would’ve handled certain situations differently, followed by deferential admissions of being “a close friend and advisor to the former King.”.

He was just friendly and kiss-ass enough that he couldn’t be kicked from court, that Arthur still had to be polite to him, but he rubbed pretty much everyone up the wrong way and Merlin couldn’t wait until he left to go back to his estate, thankfully situated on the furthest edge of the Kingdom.

It's the day before he’s due to leave when he says it:

“You remind me of your father a great deal, you know, you’re very similar.”

Arthur freezes up at the so-called compliment, but recovers quickly, giving the Lord a tight smile before excusing himself so he wouldn’t be late for the city border patrol he was undertaking. Normally Merlin didn’t go with him on these patrols, he’d only be gone for a couple hours at most and he was joined by a partner; it gave Merlin time to finish up some chores, but the servant felt the need to be there today.

The King is silent the entire time, which is unusual considering he's riding alongside Sir Leon today, and those two always have something official to talk about. He doesn’t even spare Merlin an annoyed glance when the servant drops his bag and has to dismount to pick it up, only halts and waits for him to catch up again. Though he's sure The King had relaxed slightly at the beginning of the patrol, when Merlin mentioned that he fancied tagging along, and if Merlin weren’t so worried he’d be immensely proud at his apparent ability to put Arthur at ease.

Leon gives Merlin a worried grimace as they ride back into the citadel, but Merlin shakes his head and smiles, his meaning of “I’ll deal with it, I’m sure he’s fine” obvious in the action. The two of them have gotten quite good at silently communicating over the years, God forbid Arthur find out that they were trying to look after him.

They made the journey up to Arthur’s chambers in continued silence, though Merlin really starts to really worry when Arthur just wanders over to the window and stares down into the courtyard. He only does that when he’s feeling particularly pensive. Merlin lays out the work he knows Arthur had wanted to get done this afternoon and perches on the edge of the desk, facing Arthur’s back with his arms crossed:

“Arthur, you alright? You’ve been quiet.”

Arthur nods, but doesn’t turn away from the window, staying silent. Merlin purses his lips, but it doesn’t take him long to figure out what he thinks might be wrong. He moves across the room and sits himself down at the dining table, casually starting on the polishing he had left there earlier as he speaks, trying to keep his tone as neutral and absent-minded as possible:

“I’ve no clue what Algere was talking about earlier, he either knows nothing about you, or didn’t know your father nearly as much as he says he did.”

Arthur finally turns from the window, fixing a curious frown on Merlin, who forces himself to keep his gaze down:

“What makes you say that?”

Merlin still doesn’t look up, but knows that he’s on the right track. Arthur has been able to admit, especially recently with his changing opinions on magic, that his father was not a good man, though he still struggles to admit that he wasn’t a good father:

“Well, from what I’ve seen, you look way more like your mother than you do Uther, and you don’t act like him at all, you haven’t picked up on any of his mannerisms or anything.-”

The servant finally looks up at Arthur, his words true but his nonchalance false as he continues with a confused frown:

“-To be honest, I’ve always thought you act more like an odd mix of Leon and Morgana. You’ve definitely got Leon’s sense of chivalry and respect and his knightly traits, but your... how do I say... fiery attitude when it comes to your sense of right and wrong, that’s definitely Morgana. Uther was quick to anger, you’ve got fairly good control of your anger nowadays. Uther was set in his ways and refused to change no matter the consequences, you bend traditions all the time, improve things in ways that Uther would never have dreamed of doing.-”

The servant shrugs and looks back down to his polishing:

“-I just don’t see the similarities, and I certainly know you better than Algere. I’ve a feeling I knew Uther better than Algere as well.”

Arthur hums non-committedly, but sits down at his desk instead of turning back to the window. Merlin feels the tension leave his shoulders, but doesn’t relax fully when he notices Arthur staring at his folded hands instead of working. Apparently it had only partially worked:

“Arthur?”

He doesn’t look up, just shuffles slightly in his eat as he lowly answers:

“Do you think I might... turn out like him? In the end? People say he was kind and gentle when he was young. If... if I ever have children...”

The question goes unasked, but the fear in his voice is palpable, and Merlin has to stop himself from sprinting from the room to burn every painting of Uther he can find. Instead, he puts the armour down on the table softly and stands, making sure to step loudly and clear his throat as he leans against the edge of Arthur’s desk again:

“Arthur, you’re a wonderful King, a wonderful knight, a wonderful man, and I guarantee that one day you’ll be a wonderful father. Don’t stress, you’ve out done your father in every other aspect of your life, I’m sure you’ll continue to do so.”

Arthur looks up at Merlin with a slight frown on his face, though it’s more thoughtful than anything. Merlin holds his gaze with a soft smile for a few moments, content to wait for Arthur to give him some sort of cue; Arthur just rolls his eyes and shoves him from the table, picking up a quill and finally beginning to actually work:

“Try not to insult the former King too much in one sitting, Merlin. And that armour won’t polish itself.”

Merlin just laughs quietly and moves back to the table, understanding and accepting that that was probably the best he was going to get. He makes a mental note to mention Arthur’s similarities to Leon next time the three of them are together; Arthur will be relieved, though he won’t show it, and Leon will be flattered beyond words.

He dares not do it with Morgana. Both of them would be secretly be pleased, though they’d kick up one hell of a fuss trying to deny it.

Thankfully, the two of them are in Arthur’s chambers when it happens.

Merlin’s not entirely sure he could use the “concussion” excuse like he did last time, not with the length of time it lasted.

It’s late, the curtains are drawn—with the traditional inch wide gap allowing a strip of moonlight to fall across the floor and over Arthur’s bed—and Arthur’s special candles have been lit. He’d been made aware of the spell Merlin had cast on them a few months ago, and though he was annoyed that Merlin had put himself at such risk, he hadn’t asked him to remove the spell, which the servant took as a good sign (both that Arthur wasn’t too mad about the magic, and that it had been a good idea).

The King sits at his desk, doing his normal pile of evening paperwork and trying to fit in as much as he can before Merlin snatches it away and manhandles him into bed, Merlin who is generally pottering around the room tidying. Arthur thinks of it more as just... moving the mess around, but he let’s him be; Merlin’s quiet company is much appreciated, especially with all the difficulties Arthur is having with repealing the ban on magic.

The King lets out a deep sigh, sitting back in his chair and tiredly rubbing his eyes. Merlin notices, because of course he does, and wanders over, a concerned frown on his face as he sits in the chair opposite him:

“You alright? Hit a snag?”

Arthur hums but shakes his head, opening his eyes but staying slumped in his seat; Merlin makes plans to get him to bed at some point in the next half candle mark at least:

“Hmm. No, just tired. This whole thing is draining, I wish I could just force them to see sense.”

Merlin knew that the them Arthur speaks of is the council. Currently, The King has about half of them on side, not including Leon, Morgana, and Gaius, but they need a majority by a significant margin before they can move forward, and Arthur refuses to act in any way that isn’t democratic.

Merlin nods, smiling softly at his lap as Arthur closes his eyes again:

“This is what it means to be King, Arthur,-”

At first, Merlin doesn’t notice the way Arthur’s eyes fly open, nor the way he slowly sits up straight, nor the way his shoulders tighten and his skin grows pale and his eyes go vacant.

“-but I think you’re doing great, don’t be too hard on... Arthur? Are you alright?”

Merlin frowns when he finally looks up to see The King sitting ramrod straight and staring into the middle distance, his breathing ragged and his blue eyes glassy and unseeing. He stands slowly, moving around to Arthur’s side to crouch there and wave a hand in front of his face.

He doesn’t react.

Merlin shakes his shoulder slightly, hesitating only momentarily before touching him, but even then, Arthur doesn’t respond. The servant gulps, glancing over his shoulder at the door to make sure it was locked before touching a hand to Arthur’s forehead and muttering a spell; he normally uses this spell to wake up unconscious people, but it has no effect on The King other than sending a slight shiver through his body.

Merlin calls his name a few times, but it expectedly has no effect. He tries to test Arthur’s pain awareness by pinching the underside of his arm, and whilst he flinches away slightly, he doesn’t come to, still stares blankly at the opposite wall. Merlin thinks of calling for the guards and asking for Gaius, but somehow he doesn’t think the elderly physician will be able to help; there was no magic at play here, and he certainly hadn’t been poisoned. In all honestly he just looked a little zoned out, like the time Merlin had lied about the concussion, except it was clearly lasting longer this time.

Merlin frowns but tries his best to keep the panic at bay, it had only been a few minutes now, but other than breathing Arthur hadn’t moved an inch.

The servant takes a deep, relaxing breath, or at least what he hoped would be a relaxing breath. It’s not. He uses magic to slide Arthur’s chair away from the desk slightly, and moves into the space it leaves, shuffling all of the paperwork away and leaning on the edge. Once again, he puts one hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and takes his hand with the other, squeezing slightly.

He waits.

After another ten minutes or so, Arthur’s breathing gets slightly more frantic, and he begins squeezing Merlin’s hand back. Merlin moves closer, crouching in between Arthur’s legs and shaking his shoulder again, but he stops when Arthur begins muttering:

“Didn’t... I... I’m sorry. Not my.... didn’t... didn’t mean to... sorry... disappointment...”

Merlin’s frown deepens at the barely audible whispers, especially when he notices the tears gathering in Arthur’s eyes. He shakes his shoulder again and forces himself to speak, just about managing to keep the waiver from his voice:

“Arthur, there’s no one else here, it’s just you and me, it’s just us, just Arthur and Merlin. It’s the evening in late Autumn, it’s almost time for bed, you sparred with Percival this morning and had a long, annoying council meeting this afternoon. You’re sat at your desk in your chambers with me, no one else.”

