#anyone snippet

[gentrychild]

O great Owl and thou noble fic-finding rats I come because I have failed to find that which I need.

There is a work, apart of your Anyone universe, where Izuku is writing a Quirk Analysis Paper and he wakes AfO up so he can see a mutation quirk which enlarges AfO's arm. I have combed through all of Anyone and then through your side works that take place in this universe. But I found nothing.

The only thing I can think is that it was a tumblr post or a fanfic one of your blog mates wrote for you. But alas, I am still here.

In exchange I swear that if my firstborn ever starts stealing quirks I will buy all the therapists, and if that fails I will leave him to your fic-finders with no rivers in sight. And they may nibble on him for all of forever.

With reverence and sincerity, -me

I have some bad news and good news for you. The bad news is that his is something I wrote and posted on Tumblr, and you will never find it again even if you scroll through the entire Anyone tag. The good news is that you must be especially lucky as I found it by pure luck in a file I had forgotten.

----------

Izuku, sitting on his bed, books and notebooks opened on all of its surface, clicked his pen. Once, twice, thrice, the sound echoing in the silent apartment without doing anything to bring the answer the teenager desperately needed.

Usually, deadlines weren’t a problem for him. For some obscure reasons, the teachers in his high school were trusting him no matter what he did and forging his mom’s signatures to excuse his many absences had become the routine. However, he needed to finish this paper for tomorrow morning, so Hebisuga could read it and save her grade in Meta Analysis. That way, she would stop worrying so much about this subject, focus back on her Japanese, and write once again her ridiculously good flash cards that she always accepted to share with Yuuto and him.

But right now… Izuku’s brain just wasn’t cooperating.

He got up, his back protesting as he stopped hunching over for the first time in a couple of hours, and he left his bedroom. His notebook in hand, he walked past the bathroom and knocked at the door of the master bedroom, currently invaded by the bane of his existence while his blissfully ignorant mother was away.

The door opened in the second, All for One appearing in front of him, his hair messy and his face showing the trace of the pillow but no sign of sleepiness. The villain was one of those persons who immediately passed from sleep to alertness while Izuku needed three cups of coffee to be semi-conscious.

“What is it?” the villain asked. “Did you-“

“Show me your mutation quirks, please. Preferably the one that can offer some kind of protection.”

“What makes you think that-“                                                                       

Izuku clicked his pen once again and just stared at the quirk-stealing-fiend.

All for One finally obliged, making his arm grow in size, muscles growing until it had gruesomely swollen up, and he even added some spear-like bones. Bewildered, he answered every questions Izuku had about the drawbacks, the weight, how much he could still move his arm, and so on.

Because if analyzing quirks was his passion and could become a job, words in a book didn’t mean anything to Izuku. He needed to ask questions, to make theories, to see them in action.

Once he was done and had all the elements he needed, he thanked All for One and walked back to his room without offering any explanation. But of course, his roommate didn’t need one.

“Did you just use me to finish your homework? At three AM?”

[ciderjacks]

thinking again about how much trust he had to have in Laios to recommend his own daughter in case he dies

[ghostlysoaps]

There's a bit of a misconception in regards to who the worst culprit is when it comes to hoarding their boyfriend's clothes. See... Johnny does borrow Simon's sweatshirts and pyjamas bottoms occasionally but only ever in the comfort of Simon's room. Because he knows his lieutenant is particular with his belongings. Possessive of them, to a point, and Johnny is certainly cautious not to overstep. He's finally been let in close enough to see all the softest parts of him, and he'd hate to betray that trust over something as trivial as a hoodie – no matter how comfortable it is.

A couple months into their clandestine relationship, after spending his morning being gawked at and whispered about and his lunch with what felt like the entirety of the mess hall's eyes on him, Johnny is at his wits end.

Hellbent on commendeering a corner of the runner's track to burn off the anxious energy, he stumbles straight into Ghost.

Ghost who is training the newest batch of recruits. Ghost, who is huddled into a jacket roughly his size. Ghost, who has the text SGT. MACTAVISH written in all caps over his shoulder blades and who is definitely grinning at him from beneath his balaclava.

[limboni]

"Children in the woods" 5/5

<- Previous

[demaparbat-hp]

Oh, Lala...