Arthur’s eyes come into focus, slowly at first and then all at once. He blinks and stands suddenly, almost tipping his chair backwards in his haste as he reaches a hand to his sword-less hip. Merlin moves back quickly, grimacing as he bumps harshly into the desk. Arthur’s gaze whips around the room desperately, as if searching for a danger that he was certain was there, before his eyes finally land on Merlin. The servant holds his hands out placatingly, not relaxing even as Arthur takes a deep breath and seems to calm down.

The King slumps back in his seat, rubbing the tears from his eyes with shaking hands; Merlin crouches down again, but doesn’t dare touch him, not quite yet:

“Arthur?”

His head whips up, but he relaxes again when he sees Merlin sat in front of him:

“Yes, sorry, I... must of dozed off or something.”

Merlin frowns, but nods one, speaking slowly, his tone low and even:

“Hmm. Must’ve, you looked like you were having a nightmare or something so I woke you. Time for bed, I think.”

For once, Arthur actually agrees with him, not bothering to argue like normal as he stands on shaking legs and heads to where Merlin has neatly laid his sleeping clothes on the bed. Merlin’s concerned gaze follows him, but he doesn’t move too far from the desk, deciding that he and Gaius definitely need to have a chat about... whatever the hell that was.

Half a candle mark later, Arthur is quietly wishing his manservant a good night and dismissing him. He was obviously distracted, Merlin normally can’t be frowning for more than thirty seconds before The King is hounding him about what’s wrong, but thirty minutes pass with not a question from Arthur, and Merlin makes his way to the Physician’s Chambers hoping that Gaius is still awake.

Thankfully, the elderly physician is still pottering around, tidying away various bits and pieces and generally preparing the room for a new day tomorrow. He immediately notices Merlin’s peculiar mood and gestures for the younger man to sit opposite him at the table:

“What’s bothering you, my boy?”

Merlin sits slowly, biting his lip and trying to decide just how honest to be:

“What does it mean if someone... zones out, completely, for extended periods of time?”

Gaius raises an eyebrow:

“I’m going to need a little more than that, Merlin.”

Merlin huffs but nods, shuffling in his seat slightly but responding:

“I was with someone earlier today. We were just chatting whilst we worked and suddenly they just... weren’t there anymore. Stiff, eyes glazed over, ragged breathing. They responded slightly to pain but it didn’t snap them out of it and they just... sat there, utterly blankly, for about twenty minutes. Eventually they started muttering to themselves, but it didn’t make any sense, then they... woke up, I guess, and thought they had fallen asleep. They definitely weren’t asleep, but they weren’t... I don’t know, conscious?”

Gaius frowns but nods, clutching his hands tightly on the table as he explains, his voice grave:

“Hmm. Sounds like an extended disassociation episode. I gather that I’m not to be told who this was?-”

Merlin shakes his head slightly, and though he looks slightly annoyed, Gaius nods and continues:

“-This happens mostly to people who experience something extremely traumatic, though it also happens in victims of extended abuse, especially if the abuse was in childhood, the younger the victim, the worse the reaction. Occasionally it can happen randomly, though it’s mostly triggered by something in their surrounding environment.”

Merlin’s frown deepens, and Gaius would easily hazard a guess at saying he looks angry. He doesn’t point it out though, just waits for his ward to continue:

“What can trigger it? And what other symptoms will child abuse victims display?”

Gaius takes another deep breath, but slowly responds:

“Anything can be a trigger really, something they see or smell or hear, something someone else does or says.-”

(”This is what it means to be King, Arthur,-” pops into Merlin’s head.)

“-As for other symptoms, aversion to touch, occasionally fear of being alone, OR fear of being in another’s presence. Some experience trouble with regulating strong emotions, difficulty in regulating long term relationships, platonic or otherwise, trouble with self-esteem. It varies from person to person, there is no strict list of obvious signs. Might I ask... why?”

Merlin shakes his head and stands, moving towards his bedroom with clenched hands and tight shoulders. Just before he shuts the door behind him, he turns to look at Gaius over his shoulder, brow furrowed and voice low:

“What... what was Uther like? When Arthur was a child?”

Gaius closes his eyes briefly, letting out a weary sigh and trying his best to hold in his grief:

“Strict, extremely difficult to please. He never... he never hit Arthur, not in public anyway, though it wouldn’t surprise me if he was violent privately. As a child, The Prince was terrified of the dark, and the dungeons. I got the impression that Uther forced him down there on more than one occasion. Arthur is... the one your concerned about?”

Gaius knows the answer, but it doesn’t stop the tears from welling in his eyes when Merlin wordlessly nods before shutting the door behind him.

+1)

A few weeks have passed since Merlin had figured it all out.

He didn’t dare bring it up to Arthur, and shuts the conversation down any time Gaius mentions it. The conversation is for Arthur, and Arthur only, and Merlin wasn’t going to force it.

Besides, they’ve been extremely busy with the transitions; The Kingdom was going from anti-magic to pro-magic, and Merlin was going from servant to a member of court. Arthur had tried to force nobility onto him as well as his position as Court Sorcerer, but Merlin had put his foot down at that, insisting that he wouldn’t become some stuck up wealthy arsehole, not even if his life was on the line.

Gwaine, Elyan, Percival, Gwen, and Morgana had grinned at that, Arthur and Lancelot rolled their eyes, Mordred continued to insist on calling him “My Lord” anyway, and Leon had looked marginally affronted as he mumbled something along the lines of “I’m a Lord you know, technically.”.

They aren’t lucky this time around, and it all comes to an explosive head in a quiet, though still habited corridor in the middle of the afternoon.

Afterwards, Merlin absent-mindedly considers the fact that they could’ve been in the courtyard or the throne room or somewhere equally busy, and thanks the Gods for just this little bit of luck; only two servants, one guard, and the... the noble and his son were in the corridor at the time.

Arthur and Merlin are making their way to the council room, preparing themselves for a busy meeting: it was the first since magic was officially legalised, and the first that Merlin (and Gwen, though that was another matter entirely) would officially be sitting in on. Though, in all honesty, pretty much the whole Kingdom knew that Merlin had been advising Arthur privately for years.

Merlin frowns and Arthur stiffens slightly as they spot the noble gripping his young son’s collar and aggressively whispering at him. The boy can’t be more than ten summers old, but the tears in his eyes display his utter terror clearly enough; no child should ever have to be that scared, especially not of their parents. Merlin resigns himself to just magicking the pig’s trousers down when no one was looking his way, but barely a second after he makes that decision the man raises his hand, and slaps the boy across the face.

Everyone in the corridor freezes as the boy cries out, and the noble doesn’t seem to notice the way the guard looks frantically between him and The King, waiting for instruction, or the way the servants and Merlin were staring, horrified. Arthur breaks out of his shocked stupor first, striding towards him with his fist already raised and his eyes blazing:

“How fucking DARE you?!”

His knuckles make violent contact with the man’s mouth, and the spray of blood from a busted lip and loosened teeth is what spurs Merlin into action. He runs forward, scooping the distraught boy up in his arms and quickly handing him over to one of the servants:

“Take him to Gaius, swear that you will not utter a word of this to anyone bar the Court Physician?”

His eyes flash golden as the servants’ both nod, and they rush off in the direction of the Physician’s chambers. Merlin, satisfied that they will be unable to break their promise, turns next to the guard, momentarily ignoring the way Arthur has shoved the bleeding noble against the stone wall:

“Fetch the Lady Morgana and Guinevere and tell them to go to Gaius and the boy, stay with them, swear that you will inform no one bar those three what has happened?”

The guard nods, understanding the magic implicitly as Merlin’s eyes flash gold again. He spares The King and his deserving victim one last glance before running towards Morgana’s chambers.

Merlin turns, finally, to Arthur, almost-but-not-quite recoiling at the tears on his cheeks as he lands another punch to the noble’s jaw. His face is black and blue at this point, and Merlin pulls Arthur back just as he raises his fist again; he thrashes in his grip, but quickly sags as his breathing deepens. The noble falls to the floor, unconscious in all likelihood, and Merlin clicks his fingers, banishing him to the dungeons with nothing but a shower of golden sparks.

Arthur breathes deeply, leaning all of his weight on Merlin as he clamps his un-bruised hand over his mouth, his wide eyes staring intensely at where the boy had been stood moments before. He doesn’t respond to Merlin’s calls, and with another flash of gold, they disappear, reappearing in Arthur’s bed chamber.

Merlin shoots Mordred a quick message over their mental link as he lowers Arthur to the floor, leaning him against the edge of the bed and moving around to be crouched in front of him. The King’s breathing has gotten dangerously deep and dangerously fast, the tears streaming down his face as his hands clench and unclench around nothing. Merlin quickly intertwines their fingers in an effort to stop Arthur hurting himself, but that just freaks the other man out even more as he desperately scrambles to get away from the contact.

Merlin lets go and moves back, eyes wide and desperate as he watches Arthur bring his knees up to his chest, burying his head in his arms and rocking slightly. His cries are muffled, but Merlin can still hear the heart wrenching sound; the Warlock takes a moment to breath before he stealthily moves around the room, lighting candles, locking the door, and shutting the curtains (bar an inch), before moving back to sit beside Arthur, a foot or so of space between them.

After a few minutes of no change, Merlin starts humming. He can’t remember any of the words, but it’s an old lullaby his mum used to sing when he couldn’t sleep, when he was scared of his own magic and his own friends and every shadow that moved in the dark. Arthur’s breathing slows, though he still hiccups occasionally, and Merlin rests his hand on the stone floor between them: an offer, not a demand.

Arthur doesn’t take it, instead shuffling over to lean his head on Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin freezes, not daring to put his arm around the other man as he continues to hum; he must’ve circled back and restarted the same song six, seven, eight times before Arthur nuzzles in further and sniffs before muttering:

“You’ve a good voice, Merlin.”

Merlin huffs a gentle laugh, leaning his head on top of Arthur’s softly as he quietly replies:

“Runs in the family, my mother used to sing to me, though I don’t really know any other tunes I’m afraid.”

Arthur nods, but doesn’t reply, turning into Merlin’s chest slightly as the Warlock hesitatingly wraps his arms around the other man; he stops being so hesitant when he notices Arthur’s eagerness. Merlin pulls him close, sighing but letting Arthur settle in before he says anything. In the back of his mind, he’s aware of the pain shooting up his spine at being sat on the stone floor for so long, but he decides he doesn’t really care, if this is what Arthur needs.

After a few more minutes, he rubs his cheek into Arthur’s soft hair and speaks, his voice gentle and loving:

“Feeling better?”

Arthur stiffens slightly, but quickly relaxes, nodding into Merlin’s chest and mumbling:

“The boy?”

Merlin smiles at Arthur’s worry:

“Safe. He’s with Gaius, Morgana, and Gwen, under protective guard.”

Arthur nods again, tightening his hold on Merlin’s tunic:

“And his... father?”

“Bloodied up and locked in the dungeons, far away from his son. Mordred let the guards know that he is not to leave under any circumstances, told the council that the meeting had been postponed until further notice, and then went to relieve the guard in the Physician’s chambers.”

The King relaxes, and so does Merlin, though only slightly, he knows that this is where that terrifying conversation has opportunity to rear it’s ugly head:

“Arthur, are we going to talk about this?-”

He rushes to carry on when Arthur’s breath hitches and his hands pull on Merlin’s tunic slightly:

“-You can say no, Arthur. I swear, I will never, ever ask, not if you don’t want me to.”

Arthur doesn’t relax, but he shakes his head, gulping before replying, his voice thick:

“No, it’s fine, I should probably... talk about it, right? Morgana is always on my arse about being less repressed or whatever.-”

Merlin nods, but doesn’t say anything, stroking his fingers through Arthur’s hair rhythmically. Arthur lets out a deep breath, humming contentedly at the gesture and leaning even more into it:

“-My father was... difficult to please. His default was anger, no matter what, and it was... rare, for him to be anything but furious. He never... not in public, and never left marks where anyone could see.-”

Merlin struggles against the urge to hit someone (preferably Uther, though unfortunately he was dead. He supposes Uther’s old supporters would do in a pinch), but he makes do with taking a deep breath:

“-When he was especially furious he would lock me in a storage closet, or the dungeons. He... he would order that all the lights be put out, and all the windows covered, so I couldn’t see. Merlin I couldn’t see anything. I still... I can’t stand the dark, but I’m guess you figured that out?-”

Merlin knows that he’s referring to the candles and the perpetually open curtains and nods, humming in agreement:

“-How pathetic is that? A grown man, a King, afraid of the dark.”

Merlin tightens his grip on Arthur and shakes his head:

“It’s not pathetic, Arthur. It’s an automatic response, a defence mechanism that your brain puts in place to try and protect you from being re-traumatised. To this day, I’m terrified of fire, even though I have no reason to be anymore, even though it can’t hurt me as a Dragon Lord.”

Arthur gulps, but relaxes slightly, though his voice is quiet, almost ashamed as he continues:

“I can’t look at Lancelot’s turned back, I struggle to spar with him as well. He... he doesn’t even look anything like my father, he just... he always wears red and has the same hair as my father when he was younger and they’re the same height. Sometimes I feel like I’m a child again, everything around me just disappears and I’m back in that dungeon, or my father is stood over me screaming. How am I meant to be a good King when I’m scared of my own shadow?”

Merlin sighs, staying silent for a few minutes as he attempts to put an answer together in his mind. Arthur sniffles again, and Merlin is suddenly made aware of the wet patch where Arthur’s head rests on his tunic:

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, as many times as you want: you are a wonderful King. You’ve delivered a Golden Age upon this Kingdom, your friends love you, your people adore you. You’ve never just been a good King, Arthur, you’ve been the best this Kingdom, and this world, has ever seen.”

Arthur loosens his grip again but huffs a quiet laugh against Merlin’s chest, which the Warlock definitely counts as a win:

“Kiss-ass.”

Merlin laughs this time, though he doesn’t stop carding his fingers through Arthur’s hair:

“Nah, when have you ever known me to kiss ass? I speak only the truth, My Lord.”

They both fall silent again, and Arthur pulls away from Merlin’s chest. Merlin drops his arms immediately, not wanting to make the other man uncomfortable, but Arthur just takes one of his hands and goes back to sitting by his side, his head resting on Merlin’s shoulder. The silence is long, but comfortable, and it’s dark outside by the time Arthur speaks again:

“Merlin?-”

The Warlock doesn’t make a sound, but squeezes Arthur’s hand in acknowledgement:

“-I thanked you for all the big stuff: saving my life, and saving the Kingdom, and all that. But I never thanked you for the small stuff. The candles and the endless support and the excuses.”

Merlin frowns slightly in confusion, not that Arthur can see:

“Excuses?”

“You didn’t think I didn’t notice, did you? You started years and years ago. You always seemed to notice when being with... with my father, or the knights, or anyone really, was getting too much, you always had some excuse ready. Sometimes you outright lied, even if it would get you in trouble, just to get me away from people. I don’t know how you knew... no one else ever realised. Saying I had paperwork when I didn’t, or a patrol when I wasn’t scheduled for one, or a concussion just to give me some privacy. Thank you.”

Merlin smiles slightly, squeezing Arthur’s hand again:

“You were too busy looking after everyone else, someone had to look after you. I’m grateful it was me, Arthur, I-”

He pauses and sits up slightly straighter, though it doesn’t jostle Arthur too much. He lifts his head anyway, staring at Merlin in concern with tired eyes:

“Merlin?”

Merlin looks to him suddenly, but smiles:

“Hmm, sorry, just Mordred. Updating me on the kid and asking if you’re alright.-”

Arthur’s cheeks flush slightly, but Merlin’s smile grows as he shakes his head:

“-Don’t worry, no one knows about... this, just that you went berserk when you saw a Noble beating his kid, and punched his teeth out.”

Arthur relaxes and nods, humming thoughtfully as he looks to the floor. He stands up, wobbling only slightly after being curled up in the same position on a cold stone floor for several hours, and Merlin follows him confusedly:

“Do... do you want to go check in on them? The kid’s been asking after you apparently, wants to thank you.-”

Arthur looks conflicted, almost as if he were worrying that he wouldn’t actually be welcomed, so Merlin puts a hand on his shoulder and smiles, waiting until Arthur looks at him before continuing:

“-We can leave it until morning, if you like, but you saved that boy, Arthur, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Arthur nods, but doesn’t move until Merlin wipes his face clean with his sleeve and smooths out his clothes. If he uses a little magic to make the two of them more presentable, then neither of them mention it as they walk purposefully to the door.

Merlin looks to Arthur stood next to him, his hand hovering over the door handle:

“Ready?”

Arthur smiles at him, taking his hand and squeezing it, but not dropping it as he opens the door and steps into the corridor:

“Ready.”

THE END!!!

As angsty as it was, I really enjoyed writing that😅. I couldn’t help myself though, I had to give it a happy ending :D

I hope y’all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!! I love y’all!!

My Ko-Fi, which is where I post sneak peeks of upcoming works, check it out and consider donating!!

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pixelwisp-archive · 3 years

Text

HQ Teams Lose Their Manager

Based on this ask! @confusedturtle

[gn!Manager]

Feat. Aoba Johsai, and Nekoma (Was gonna do all the teams but this ended up being a little tougher than I was expecting. Maybe if there’s interest I’ll do more parts with more teams! :))

I decided to mix up the outings so it didn’t get boring! Hope that’s okay!

AOBA JOHSAI

Where you went: Haunted Attraction - it was more like a haunted mansion than a house. It was your suggestion - and the boys never say no to you, no matter how badly they want to sometimes.

What happened: The team went in groups of two - You and Kunimi took the lead, followed closely by Hanamaki and Matsukawa, then Yahaba and Kyōtani, then Iwa and Oikawa (who insisted he be behind Iwa and Kyōtani for protection, even though Kyo was all but quaking in his shoes), and taking up the rear was Kindaichi and Watari. At some point, Makki noticed you and Kunimi had just kind of...disappeared? He tried to be discreet about it, he really did, but when he whispered to Mattsun “You see Kunimi and Y/n?” one of the actors heard and started shrieking about having eaten the two of you.

How they reacted:

Makki and Mattsun are actively planning your’s and Kunimi’s funerals just to rile up Oikawa, much to Iwa’s distress. Probably reenacting Shakespearean monologues about your death while the others slowly dissolve into mass panic (thanks to Oikawa).

Iwaizumi is desperately trying to keep things under control, while also keeping an eye out for the two of you. He knows it’s likely you got lost but he has enough sense to know that surely one of the actors would break character to help you...right? He’s trying a little extra hard to keep his cool.

Oikawa? An absolute Mess™. He is plowing through the attraction, accidentally bumping into actors left and right, shrieking at every turn while shouting for you (not Kunimi tho hfkajsdfaks) and trying (and failing) to direct Kyōtani and Iwaizumi through the house as if they were Pokémon.

Kyōtani is a little too busy hanging on to his last shred of dignity to give you a second thought. Between trying to keep his cool and trying to get Oikawa to stop pushing him into the rooms when his heart is barely hanging in there, he is a millisecond away from an all out villain origin story. Yahaba is mildly concerned, but honestly he’s too busy cackling at Kyōtani (please yahaba let the man have a minute of peace).