[assortedcriminality]

snippet #1 - thursday

Civilian had been standing on the doorstep of one of the most wanted criminals in the city for more than ten minutes now. Their right hand was in a fist, as though they were about to knock, but were stuck in a loop of perpetual hesitation. In their left they clutched an unmarked envelope.

They closed their eyes and took a deep breath. Just knock, they told themself. Get it over with and fucking knock.

But they’d only just raised their fist and swung it towards the door when it flew open, revealing only darkness. From inside, an aggressive hand grabbed Civilian’s wrist and pulled them into the shadowed hall. They yelped, the sound instantly silenced as fingers closed around their throat and their back slammed into a wall. The door closed ominously behind them, seemingly on its own.

“Villain, please-“ Civilian choked out before the criminal’s grip tightened and their words were cut off.

“You come to my personal address, stand at the door for ten minutes, and then call me Villain?” They hissed. “Who the hell are you?”

“I…I’m a m-messenger.” Their voice came in gasps as they struggled for air, right hand tugging ineffectively at Villain’s arm.

“For who?” Villain’s eyes were cold, unforgiving.

They couldn’t breathe. They couldn’t think. They could barely even manage to whisper the two syllables they needed. “Hero.”

The fingers disappeared from their neck. Civilian collapsed to the floor, coughing violently. Every shaky inhale hurt, pain radiating from their abused throat. That was going to leave a bruise.

A light flickered on, illuminating the entrance hall. Villain leaned casually against the door and looked down at their uninvited guest. “So… you work for Hero.”

They nodded, wincing at the discomfort the sudden movement caused. “I’m their assistant.”

The criminal snorted. “Do they even pay you for that?”

Civilian glanced up in surprise, momentarily forgetting about the pain. “What? Of course they do. It’s a full-time job.”

“I suppose you just wait hand and foot all day long?” Villain asked with a raised eyebrow, voice dripping with disdain. “Do all their paperwork and feed them peeled grapes?”

They flushed, standing up and brushing dust off of their pants. “I didn’t come here to be insulted. Or strangled, for that matter. Hero sent me with a message for you.”

“My sincerest apologies, Mx. Hero’s Assistant.” Villain crossed their arms, annoyed. “Why didn’t they come pay me a visit themself?”

“…I guess they’re busy today,” Civilian said, massaging the side of their neck. “I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter. They said to give this to you.” They held out the envelope.

Suspicion crossed the criminal’s face, but they took it and flipped it over. It was secured with a wax seal imprinted with Hero’s famous insignia. The seal was perfectly intact. “You haven’t read this?”

The assistant shook their head. “Hero told me it was for your eyes only.”

After a moment of hesitation, Villain broke the wax and pulled a folded piece of ivory stationary out of the envelope.

Dear Villain,

I’m holding up my end of the deal. This is Civilian, my assistant. I heard you need a hostage for next Thursday. Feel free to use them. I think you two will get along. Oh, and you can threaten and maim them, of course, but I’d prefer you didn’t cause them fatal harm. They make a damn good cup of coffee, and I’d hate to deprive the world of that. Looking forward to rescuing them from your clutches ;)

The message was signed with Hero’s insignia. Villain stared at the crisp, professional handwriting for a full minute, rereading it at least four times to make sure they understood. When they’d bargained with Hero and asked for help with a scheme, this kind of assistance wasn’t exactly what they had in mind. But they couldn’t not accept it, Hero would flip out, and their rivalry was already on thin ice. Even though they were a terrible person, Villain couldn’t afford to lose them as a nemesis. Their credibility as a high-tier villain would take a big hit. It wasn’t like-

“Can I go now?” Civilian asked tentatively, interrupting the criminal’s train of thought. “Sorry, it’s just that I have a ton of work to get to today, and Hero doesn’t like it when I’m late on assignments.”

Villain sighed, turning the lock on the door. “No, apparently. Look, I’m really sorry about this, but you can’t leave. At least, not until Thursday.”

The new captive blinked. “What? Wh-no, I’m not staying here, are you crazy? Why would I do that?”

“Your boss just got you involved in our…feud,” they hedged. “It’s complicated, but we made a deal, and for some reason, they gave me… you… for their end.”

“What?” Civilian yelped. “No! They wouldn’t—why would they-?”

“I’m sorry, Civilian.” They took a step forward, spreading their hands. “I have no idea why your boss does half the things they do. They’re a completely different person when they’re not around the press or anyone they work with.”

Civilian stepped back. “How do you know my name?”