Kindaichi and Watari feed off Oikawa’s chaotic energy - they didn’t know what was going on, but they heard that you and Kunimi were dead and just began blindly panicking along with their Captain.

Where they found you: Outside, with Kunimi, having completed the attraction 20 minutes ago. You stood at the exit with ice creams and gasped when the rest of the team was escorted out by security. You guys are banned from coming back, but you can’t get too upset about it when the team rushes to you - Oikawa flinging his arms dramatically around your frame half muttering into your hair about how he thought he lost you, Iwa standing a little closer than usual, the rosiness of his cheeks and the softened gaze giving him away as he says “Glad you’re okay”, Kyōtani standing on the side opposite Iwa, his hand coming to hold the hem of your shirt to comfort him. Yahaba, Kindaichi, and Watari coming around too to talk your ear off about the chaos that just unfolded before them. You can’t help but smile as Makki and Mattsun tease Kunimi, regaling the events that had taken place and making Kunimi chuckle - certainly an achievement in it of itself.

NEKOMA

Where you went: Indoor Trampoline Park - Coach Nekomata was getting fed up with the constant bickering between members of the team (everyone @ Lev) and Coach Naoi recommended a trip to an indoor trampoline park as a team bonding field trip. Being their manager, you were forced invited along too :)

What happened: Things were going surprisingly well - Kenma and Fukunaga found an arcade area and spent most of the time there while Yamamoto and his posse of first years (Inuoka, Shibayama, and Teshiro specifically) were causing discreet chaos on the trampolines. Kuroo and Yaku raced to the obstacle course to see who could complete it first, with Kai following after them begging them to not get the team kicked out. Lev had dragged you to the end of the obstacle course to see who would reign supreme, but he dragged you into the foam pit and in his excited state, didn’t notice when you sunk in and lost your grip on his hand. It wasn’t until Kai asked Lev about your whereabouts that it hit him that he lost you, his hands sweating as he turns to Kai with straight panic. Yaku and Kuroo tie (though each of them insists there was a clear win) and walk up just as Lev stuttered out “I-I think I lost them.”

How they reacted:

Kuroo’s mother hen senses immediately spring into action - he calls for everyone to meet up at the center to confirm that no one knew your whereabouts.

All hell breaks loose when they notice that both you and Kenma are missing from the group.

Kenma had left the arcade after some younger kids had barreled into the area shrieking like escaped zoo animals - when he decided to hide underneath the foam pit, he found you (hiding from Lev) chillin’ and decided to join you.

Fukunaga found you guys relatively quickly, but returned back to the group and didn’t say a single word about it, he just watched the team crumple into hysteria with a pleasant smile on his face LMAO

Kuroo is yelling at Lev, who’s drowning in a sea of guilt and is literally near tears (please someone hug our tall lanky boi). Kai is trying to get him to remember the last time he was with you, but Lev is too busy spiraling.

Yamamoto is already calling Tanaka to plan a funeral service for you - he is inconsolable and Inuoka and Shibayama are trying (see: Failing) to console him with gentle pats and “They’re probably fine, Taketora-san!”

Teshiro is trying hard to maintain his composure but everyone else’s stress is getting to him and he can’t decide if he wants to cry, go home, or both.

Kuroo is seconds away from taking over the intercom to call for a shut down when Lev bursts out with a “THEY’RE IN THE FOAM PIT” and the entire team hustles to the foam pit to save you.

Yaku is trying to make it worse because stressed Kuroo brings him a sick pleasure pls I can’t I love Yaku so much lmaooo

Yaku: “it’s been too long...they’ve definitely suffocated by now.”

Kai: “KNOCK IT OFF YAKU”

Lev sticks his arm down into the foam pit, blindly searching for either one of you.

I swear Kenma becomes a body contortionist the way he moves to avoid the dangling arm that’s jerking around in a desperate attempt to catch a hold of something human shaped

Where they found you: The moment you hear Yamamoto say something about ordering vigil candles, you realize that you should probably let them know you’re alright. You sigh dejectedly and take Lev’s hand and he HURLS you up out of the foam pit and rocket launches you into the air. The team collectively catches you before you hit the ground and they all bear hug you, Yamamoto sobbing while still on the phone with Tanaka - Kenma shows up seconds later and Kuroo crushes the both you in a hug while simultaneously scolding you. the first years and Yaku all talk over each other trying to tell you the absolute chaos you two caused and Kenma is so bothered by the noise he disappears again causing another panic before you guys are inevitably kicked out.

#haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #hq!! x reader #nekoma manager hc #headcanons #hq!! headcanons #hq headcanons #nekoma headcanons #aoba johsai headcanons #seijoh headcanons #haikyu!! headcanons #haikyu!!#haikyu!! x reader #I love seijoh and nekoma so so much my goddd #these were kind of terrible tho im so sorry lmao #Nekoma's gave me so much trouble for some reason and idk whyyy

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purecantarella · 3 years

Text

Nightmare Turned Dream

sort of rushed but i still hope you all enjoy 💖 park jihyo x trainee!reader disclaimer/s : nothing, this is mostly fluff if you squint there's some angst there. maybe some curse words.

Even as a young adult, you'd get the worst nightmares imaginable. It'd come with the constant stress you were placed under. You trained ten hours a day, six days a week and it always took a physical, mental and emotional toll on you. You worked so hard to achieve your childhood dream. The insatiable craving of debuting under JYPE had lit a fire in you that had only grown stronger over the years. Especially when you met Park Jihyo.

When you brushed past each other after one of your many training days, she became instantly enamoured with you. The leader of one of the biggest girl groups in kpop couldn't pin what was it about you that she found so alluring. Until she couldn't restrain herself from formally introducing herself to you.

Jihyo found your surprised expression amusing while you found her even speaking to you to be the greatest blessing in your life. After exclaiming how cute you were, she asked if you would be so kind to have lunch with her, get to know each other better.

A few casual lunches together turned into romantic dinners in the blink of an eye for the both of you.

The young idol found out about the terrifying dreams the first time you'd slept over. Neither of you planned for you to stay over, it'd just so happened that after a day of vocal and dance rehearsals you were both worn out.

While she was tucked securely in your arms, she awoke to you whimpering and squirming as tears slipped down your cheeks. Worried, Jihyo shook you awake making your eyes shoot open in surprise. Your breath was erratic and she did was she could to calm you down.

That's when after months of an unlabeled relationship, she finally placed her lips on yours, causing you to relax instantly. You couldn't be more grateful to have Jihyo. The motherly treatment when you didn't know how to handle yourself made you feel safe, like nothing could touch you. When you were with her, it you could rest easy.

That is until you did debut.

You thought that when you debuted it would be easier to be with her; that your schedule would ease up and you would be able to see her more often. But that wasn't the case. She had her own promotions and you had yours, you two couldn't find a compromise which led to your break-up.

It neither of your best moments. Screaming hurtful and accusatory words because of the stress and all the pent up frustration at one another when you both felt nothing but pure love and admiration for the other. It wasn't good for either of you to be together anymore, so she left. Leaving both of you heartbroken.

A few months pass after your break-up with Jihyo when your promotions for your group end. Your members go out to celebrate the successful debut but you stayed at home alone. You were still reeling from her leaving you and you wound up crying yourself to sleep. Then the nightmares you combated for the past few months returned.

You woke up in a cold sweat, sobs ripping from your chest, and audible gasps shooting from your lips. You clutched yourself in a state of panic. Your hand searched around the dark room, finally landing on the cool surface of your phone.

On instinct you'd dialed her number instead of your leader's.

"Y/n?" Her groggy voice called from the other end, while still sounding rather excited. Upon hearing her voice, you internally face-palmed for calling your ex, only adding to your stress.

When Jihyo heard your laboured breathes from your end, she knew exactly what was going on. "Y/n breathe, your fine. Okay?" She said calmly, putting a jacket over herself and running out the dorm door, receiving questioning looks from her members in the common area.

"H-Hyo, I'm sorry. I-I-I shouldn't have ca-called..." You stammered out between pants. As you were about to drop the call though, she finally said, "No. I'm glad you called me. Listen to me, N/n..." A fond smile fell onto your lips at the way the familiar nickname rolled from her lips.

"So what happened today, N/n?" Jihyo asked, trying to distract you, as she dashed down the streets of the city while trying to conceal her identity.

Before long, she had stormed your group's dorm, finding you curled up in your blanket seeking the warmth that she used to provide. She released a sigh of relief before falling onto the bed, her arms wrapped around you without hesitation. Her body radiating the warmth and love you'd desperately sought after.

You nuzzled your face into her neck, taking in the sweetest scent you'd ever come to find. One of her hands found it's way behind your head, adding a sense of comfort on your part.

"I'm here, N/n...I've got you." She whispered in your ear, making you bite your bottom lip softy. You were beginning to calm down but you could still feel your heart racing a hundred miles an hour. Jihyo's grip on you never faltered, even tightening at times.

After a bit of silence, you pulled away and cleared your throat. "Thanks for coming." You said awkwardly, not knowing what to do with yourself or her for that matter. You leaned on your elbow, giving her room to leave if she really wanted to. But all she did was stare blankly at you.

"Of course I came...I..." Jihyo paused for a moment, looking away shyly. "I never even wanted to leave in the first place." She added, hesitantly pulling you into her chest again as your face grew a deep shade of red. You'd felt her nose press into the top of your head, inhaling deeply as she placed a fleeting kiss on the top of your head.

It was a familiar feeling. One that you missed very much over the course of the break-up. "I've missed you so much, N/n. I'm sorry for hurting you." She said while stroking your hair. You nodded slowly, feeling yourself falling asleep again.

"I've missed you too Hyo. Nothings been the same since that night. My dancing has been off, my vocals could be better—" She immediately cut you off. "Don't say that. Your debut stage was absolute perfection."