Villain looked down at the paper in their hand as if they’d forgotten it was there. “Oh. It was in the letter-“

“Give me that.” They snatched the letter out of Villains hand before they could protest, eyes scanning the page. When they finished reading, they slowly looked up. Their expression was deadly calm. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“Civilian, I didn’t have anything-“

“They said you could maim me-“

“-they’re insane, I-“

“-damn good cup of coffee-“

“-not my fault-“

“-can’t believe this-“

“Civilian!” Villain finally shouted, taking their captive’s hands. Civilian flinched instinctively, jerking away from the criminal. They stared at the floor, Hero’s letter held tightly in their fist.

Villain cursed themself internally. “I’m sorry, I really am. I wish I could let you go.”

“So do it.” Civilian wouldn’t meet their gaze. “Nothing’s stopping you.”

“You don’t understand, Civilian,” they pleaded. “I need to stay Hero’s nemesis, otherwise my career would be over. If I let you go, Hero would instantly cut me off.”

Civilian struggled for words. What could they say? It was clear that Hero didn’t care about them. Hell, they’d orchestrated this whole thing. Villain didn’t have anything to do with it, save their criminal nature. But they had nearly killed Civilian earlier, which lost them some points.

They looked up at Villain and sighed when they saw the expression on their ‘captor’s’ face.

“Fine. Fine. I’ll stay until Thursday.”

Villain’s face broke into a relieved smile. “Okay. Good. I have a spare room you can stay in. Just make me a list of everything you need and I’ll get it for you.”

“Can I use your phone?” they asked. “People will worry if I don’t text them back for three days.”

“You don’t have yours?”

“Hero said to leave it behind.”

Villain snorted, pulling their phone out of their pocket and unlocking it with a press of their thumb before handing it over. “Typical.”

“I’m quitting on Friday,” Civilian mumbled as they typed out a brief message to their friends and family that they were taking a break from screens for a little while.

“I’m not sure Hero would take that well.”

Civilian gave the phone back, looking straight into Villain’s eyes. “Well, that’s not my problem. None of this is my problem.”

“I know. I’m sorry you got mixed up in all this. Hero should know better than to involve regular people in our business. This is between me and them.” Villain’s gaze was intense, inescapable. “I promise I won’t do anything to hurt you. I’ll do what I can to… make it up to you, somehow.”

The two stared at each other in silence for a moment.

Civilian was the first to break it. “Well, I’m still pissed at you for throttling me, so you’d better get started on that now,” they said, brushing past Villain into the apartment beyond the front hall. “Where’s my room?”

Some of the tension dissipated from the air. Villain let out a nervous laugh, following a few steps behind their ‘hostage’ and trying to school themself back into their normal, devil-may-care self. “Uh, second door on the left. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. I’m going out for a few hours, but I’ll order something for dinner. Is Chinese okay?”

“Sure,” came the response, ridiculously casual considering the situation.

“Okay.” Villain made sure Civilian would be fine on their own before gathering themself and heading out the door, locking it securely behind them. They pulled their hood over their head, lingering on the doorstep for a minute to take a deep breath and think through their plans. There was a lot to do before Thursday.

word count: 1464

part II

[stevebabey]

coming soon my sweet peas 🫶

edit; here ya go, one order of tooth-rotting fluff

[frostfishy]

waug

+ bonus sols

[gentrychild]

Happy New Years Gentry!! Question, how did the Anyone crew spend the New Years?

They didn't run through the portal as much as urgency propelled them through it. They emerged on the beach in a fit of sorrowful howling, varied cries of pain and one high-pitched-shriek made of the panic one could only feel during a close call with death while having to keep moving in order not to make that encounter permanent.

Izuku, though, didn't utter a sound, because he was cold-headed, professional, and slightly on fire.

Well, very on fire. The only thing separating him from third degree burns was the speed at which he was moving and even then, his entire back felt very hot and he was a second away of having his hair catching fire before he threw himself into the sea. At the same time, one of the Todoroki brothers made a noise of concern and his Todoroki iced him. While the sudden ice cube soothed the warm spots over his skin, which was always appreciated, finding his way back over the surface got slightly more complicated and Izuku had to use Float to emerge.

On the beach, Todoroki was face down in the sand and showed no intention to move. Kurogiri and Dabi, covered in mud from head to toes, had somehow managed to crash into each other and were trying to disentangle themselves, but the process was made quite complex by the fact that Hawks was half sitting, half lying on top of them, while clutching an also covered in mud Nagisa.

The spider hacker, wearing a once red cocktail dress, was clutching the silver briefcase with both her arms and legs, and she was generally communicating her intent to die before any of the security detail they had left in the jungle could get their hands on it.

This was why Nagisa was Izuku's favorite member of Anyone.

"Make some noise if you're alive," Izuku called as he removed his now ruined jacket. Not that he was regretting it. So many people had mistaken him for a deaged All for One at this party that he had sworn to himself to destroy that suit at the first occasion.

Everyone grunted, which was encouraging.

"Anyone injured?"

No response. Which was perfect. Izuku just had to secure the briefcase in the vault downstairs, take a hour long shower, and he would ordered pizza.

The teenager was about to do just that when he marked a pause. He hesitated.

He felt like he was forgetting something. Something important. Something that should have been really obvious.

Todoroki raised his head from the hole in the beach his head had created and started to count the people present here. A first time. A second time. A third time. He squinted, obviously not liking the math, then sighed.

"We forgot All for One there."

Oh.

Well, this was why Todoroki was Izuku's other favorite member of Anyone.

"He will be fine," Kurogiri decided, before putting the back on his head back on the sand and presumably passing out from exhaustion.

"Yes," Hawks confirmed. "I am sure he is having fun. That quirked alligator didn't look like it was biting him too hard."

Izuku felt himself fall on the beach, which was a conscious decision and not his legs giving out.

"And he's always boasting about his quirks," Izuku added. "He won't take him more than a couple of weeks to fly back to Japan."

Everyone nodded.

At the same time, fireworks exploded in the sky, filling the world with color. The fine members of Anyone stared at it in silence, their heads empty of any thought, just admiring the pretty colors.

"Happy New Year," Nagisa said in a trembling voice.

[girlsdads]

tagged by @annebd for WIP wednesday friday... instead of a WIP snippet have something that i don't really know what else to do with but i didn't hate so :-)

Max’s phone lights up with Daniel’s name while he’s sitting in hospitality the morning of race day. It’s face-up on the arm of the sofa—Max watches as it catches the eye of Lawson next to him. Possessiveness rises like bile in his throat. He snatches the phone as quickly as he can, cradles it to his chest like that would erase the letters of Daniel’s name from Lawson’s memory.

“Whatever, mate,” Lawson quips, rolling his eyes. Like anyone was talking to him, anyway. Like Max gives a fuck if he’s here or not. Like they’re mates, and he’s not someone Max is contractually obligated to be cordial to.

“Clean up your crumbs, when you are finished,” Max says as he stands, sweeping his gaze pointedly over the spray of chocolate chip muffin debris covering Lawson’s lap and the sofa cushion beside him. He doesn’t wait for Lawson’s response before stalking from the room. He thinks about the stacks of keto-friendly protein bars going stale back in his motorhome and hates Lawson that much more.

Max waits until he’s closed the motorhome door behind him to open Daniel’s text.

It’s stupid, he knows, to want to do this in private. Everyone knows he talks to Daniel still, probably no one would think it strange or pathetic for Max to be texting him now. Daniel had said—Max had known he wouldn’t be here, this weekend, or any weekend. Max understands, in his own way, despite how bereft he always feels, during.

But. It is a race day and Daniel is texting him. Daniel hasn’t texted on a race weekend since, well—since. He had facetimed the day after Brazil, relaxed and happy and congratulating Max from New York. They keep a running conversation during off weeks, Daniel sending picture after picture of himself with arms around his friends, some Max knows, some he doesn’t. Max saves the photos to a hidden folder on his phone, crops them all so it’s only Daniel. Sometimes it leaves him missing an arm, or two, but he can’t stand to see Daniel with all these people who aren’t Max. In turn, Max sends him videos of the cats, memes he hopes will make Daniel laugh, updates on the funny-looking bird that has been building a nest on Max’s balcony.

(That’s my—what’s the little animal friend that witches have—my familiar, Maximus! I sent him to watch over you, obviously. Be nice to him.) That message had gone into the secret folder, too.