The smile on your face grew wider at the older woman's words. After that, the silence hung over you both again. Your eyes began to fall again, sleep taking over you.

"Let's talk in the morning, yeah?" You asked, a yawn passing your lips. Jihyo nodded as she watched your eyes finally close peacefully. She felt a sense of contentment as she had you in her arms again and she'll be damned if she let you go again.

Placing a featherlight kiss on your forehead, she whispered, "Good night, my N/n..." Before falling into her own slumber. After all, you weren't the only one who couldn't sleep well without the other.

ooft HAHAHAH i hope you all enjoyed this! i'm hoping to post a rosé fic this friday if time allows me to anyway. remember that requests are open and criticism or comments are completely welcomed! feel free to message me about anything, anytime! i'll see you all very soon and keep safe always! 😚💕 taglist : @labrachrosite

#twice #twice imagine #twice reactions #twice fluff #twice angst #twice x reader #park jihyo #jihyo imagine #jihyo x reader #jihyo reactions #girl group imagines #girl group reactions #girl group x reader #kpop imagine

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treksickfic · 3 years

Text

The City on the Edge of Forever

I’m so excited to share this with you, anonymous requester! After you sent in your prompt, I had another anonymous reader get in touch with me to let me know they’d already written a story that matched your wishes exactly.

The author of this story is French, not a native English speaker, and they’ve written a beautifully touching story that expands on the TOS episode, City on the Edge of Forever. I am posting it here on my blog, with their permission, because they do not wish to have an account nor have their identity attached to the story. This writer has already become dear to me and I’m honored that they trusted me with their writing. I hope you enjoy it!

It’s a long story, nearly 3,000 words, so RIP to your dash if you’re on mobile. I didn’t want to post it on AO3 or anywhere else except my blog, which feels safer.

Trigger warning for panic attack and trigger warning for some mild emeto, if you’re sensitive to that. It’s not very graphic.

“James Kirk, I demand an explanation!”

Scotty, Uhura, the teleportation technicians, and the security guards were completely dumbfounded by the doctor's explosion. They watched the captain stagger off, livid, as if he had been punched in the stomach. He disappeared without a word, with long stiff steps, from the room.

“Jim!” yelled McCoy.

“Not now, doctor.” Spock's cold, dry voice stopped him.

Spock squeezed McCoy’s arm firmly and Scott was sure to read in his black eyes a burst of fury. McCoy noticed it too, because despite the storm of his own eyes, he remained silent.

“Everyone, at your posts,” declared the Vulcan. “Scott, you are in charge for now.”

“Yes, sir.” Scotty nodded, refraining from asking any questions.

As soon as they had come through the Time Gate, seconds after they left, it seemed, but many weeks later for them, he had seen that they were not fine at all. The captain was pale, deaf to their questions, obviously struggling with the tears that filled his eyes. The doctor was just as white, his face contracted with a terrible anger. As for Spock, he kept his eyes fixed on Jim, his usual indifference altered by deep and obvious concern.

What the hell had happened?

This is precisely the question McCoy yelled at Spock, pulling himself brutally out of his grip as they entered his office, safe from prying ears:

“Damn it, Spock!”

“If you calm down, doctor, maybe I could explain.”

“Calm down? CALM DOWN? Shit, Spock! How do you want me to calm down?”

“Breathing. Deep, and slowly. Start by sitting down.”

“Don't fuck with me!”

“The Vulcans don't fuck with people. Now, please calm down.”

Jim killed someone without thought. There's no way I can calm down. Shit!”

Spock gritted his teeth and an aura of icy disappointment emanated from him:

“Jim killed someone without thought...do you get along, doctor? You've been aboard this ship for over a year. You even pretend to be the captain's friend. How can you accuse him of this without thinking for two seconds?”

“I saw it ! He prevented me from—"

“--and your poor little mind preferred to give in to this abject emotion rather than try to find a logical explanation. Jim, the most compassionate man we know…would he have acted like this for no reason?”

These words had the effect of a cold shower on McCoy. He shook his head, gradually coming to himself. He hadn't actually thought for a single moment, mired in a nauseating fury that he hadn't even tried to control. Shame replaced anger and he sagged in his seat and closed his eyes for a moment.

The past few weeks had been a total blur. He had woken up in a room with antique furniture, with an adorable woman at his bedside: Edith Keeler. It had taken him some time to realize that she was neither a hallucination nor a very good actress, but that he was indeed in a different era. Back in the 1930s. And he had barely had time to figure it out and come out of the bedroom to find answers before Jim and Spock, overjoyed, fell on him.

The next second Edith was dead. And it was Kirk's fault., He had kept him from coming to her aid. It had been too much emotion, too quickly and too soon. He had not managed to digest it, even less to understand anything other than what he had seen:

Jim had killed Edith.

But now that Spock had brought him back to reality, it all seemed absurd. And he noticed certain details: His friend's trembling when he held him; the tears in his green eyes when he leaned against the wall; Spock's unusually soft words when he had defended Jim, "he knows doctor, he knows."

How could he have seen nothing? Holding back a moan, he confronted Spock's stern face again:

“Explain it to me.”

“I'll do it quickly. In the timeline of our current story, Edith Keeler dies in 1930. In the one you walked through, paranoid after the cordrazine syringe accident, her ideals of peace and openness reach Roosevelt's ears and America becomes a peaceful country. That prevents its involvement in the second world war. Germany wins and dominates the world. Our time, therefore, does not exist.”

“Oh.”

“By the time you got there, after roughly locating your destination, we got to know Edith. A very charming woman, particularly intelligent.”

“And, Jim—"

“Was deeply in love with her. But for the good of a whole world and not solely himself, he let her die and prevented you from committing irreparable damage.”

“My god.”

McCoy put his head in his hands, overcome with excruciating guilt. Spock watched him, suppressing the harsh words that itched on his lips. The man had realized his mistake. It was useless to add more in the current state. He sighed for a long time, feeling unpleasantly empathetic towards Jim. He admired the way the man had managed to silence all of his instincts to save everyone:

“You should go see him, doctor. I think leaving him alone right now is not the best solution. Especially since he slept and ate very little while we were on earth, and even less after he realized that Edith had to die. He was ill several times during the night. He needs help.”

“Perhaps it is better ... Chapel—”

“No, Leonard,” Spock said, as kindly as he could. “He needs you.”

McCoy let out a deep sigh. He felt silly, and unforgivable. But for the sake of his friend, and indirectly, the sake of the crew, he knew Spock was right. Grabbing his medical equipment, he left in the direction of the captain's quarters.

*****

Jim rested his forehead against the cool edge of the toilet. The doctor's words were circling in his mind, adding further weight to his overwhelming grief. He felt sick, his stomach as tight as his chest. A discomfort that had become familiar over the past few days. The intense nausea that rolled and rolled, threatening at every moment to overflow was a most unpleasant physical manifestation of his stress.

Despite his efforts to conserve food that was already scarce in their daily life in 1930, there were times when he couldn't do anything about it. Nightmares woke him in an agonizing sweat, on the verge of ruining the atrocious coarse cover of their flop.

He managed each time to sneak into the bathroom before returning the meager pittance with spasms he tried to silence. He also appreciated the discretion of Spock, who had the delicacy of pretending to sleep when Jim returned to his bed several minutes later, breathless and exhausted. But now that he was alone, aboard the Enterprise, he had no reason to contain himself, and did not fight the gagging that came out violently, like revenge for being held back so long. His stomach, however empty, kept revolting, replacing his sobs with endless contractions.

He had barely activated the door to his quarters when they had started, and he had yielded to the spasms with some relief. As unpleasant as vomiting was, his whole body tense and sore as he curled up over the toilet, at least it kept him from thinking about it. Being sick kept his mind on constant alert, focusing his attention on the spasms, gasps, bile, burning and kept the fear away. Unbearable, interminable, but ... secondary.

He coughed cautiously, catching his breath, feeling even sicker from the pungent smell that hung around him…the smell as horrible as the way he felt. This place of suffering and abandonment suited him.

He leaned over awkwardly when the bile passed his throat for the umpteenth time and spilled out in a long convulsion. He grabbed his stomach and closed his eyes so he couldn’t see the mess coloring the water again. The dizziness began to build, the light becoming unbearable as a migraine took hold of his temples, seeping through to his sinuses. He shivered, trying to reach for the chase to vent some of his weakness, when a hand rested on his forehead. Incredibly cool, it brought such comfort that he could not suppress a fragile sigh.

Tenderly the hand placed a damp cloth on the back of his neck and then finally came to cover his eyes. There was the terribly aggressive sound of the toilet flushing, then a voice whispering for the light to drop to 20%.

That voice ...

His comfort immediately ceased, replaced by anguish. He coughed sharply, spitting out more bile in an effort to shake off the impending grief. He could do nothing against the intense tremors that made him gasp, nor the panicked sob that burst through the vomiting.

“Shhh, Jim.” The voice was a broken whisper. “Shhh, everything is fine.”

Kirk wanted to yell at him to go away, to leave him, not to hurt him anymore. Irrationally afraid of the anger that had rained over him earlier at the prospect of having to face reality. Instead he could only moan, shaken by a horrible, nauseating cough.

Feeling Jim shake and panic under his fingers, McCoy was crushed by an intense wave of guilt. He had seen Jim gripped with grief, stress, drunkenness, anger... but never so completely. It was the first time he seemed ... broken ... and it was largely his fault.

The abnormal heat radiating from his skin indicated a high fever and explained his lack of self control. McCoy took a syringe out of his bag and spoke in a very soft voice so as not to hurt his friend's headaches.

“Jim, I'm going to inject you with a painkiller, it'll help you relax.”

He had no other answer than a small hiccup and a burst of bile.

Nervous vomiting, McCoy noticed. It was serious. He was going to have to play it safe to get the captain to calm down enough to free himself from his sadness and he hoped the hypo would act quickly. He thrust the syringe into his biceps and took advantage of the slight respite that followed to quickly run the medical tricorder over Jim’s upper body.

The latter told him what he already knew: extreme stress, high fever, deficiencies in iron and magnesium, low blood pressure...nothing to indicate a gastric bug apart from weakness due to deficiencies, which reinforced his theory of psychogenic nausea.

McCoy was relieved to find that the sedative had done its work: Jim was shaking less and seemed more lucid.

“Bones...what--?”

Bones. So he didn't blame him. This man's empathy would kill him eventually, the doctor thought. He put a protective arm around the Jim’s shoulders and another under his chest to support him. He could feel the angry stomach muscles that continued to struggle and tighten. He gave a sad little smile.

“We are going to talk about all this. But first, we are going to get out of this horrible room. You need to lie down.”

“Um, that's not safe,” Jim grimaced with a little hiccup.

“I'll take a bucket, but I want you to lie down. Doctor's orders.”

“If it's an o-order,” he stammered, in a slight attempt at humor.

Jim allowed himself to be helped without opening his eyes, too ill to protest, and too weak to fend for himself. Bones almost carried him to his bed.

Once lying down, McCoy carefully removed Jim’s boots and socks, pulled up a wonderfully warm blanket and put a cloth on his forehead. Then Jim heard the familiar whirr of the tricorder passing once more over his body and finally the sound of several mixes. Careful fingers rested on his right temple.

“Can you open your eyes?”

“Urgh, Bones, I'll throw up if I open them.”

“There is a bucket, don't hold back. I need you to look at me.”

Jim groaned but obeyed. The light, even though very dim, made him moan in pain. It penetrated his head like a blade and triggered, as announced, a violent nausea.

McCoy held him very gently as he threw up a thin trickle of bilious saliva. He fell completely exhausted on the pillow once the attack was over. The doctor muttered something unintelligible and wiped his face.

“I should send you to the infirmary, Jim. You have serious deficiencies and that added to the stress...this is a perfect combination for a migraine in due form. I'll put you on an IV to regulate your sugar levels and give you a strong pain reliever. It should help you feel better.”

Once everything was in place, a tactical, hesitant silence settled between them. Jim could feel his presence, sitting on the edge of the bed rather than a chair, and the warm, warm hand pressed to his shoulder. The exhaustion and sadness rose in power now that the disease could no longer build its walls around his mind. He saw Edith again. Edith and her sweetness, her love, her joy, her magnificent ideas.

"She's fair ... but not at the right time," Spock had said, trying to make her listen to reason when he...he told her that she had to...die. He had desperately looked for another way but...but—

He clenched his teeth, overtaken by the intensity of the pain. By the gesture. He had even been unable to look at her body. He had not turned around, refusing to see what he had just done, struck head-on by the horror and disgust emanating from the doctor.

He swallowed, feeling the tremors start again, the despair skyrocketing. McCoy, hearing the gasps in his friend's tight breath, tightened his grip on his shoulder.

“I ... I loved her...Bones—"

A tear gathered in the corner of his eye and he sniffled, trying to pull himself together:

“Jim,” McCoy whispered, his own emotions rising. “I ... I don't even know how to apologize.”

“You have nothing to excuse. You are right. I ... killed her.”

“No. You saved our world. You did what you had to.”

“Oh, you spoke to Spock,” Jim whispered with a bitter smile.

“Yes.”

Despite the darkness, McCoy could see the paleness growing and the captain's face tightening with the effort to hold back the sobs. He searched for a moment for words he could say to alleviate the pain. Not finding them, he shook his head.

Jim tried to speak, with difficulty. “I shouldn't—”

“You have the right to be sad. You just lost the one you love in an act of unimaginable courage. Jim, I'm an overly impulsive old fool, I can't even imagine what you've been through and I sincerely ask forgiveness for this unjustified anger.”

“Please, Bones—"

“No, let me finish. Thank you for your understanding, but you don't have to. I acted like an idiot.”

“You couldn't have known.”

“That's no excuse. I know you and should have taken a step back.”

“What is done is done.”

“Jim, what I'm trying to say is that you must not let my emotionally spoken words get to you. You didn't deserve it.”

“I...I searched and searched...and searched again. I couldn't get away from her even when I knew that—”

“You were in love.”

“No, Bones. I'm in love. A selfish person who regrets choices that he shouldn't regret.”

“You are human, and you are suffering. Let it go.”

Another tear rolled down, then another, and finally it was a torrent that poured into the pillow. The captain put a hand over his mouth to silence the gasps of despair and the overwhelming agony of loss. Bones gripped his shoulder, patting it in a comforting gesture. He watched Jim sob like a child, breathing laboriously through exhaustion and mourning. Then he gradually calmed down until he fell into a deep sleep.

The doctor sighed and wiped away his own tears that had started at the same time as his friend's, and that he had not tried to stop. He readjusted the IVs and scanned Jim’s body for the third time. His fever was still high from a mild viral infection after several weeks in the cold and fatigue undernourishment. Jim would be off for a few days and stay in bed.

When he left the room, the doctor was not surprised to find Spock standing and waiting with arched eyebrows.

“How is he?”

“Exhausted and cold, but fine.”

“Has he been able to express his sorrow?”

“I guess, yes.” McCoy smiled, thinking of his friend's relaxed face as he left the room.

“And were you able to express yours?”

The doctor jumped slightly, not at all prepared for this question, much less for Spock to say it. He was sometimes pleasantly surprised by the well-hidden sensitivity of his Vulcan friend. A lump formed in his throat and he swallowed it.

“You are about to cry.”

“Damned be your insight, Mister Spock,” the doctor growled, a little annoyed.

“Humans all must cry at one time or another to get better, doctor. I do not understand why you put a manly bulwark in front of this natural mechanism.”

Bones laughed. “Wouldn't you find it embarrassing for me to break down in tears right now in your arms?”

He expected Spock to answer him, "Vulcans don't know the gene, doctor." Instead he replied, in his usual relaxed and serene tone, “If that makes you feel better, no.”

Such compassion was so strange that it almost seemed out of place. Leonard burst out into a frank laugh that turned without realizing it into a flood of tears. Tears of his own sadness this time, not empathy or guilt. Sadness he didn't think he had. Maybe he was also a little in love with Edith after all. And that the Vulcan understood it well before him.

Spock, moreover, did not pretend to leave, contenting himself to stay by his side until McCoy’s tears turned back into laughter.

“Why are you laughing?” the first officer asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, Mister Spock, because I’m thinking of the absurd spectacle we would have made if someone had been there. The ship's doctor weeping like a baby in front of a motionless Vulcan and their captain's closed door.”

Spock coughed and McCoy would swear to anyone who wanted to hear it that he was blushing.

“Well, you're not a hopeless case,” he said with a smirk, patting him on the shoulder. “Thanks, Spock.”

Then he turned on his heel towards the infirmary without hearing the relieved sigh of his alien friend.

#star trek sickfic #sickfic #TOS sickfic #sick kirk #panicked kirk #emotional hurt/comfort #physical hurt/comfort #emeto #tw emeto #tw panic attack

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masksofmany · 3 years

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Bump in the Night - Writing Prompt

“Set your story during the night shift“ (Acquired from Reedsy’s Writing Prompts

TW // Mention of drugs, anxiety stuff, and other stuff (only briefly mentioned) (Not entirely sure if all these account, but I just did so to make sure. I’m new to this :p) Also, I’m not a very good writer, so I apologize that it’s bad :V

----------------- Kori Anderson, a man around his late 20’s or early 30’s, constantly in a tired state. No one knew why, other than that he worked the night shift at some restaurant as the security guard.

You’d probably think that night shifts are pretty easy, right? Who’d want to break into a restaurant meant for kids? Well, that’s what everyone else thought, but those that work in the industry, specifically previous night guards and the manager, know that the place was more dangerous than it seemed.

No, no one broke in, unless it was the rebellious teenagers that broke in every now and then to prove it wasn’t dangerous or to just chill and smoke whatever they had on hand, but they were always caught and dragged out of the place. But this isn’t what had Kori in a constant tired state.

Ever since he started working at the restaurant, Kori was more paranoid than usual and started suffering from insomnia, struggling to get any rest at all when able to, even with medication. The bumps in the night, the constant fear for one’s life, the stress of being in the dark, it all got to him.

He was already a frail man; a thin body that had no muscles, looking like he starves himself to near death. He doesn’t though. He can’t explain why he’s so thin, but it’s whatever. Not like it’s killing him.

Today’s the day, Kori thought, staring at the restaurant’s front entrance. Today’s the day I quit. The day I finally leave.

Kori had been wanting to leave the night shift for some time now, not able to handle the constant state of fear he had to deal with each time.

Although it did provide something eventful in his bland life, it wasn’t the kind of excitement he was looking for. If it was affecting him negatively, it wasn’t something he wanted.

Taking a deep breath, he walked inside, instantly hearing the loud chattering and squealing of children, smelling the mix of junk food and sweat. Air conditioning must be broken...again.

He walked past the front desk that occupied the main entrance, going to where all the fun was happening, stepping back before he got run over by some kids running around playing tag.

Looking around, it was obviously packed. It’s the middle of summer, meaning school has yet to be in session, so this was bound to happen. Kori feels bad for all the work the janitor’s will have to go through. But that isn’t the main focus right now. All he has to do is find the manager.

He walks around, keeping an eye on his surroundings while looking for the manager, Mx. Richardson. The loud music blaring through the speakers mixing with the constant chattering and screaming, it all gave him a headache. He couldn’t stand it. The more he looked around, the more panic he felt the longer he was in such a crowded area.