Race weekends are radio silence. Max has come to terms with that, knows it isn’t personal, that it’s an open wound Daniel is nursing. So for Daniel to reach out, today of all days, Max can’t help the stab of yearning in his belly. It could be an important day, for Max, maybe Daniel decided—maybe he’s said he’s hopped a plane, he’s driving out from LA, he’ll be here before the chequered flag—

Max couldn’t bear it if anyone else were around, if that’s not what Daniel’s message says. Even alone, he feels like a hermit crab that’s outgrown its shell, hope leaving him soft-bellied and vulnerable.

He swipes open his and Daniel’s message chain.

Daniel’s not coming to Vegas. At least, that’s not what he’s texted.

The text is a picture. Max’s eyes are drawn immediately to Daniel, though he’s only in about one quarter of the frame. If he was trying to take a selfie, he did not do such a good job--it's mostly a shot of the dusty-red ground, Daniel's beautiful face peeking in from the top corner. He’s wearing his dirt biking clothes, sweat darkening the pits of his long sleeves where his arm is lifted to make a thumbs-up. His pinky still doesn't quite fold in next to the rest of his fingers. Max wants to kiss the careful bend of his knuckle.

It's a few long moments before Max even registers what's etched into the earth behind Daniel. It is very obvious, then, why Daniel is sending this now. There in the California dirt, Daniel has used a stick or maybe even one of his long, lovely fingers to write 3 + 1 = 4. A wobbly heart is drawn around the whole thing.

Max is infinitely grateful for the lack of prying eyes as he sinks slowly to the floor. He draws his knees up to his chest and cradles the phone in cupped hands, as if the message will be sucked back into the ether if he grips too tightly. He lightly taps to full-screen the image, zooms in on Daniel's face. The soft, almost awkward smile is the same one Max has only ever seen directed at him. He knows this, because he's spent years cataloguing Daniel's interactions with others, longing and longing. Daniel never makes that face at anyone else.

Max's phone buzzes as another text comes through. Daniel's hands reaching through the wire to squeeze Max's heart until it leaks out between his fingers.

Always cheering for you, Max. Give 'em hell for me.

[livesincerely]

Jack’s hauling all six feet of Davey’s deadweight back to his car, trying to shove his lanky, drunken, noodle limbs into the passenger seat—Jesus Christ, he really is all leg, ain’t he?—when Davey kisses him.

Jack freezes. Goes perfectly still, frozen in place, as panic pierces his chest like a shot to the heart.

Because Davey is drunk, drunker than drunk, really, his mouth warm and soft and a little sloppy against his own. He tastes like salt and tequila and that last round of fireball shots Racetrack ordered for the table, tastes like everything Jack’s ever wanted and nothing he’s allowed to have.

Davey makes soft, unhappy noise in the back of his throat, then loops clumsy arms around Jack’s neck and tugs him closer: stubborn, insistent, and drunk, so fucking drunk, because Jack knows better than to think he’d ever do this sober.

But he smells so good—like coconut conditioner and the fancy fabric softener he insists on and Davey—and he fits so perfectly in Jack’s arms and he’s kissing Jack like he wants him. Right here in the parking lot, half in and half out of the passenger seat of Jack’s car, with nothing but the buzzing street lamps overhead to notice Jack’s heart cracking into tiny little pieces.

Davey sighs against his lips, his fingers curling gently around the nape of his neck, and Jack knows.

Knows he shouldn’t. Knows it’s a mistake. Knows that Davey—clever, gorgeous, wonderful Davey—won’t remember this in the morning, and Jack will never, not ever forget.

But he’s only human. He’s just a man, hopelessly in love with his best friend.

And for just a moment, he kisses him back.

00000

Jack forces himself to pull away. Davey looks up at him with big, blue pleading eyes, his mouth wet and red and perfect, his cheeks pink from the rasp of Jack’s stubble.

“Why’d you stop?” Davey mumbles, a swirly curl of hair falling over his forehead. Jack’s heart skips in his chest. “You don’t want to kiss me?”

“Dave, I—“ What can he say? What can he possibly say?

He needs to apologize, needs to beg for forgiveness because Davey might be drunk off his ass but Jack absolutely is not, had a half a beer and a single shot, so there’s no excuse to fall back on. There’s no excuse for this.

Davey pats him on the shoulder with all the coordination of a wet mop head.

“‘S okay,” he says. “I don’t want to kiss you either.”

Jack’s pretty sure a baseball bat to the back of the head would hurt less.

He wants to stumble away as quickly as he can, wants to see if Kath and Sarah are still out front waiting for their Uber and if they’d take Davey home instead if he asked really, really nicely and walked away before they could ask him any questions.