Breathe...it’ll be alright, just breathe-

“Mr. Anderson?”

Kori stopped and looked behind him, seeing a person half his size. Their dark hair was under a black hat with the restaurant’s logo on it, dark brown eyes staring at him with confusion and shock. It’s not like Kori to be seen outside during the day, seeing as he’s more of a night owl, and an introvert.

“O-oh, uh...Mx. Richardson…” Kori stuttered, feeling a little embarrassed. He must’ve walked by them without noticing.

“Is there something you need, Mr. Anderson?” Richardson asked. They quickly noticed his nervous posture, his hands shaking as he fiddled with them.

“Yes, uhh… I wanted to...talk to you..?” He stated, sounding more like a question.

Mx. Richardson nodded and motioned him to follow, which he obliged. They went into the storage room, seeing as it was the closest room to them.

Kori sighed, taking deep breaths, thankful he was now out of the crowded area. He hated going outside during the day, especially in the summer.

Kori took another deep breath before looking at Mx. Richardson, who was closing the door behind them before looking at Kori. “Is everything okay?” They asked softly.

He nodded, taking his time to gain his composure. “Y-yes, I...I just…” He started choking up on his words, his nerves getting to him. Come on, Kori, you practiced this hundreds of times, don’t screw it up now!

“I...quit.” He said slowly.

Mx. Richardson blinked, processing his statement, but understood exactly why he wanted to. They knew what the night shift was like, though not through personal experience, but saw the recordings from the security cameras. They knew this was about to come, but it surprised them that it took him this long to call it quits, seeing everything he went through. They’re surprised he hasn’t gone to therapy yet.

“Is that what you want to do?” Richardson asked, holding their clipboard close to their chest.

Kori nodded, too afraid to talk in case it was to fail him. They took a deep breath, then looked up at Kori, understanding evident in their eyes.

“I understand, but may I suggest a better option?”

Kori tilted his head, confused, before giving them a nod to continue.

“One more night. That’s all I ask. I’ll still provide you your full week’s payment, because I know you’re struggling with money right now. After tonight, you won’t have to come here anymore. I’ll have someone take your place by then, I promise.”

Kori closes his eyes, anxiety starting to build up. He didn’t want to stay there another night, but...the offer was tempting… He was struggling on cash, barely being able to pay for his rent on time and keep food on his table...but was it worth it?

After some thinking, he decided to go with it. It’s just one more night...it should be fine.

“Okay…” he mumbled.

Mx. Richardson smiles and gives his arm a pat. “Thank you. Also, I’ll throw in some free therapy your way. I know you need it.”

Kori gives them a tired smile before making his way home, quickly leaving the place before his panic settles back in again. By the time he makes it home, he collapses onto his couch, groaning into a pillow.

“Just one more night…”, he mumbled. “One more, and I’m free...everything’s fine...everything...is fine…” he reassures himself before falling asleep for the first time in a long while.

-11:47 pm, Thursday 27th.

He arrives at the restaurant, staring at the doors. Instead of dread and fear filling up his senses, he feels...relaxed. More relaxed than usual. Yes, he’s still stressed, but knowing that this was his last night working here helped him calm down. Taking a deep breath, he unlocks the doors and makes his way in, locking the doors shut behind him.

The place is spooky at night, seeing as it’s a large place with many places to hide. Although it’s not exactly the easiest place to break into, it certainly is easy to hide. The security during the day isn’t exactly the greatest. Then again, there are a lot of distractions at that time, so anything can slip out of view.

Taking out his flashlight from his belt on his uniform, he turns it on and makes his way through the building. The security office isn’t too far away, it’s quite literally the place in between the two separate halls that lead straight into the main party area, where the main attraction usually is.

You’re probably asking yourself “what’s the main attraction?” Well, I’ll tell ya. It’s not animatronics! The main attraction, or attractions, are of various people. Sometimes there are animatronics, but they don’t stay at the restaurant. Instead, they’re brought in by people who made them for their turn in entertaining the guests.

The usual entertainers consist of bands, clowns, magicians, and so on. So, in a way, this place is meant for all ages! It just so happens to attract parents who want to just drop their kids off so they could entertain themselves and let them have a break. Mostly.

What ends up actually causing Kori all this stress is that something, or someone, has been making so much ruckus in the building, and he can’t find them at all. It’s been happening for months and it was stressing him out. Thing is, he doesn’t find anything wrong! Nothing’s broken, nothing’s altered, it’s all as it should be, and it’s driving him mad!

When entering his office, he looks around carefully. The monitors are placed on the wall, posters of the common entertainers plastered on the back wall behind where you sit, balloons tied up on the leg of the table where the computer resides, everything as it normally is. Except, however, there’s a cupcake with a note beside it.

Tilting his head, he walks over to the desk after turning the lights and fan on, turning the flashlight off and setting it down on the table. Carefully, he picks up the note and unfolds it, now seeing that it was a letter from Mx. Richardson.

“I hope tonight goes well! Here’s a cupcake to help you feel better. Your favorite! ~R”

Kori smiles and looks at the cupcake. Yep, it was indeed his favorite: a vanilla cupcake with chocolate icing. Call him basic, but you can’t argue it’s a good combo. It even has some edible sprinkles shaped like stars!

He takes a seat and turns on the monitors, leaning back and taking a deep breath. Slowly, he unhooks his water bottle from his belt and takes a drink before setting it on his desk.

Checking the time, he notices he still has five minutes before his shift officially starts. He didn’t realize he left earlier than he intended, he just wanted to get this night done and over with. And before you get your shoes all wet, yes, he does have a job he can go to after this one. Better pay too, surprisingly. It’s a much simpler and safer job than being a night guard.

Although he has five minutes to spare, he decides to not really do anything out of the ordinary. Not like he really wanted to either, he’d rather stay in that room until the clock screams that it’s morning. Although, the only thing “out of the ordinary” he’s doing right now is eating the cupcake. At least starting to, he’s not exactly a fast eater.

A few hours pass by, and everything is running smoothly. No bumps, no jumps, just...quiet. It put Kori a little on edge, as it wasn’t something he was used to, but he was thankful it was running smoothly. That was, until he heard a crash from one of the camera sections.

He jumps up and looks at the monitors, seeing nothing but a blur slip out of view. This is new… He thought. Although he’s not new to people breaking in, this experience was. Usually people breaking in take it slow and quiet, never the brute force way.

Quickly, he scans all the cameras to see where they could be while trying to keep his breathing in check at the same time. It was difficult, but thankfully, this person wasn’t really trying to be very quiet. From the looks of things, it seemed that whoever this person was was making their way to the storage room. Why there out of all places?

After confirming that was indeed their destination, he takes a quick drink of his water and grabs his flashlight, leaving his half-eaten cupcake on the table and makes his way into the main room, scanning the area. He hates how dark the place gets, especially when he’s looking for something. The fact that he can’t just turn the lights makes him more tense.

Looking around, he finally spots the storage room, but sees that it hasn’t been opened or fiddled with. Narrowing his eyes, he decides he should go check the location the person broke into to see the damage, but stops when hearing movement behind him. He turns around, shining his light in the direction, only to see nothing.

Panic started to set in, but he knew he had to keep himself calm and quiet. If he were to yell out, it could startle them, and he doesn’t know how they’d react when startled. Would they run away? Would they retaliate and try to hit him? He didn’t know, and he didn’t feel like taking the risk.

Turn after turn, bump after bump, Kori was spinning in circles. He felt surrounded, but he knew there was only one person causing this movement. It felt crazy to him how fast they were moving, he didn’t know how to react. His breath started to pick up, struggling to keep it at a slow pace. He felt nauseous, like he was going to faint, but just before he was able to turn around behind him after hearing another sound, he was pushed to the ground, causing him to scream out, dropping his flashlight.

He tried getting up, but there was a weight on his back, preventing him from doing so. He wiggled and thrashed, struggling to get out of their grasp, but to no success. He stopped when feeling a firm hand press against the back of his head, feeling the pressure lean forward as the figure leans down to speak into his ear in a low, deep voice.

“Don’t. Move.”

Kori freezes in place, holding his breath. He didn’t know what else he could do other than comply. He couldn’t break out of their hold, and he definitely couldn’t fight back. He’s as thin as a twig! No way he could get out of this one. He also couldn’t just run away either, thanks to his stamina not being the greatest.

He waited what felt like hours, nothing but the sound of heavy breathing coming from the both of them. From what Kori could tell, this person was strong, he could feel their hand flex every now and again, keeping his head on the ground so he couldn’t move his head to look. Not like he’d be able to anyways, it’s really dark, the only light coming from the flashlight that rolled out of reach when dropped.

Suddenly, he feels something sharp poke his neck, causing him to jump. Am I being drugged?

Before he could say or do anything, he felt his entire body go numb in an instant, exhaustion taking hold. Must be one hell of a drug.

The weight on his back slowly got up and moved to the side, snatching the keys off Kori’s belt and going to the storage room. Kori was barely able to keep hold of consciousness, struggling to push himself off the ground. Slowly, he crawled to his flashlight, going to reach for it until he saw it get kicked away from reach, it being the same person from before. He went to look up, but felt a sharp pain as the figure gripped his hair tightly and dragged him up, moving to look him in the eye.

Having one eye closed due to pain, he struggled to look at the figure in front of him, now able to see their face. They had fierce, sharp eyes, a mask tightly covering their nose and mouth that went all the way around half their face, a mixture of light and dark hair swept to the side in a clean cut, a small wave-like texture being provided. A low, deep voice, presumably sound male, but Kori didn’t want to judge, spoke in a slow and somewhat mocking manner, their eyes crinkling as if they were smiling- no, smirking.

“See you next time, Anders.” Before dropping him to the ground, making Kori unconscious.

-8:29 am, Friday 28th.

Kori groaned, slowly regaining consciousness. His whole body felt sore, a headache taking over his head. When he woke up, he saw Mx. Richardson looking relieved, as well as another person standing behind them, someone he doesn’t recognize.

“Thank goodness you’re okay!” Richardson exclaimed, adjusting Kori in a more comforting manner to lean against the wall. They quickly ordered the new person to get some water, watching them run off before returning with a cup. The manager quickly took it and held it up to Kori’s lips, helping him drink slowly. “What happened? Did someone break in?”

“Andi, let him breathe,” the one standing said. They were wearing some faded out jeans and a white t-shirt, a blue and black hoodie to accompany it. Their hair was pulled back into a tight braid, seemed to be the fishtail kind, it also had various pastel colors mixed into it, providing a unique look.

Kori took a moment, gaining his senses again. His mind felt scattered, confused. Why did they break in? What did they take? What was so important in the storage room?

“There, they...someone…” Kori started, feeling out of breath. Andi helped try to keep him calm, telling him to take his time. “They...took something…” “What did they take?” They ask, tensing up slightly. They hoped it wasn’t something they thought it was…

“I don’t know… They went into the...storage room…” He whispers, motioning towards it.

Andi nodded, moving his face to look at them. “Okay, don’t worry about it, okay? I’ll deal with this. You’re free now, okay? You don’t have to work here. I’ll email your payment tonight, okay? It’s been doubled, no, tripled. Whatever you do, don’t tell anyone what happened, okay? This is between me, you, and Ena.”

Kori nodded, though not completely understanding why. It was probably something only Andi was supposed to know, and now since himself and Ena, who he assumes is going to be the new night guard, are aware something was stolen, they don’t want theories spreading around and potentially closing the business. He didn’t know if it really was that bad, but he doesn’t want to risk it.

After helping him calm down, Andi asked Ena to help Kori get his stuff and send him home. While they were off doing that, Andi went into the storage room and took a look around. It was a mess, like someone was in a hurry, or looking for something hidden. When they found that a specific secret compartment was forcibly open, Andi froze. Their fear becoming a reality.

They stole the business hard drive.

3077 words

#writing prompt #story #improvised story #original character #original characters #oc story #night guard #criiimes #short story #one shot #Mask's Writing Prompts

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saruma-aki · 4 years

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some thoughts on bakugou’s character

i made the unfortunate (for my health) decision to try my hand again at BNHA because i love some of the characters even if the story stresses me out to the point of panic. while reading the first handful of chapters, though, something occurred to me when i came across the breakdown of bakugou’s quirk and person amongst the pages of the book. it was such a small thing, but it got me thinking. a small note from the author and i began pondering:

“although he can control the flow of sweat to an extent, his glands still retain their original function, meaning that bakugo is explosively strong in the summer and a slow starter in the winter!”

what caught my attention, really, was that his glands retain their original function. because, and hear me out here, if his glands retain their original function, and we’ve seen how happy bakugou was as a kid before his quirk manifested, can his anger and angry demeanor be strongly influenced by biological, genetic, psychological factors?

see, the human stress response, we all know, initiates the state of fight or flight (or freeze). when the body goes into stress response mode, the heart rate inscreases, stress hormones get produced, breathing increases, and body temperature increases, and we sweat. when i saw that his glands function as normal and bakugou can control the flow of sweat to an extent, it made me think. bakugou’s stress response would function the same as others, so could his body have, when his quirk manifested, plunged itself into a state of low level permanent stress to accommodate for a quirk that requires sweat production to be used.

it also made me think about stress as a whole and how bakugou responds to it, then. because, whether you agree or not with how he responds to stimuli and his emotions, we can all agree that bakugou is a highly emotional individual. this made me wonder if bakugou, genetically programmed to have this quirk, also is genetically programmed to be more sensitive to stress.

this would fall under the realm of gene expression (and epigenentics). as a source of inspiration that motivated this consideration, i took a discussion i had with a psychologist and pondered it. we had discussed the rwandan genocide and how the women who were pregnant during it gave birth to children who were sensitive to stress because the mothers were under a vast amount of stress during the time they were pregnant.

this made me look over at bakugou mitsuki, an undeniably emotional and high stress individual. she is as irritable as her son bakugou katsuki, and she’s always been that way, according to bakugou masaru. so would it be implausible to assume that she was the same way while pregnant with bakugou? no.

now, naturally, the conditions don’t match the severity of living through a genocide, but we can agree that both mitsuki and katsuki have a level of response to situations that people wouldn’t consider entirely normal—too big and emotional to be the standard way of functioning, even if mitsuki’s can be calmer than katsuki ever is.

but pregnancy is a highly emotional and stress filled time and process already. mix in bakugou mitsuki’s dominant, loud, high stress persona and it’s not implausible to assume that her stress levels would’ve been irrationally high. this high stress level, along with bakugou’s quirk which is, obviously, coded on a genetic level, could’ve activated the stress genes during prenatal development and contributed to his personality.

initially, it presents itself with him as a leader troublemaker, controlling his environment while also getting involved in situations that trigger the stress response, have his blood pumping and heart racing, have him sweating and excited—a good outlet for the sensitivity to stress he has. children seek environments that help with their genetic predispositions (as supplied by the nature via nurture debate), so it makes sense that bakugou, as an innocent child, would’ve just automatically sought out stimulating activity to deal with the sensitivity to stress, especially since a non-stimulating, stress free environment wouldn’t have been possible living with someone like bakugou mitsuki. create the stress yourself and you can control the response, enjoy the feeling instead of dreading it.

then, perhaps, when his quirk manifested, the natural need for the stress response to be a hairsbreadth from being activated always took his environment and turned it into one he couldn’t control as successfully anymore. the stress then becomes perpetual and uncontrollable, fostering a volatile personality. his home life isn’t a help to coping with the stress, and children learn by example—he observes what works for his mother, the only other high stress individual he has to model himself after, even if she’s not as harsh as he is always, and mimics it (whether consciously or unconsciously). this, naturally, puts him at odds with his mother since like forces repel (increasing the stress).

take this sensitivity to stress and mix it with constant praise and high expectations that everyone possesses for him, something usually stressful for even the most sound individuals. how does one cope with that? reach the goals so the expectations will be met and no one will say anything anymore. the other option is to destroy the opinion, but with a quirk so powerful and such a personality, the stress of ostracizing himself like that and dealing with the fear and resentment that would then be directed at him would be equally, if not more, stressful. so he aims high.

he aims for number one, wanting to be a hero that doesn’t waver, who smiles in victory and seems at ease. people can’t expect more when you’re number one. he can control his environment at number one, like when he was younger—be at the top and eliminate the variables. being a hero? recreates the feel of his childhood, a justification for the stress response, making it enjoyable instead of detrimental.

this also might explain his violent reactions to midoriya (and everyone else, subsequently). bakugou’s permanent response to the easy stress response he has is to choose fight over flight or freeze. and if his stress response is genetically predisposed to being trigger happy, his responses to everything are violent and loud, contributing to his highly emotional demeanor. the stress might also contribute to his already pretty obvious fear of failure, making him view others and everyone as a potential hindrance and danger, a contributor to a potential failure that has yet to manifest. this can be evidenced by his response when midoriya offers his hand that “one fateful day”—a gesture of aid, regardless of whether midoriya actually pitied or felt sorry for bakugou, or whether it was just bakugou’s interpretation, warped into something negative, someone looking down on him because they feel they can do better, because they have a feeling bakugou will fail, his fear, his anxiety, and there’s the stress response triggered. it can also explain his desire to crush those he considers weaker, putting himself on a veritable throne if only to stave off and then justify the response to situations.

after a bit, it becomes second nature, this response to the world around him. once a way to control the stress and anxiety, it becomes an ingrained mentality that he’s too accustomed and tired to rectify. and it’s only in UA that he’s being forced to find different ways to cope with the psychological and biological effects of his quirk because the variables refuse to be controlled and he keeps having to fight for his space, for his spot, for his dream so that he can assassinate the stress placed on him by others, so heavy he’s panicking under it.

so, yeah, those were my thoughts while re-reading the beginning of the series: what if bakugou has a genetic predisposition to stress and is highly sensitive to it and has an overactive stress response due to gene expression triggered during prenatal development and due the necessity of his quirk coupled with the fact that his glands still react the same as a normal, quirk-less person? and is how he controls the flow of sweat somewhat by triggering the stress response by launching himself into fight mode with varying degrees of harshness when necessary?

i think it’s a fun and pretty solid theory, if i do say so myself.

(y’all can definitely catch me writing something that touches upon it soon because now i’m in a mood.)

#katsuki bakugou #bakugou headcanons #bnha #boku no hero academia #a small theory i have #i actually quite like it #having someone just be angry #because it matches his ability #it just seems cliche #i like this better #rooted in psychology and biology #because i mean come on #the guy with with electricity is high energy??#how about he has adhd #the guy with ice powers is cool calm and collected????#how about he has some serious trust issues due to a history of abuse and temperament developed since birth cultivated by his environment #the one that floats is super bubbly (oh how funny)#how about it’s an adopted outlook on life to cope with the difficult cards dealt out to them (like financial struggles)#and the subsequent emotional trials #the explosive character is explosively explosive because explosive #????#how about he has a genetic predisposition #and is highly sensitive to stress #due to gene expression (epigenetics) and a genetically programmed trigger happy stress response due to an explosive and powerful quirk that #relies on sweat production even though the sweat glands function as normal #this has more substance than #well yknow explosive power explosive personality makes sense good job team #no hate but maybe just a bucket of salt #a lot of writers do this and it bothers me every time so it’s not just this author—he’s done pretty well with character development recently

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