Instead he sucks in a steadying breath. Carefully reaches around Davey to buckle in his seatbelt.

“There’s this guy,” Davey says, hushed like he’s sharing a secret. “I wanna kiss him all— all the time. He’s handsome and funny and way smarter than he gives himself credit for and— and he’s just the best, you know?”

Jack does not know. Jack would rather be force-fed his own liver than know any of this.

He starts manually lifting Davey’s legs into the footwells. Tucks his feet in so they don’t block the car door.

“His name’s Jack.”

Jack stops. Wonders, for just a second, if maybe someone did hit him over the head, actually, because—

Because the last ten minutes have been a fucking rollercoaster and he might have the world’s first genuine case of emotional whiplash, but—

His name is Jack.

His name is Jack, right?

[walsuf]

hey I wanna make a character with narcolepsy and I've been doing my own research but I also felt like maybe asking someone who has it and stuff and since you made that comic headcannoning SM with it (really neat btw <3) I thought that you may be comfortable sharing some experience with it (as much as you feel comfortable ofc!) so I could better understand it so I may fit it into a character myself. OBVIOUSLY YOU DONT NEED TO ACCEPT IF YOU DONT WANT TO! this is coming out of nowhere and stuff so apologies if you feel uncomfortable!

[LONG POST] Yeah! Let's talk narcolepsy! Some things that might help (ft. Shadow Milk)

First and foremost, I want to say that my experience with narcolepsy is going to be very different from other people's, and I'm mostly just going to yap about my own details. Everyone experiences their symptoms in a unique way, kinda like how every bag of fruit snacks is different. You anticipate the same stuff inside (symptoms), but one bag will have all of the colors and another might have all orange ones.

I think my biggest advice here is to not dogpile all the symptoms, just focus on what heavily affects a character the most. Sometimes that's going to be nightmarish hallucinations, sometimes their sleep attacks; for Shadow Milk, I fixate a lot on cataplexy! (Weakness is a huge thing that I struggle with personally.) Regardless of additional symptoms, excessive daytime sleepiness will always be present :p

This one might be hard, but do something that you resonate with the most. Most people have experienced sleep paralysis at least once; a lot of people with narcolepsy get sleep paralysis very often, usually accompanied by visual/audio/tactile hallucinations. Then, it becomes a matter of changing the frequency and intensity rather than making something up.

When it comes to hallucinations, they can sometimes be horrifying (and are exacerbated by sickness, lack of sleep, and general unwellness). I find that a lot of people with nightmares and frightening hallucinations tend to have those in excess; I personally almost never get those. My hallucinations are usually very minor, like seeing the lights flicker when I close my eyes, or feeling like my body is surrounded by water or gently rocking back and forth. My most frequent one (and by far the most annoying) is that coming out of sleep I hear my alarm going off or my name being called. Neither of which are actually happening.

Excessive daytime sleepiness (EDS), like everything else, presents differently in everyone. Sleep attacks are only one aspect of it---which gives a person the nearly irresistible need to sleep for seconds to sometimes hours. Some people thug them out (often they can be resisted) because they find themselves losing way more time succumbing to it. Some people fall asleep very quickly, and can be in the middle of an important thing while doing so. I've personally fallen asleep mid-lecture while writing notes, and looking back at them is... interesting (there's a thing called "automatic behaviors" you might want to look into). Personally, I don't get sleep attacks often, but they are exhausting to deal with, and make me pretty much appear and act drunk without the fun part.

My normal experience with EDS is just a general level of sleepiness following me throughout the day, like that same feeling you get while working on an essay late in the night. It's manageable, but sucks. This isn't to say I never feel alert, there are good days and bad days, but most are in this sleepy middle ground that forces me to nap twice a day (noon and afternoon) lest I get all grouchy and my speech starts to slur.

From the outside perspective, sometimes people can guess that I'm having a sleep attack or just generally sleepy before I even know. I'll be told, "you sound tired," which is almost followed up with an, "...I do???" I crash within the next ten minutes almost every time.

Cataplexy is a symptom specific to N1 (which is actually an autoimmune disease, fun fact), and also happens to be what I struggle with frequently. It has strong emotional triggers (think anxiety, anger, surprise, laughter [doesn't have to be all of those, just pick a few]) and causes a degree of weakness. This can be anything from eye twitches and difficulty holding up the neck to full body collapses. For the most part, I feel it in my hands. When I laugh, I can't write or clench my hands any more. They become useless floppy limbs until a few minutes pass and they're back to normal. I am (unfortunately) a very giggly person. Personally, my slightest attacks make my head fall forward. My most severe one had me collapsing 6 times in the course of 15 minutes, hitting my head each time. Cataplexy attacks can cause subsequent attacks to come easier, and it's difficult to break the cycle. I avoid stairs for this reason.

If you've ever experienced morning weakness, or a few minutes in the morning where its slightly more difficult to hold things and get around, that's a lot like what minor cataplexy feels like, except condensed into a short, spontaneous episode. Oh! And it's often accompanied with blurred vision (look up ptosis) and speech difficulties as well!

I don't fear any of my symptoms because that's just how I experience the world. I've always felt weakness with laughter, so I thought that was always normal. I've been frequently sleepy and assumed that I was somehow lazier than everyone else. Now, I try to listen to my body. It takes a lot of effort to stop a conversation and go to sleep because my body needs it, and it sometimes sucks to forewarn my lab partners not to tell jokes around me. Sometimes I lay down in the middle of nowhere and have random people asking if I'm okay (hate this, I'm usually too weak to respond).

All in all, just try to make it a set of circumstances that someone else lives with rather than a set of symptoms that constantly put a character into crisis mode. People with narcolepsy don't need to be babied (I sincerely hope my comics don't come off that way because they're rooted in personal experience), they can manage their symptoms just fine on their own. Self-accommodations can come off as strange or funny (bringing a blanket everywhere, wearing sunglasses to manage minor cataplexy, wrist strap on the phone so as not to drop it), but they're there for a reason.

Sorry for the tangent, I've actually been on a heavy uptick educating myself. A good place to go for life experiences would be, of course, the narcolepsy subreddit. It's a good resource for people talk rather than medical jargon. If you need any examples for how to write or depict certain symptoms, though, I would be more than happy to do that on request! (I loove writing drabbles, and I know there's almost 0 narcolepsy fics, much less any written by people who care about accuracy. I'm begging to be asked here [will probably cookie run-ify everything though])

Thank you for reading if you got this far, and I hope this helped!

[kari-go]

uh oh you said a stupid thing, time to never speak again!

[mycupofrum]

They do like their shorts short!

James Potter x Sirius Black

[shearingsheeps]

science team-tober day 8: misfire

(you can read the accompanying fic for today's prompt here!)

prompt list | science team-tober sideblog

[dirtbagdefender]

little story snippet under the cut.

"hey," steve greets him with a grin, moving aside to let him in the house like he has dozens of times. within seconds, he clues into the weird tension in the air as billy stays standing on the porch, feet planted. his smile melts away as he looks over billy's face, looking for anything that might give him insight as to why he's so tense. the only one he comes up with is that billy won't look him in the eye, his gaze focused somewhere on steve's cheek. it makes his mouth go dry instantly.

billy's got a fresh cig out and lit, a single thin finger of smoke drifting off of it. steve hates that it makes him look more dangerous. more cool. more addictive.

"what's up?" he asks, his focus narrowing. like nothing else matters, he watches billy tilt to look at the ground, pulling a thick lungful from the cigarette before coming back up to look at him - finally - in the eye.

"max told me something interesting tonight and i just needed to hear it from the horse's mouth." he starts and steve's insides all flop over at the same time, like the world has tilted.

he loses the air in his lungs, staring.

billy's talking and it feels like steve's gonna puke, but he can't look away from him. billy's eyes are dark in the night, almost as dark as his own. they remind him of a shark's, especially when billy finally grins, the tips of his teeth looking sharp as words float out with the smoke.

"so, you date me." he drawls the words out, like they've got all night to talk about this. like billy's belly isn't twisting exactly like steve's right now. "you tell me you love me." a pause and steve has to remind himself to breathe at the lightheadedness that threatens to topple him over. "and then you lie to me about it?" steve doesn't know when his eyes dipped to billy's heart like he could see he heartache for himself, as if it's not printed clear as day on billy's face.

maybe looking at a broken heart would be easier than looking at the heartbreak on his boyfriend's face.

"i didn't lie to you." he doesn't know why he says it quite like that. but it rings true. it wasn't billy he lied to. he finally moves his eyes back up to billy's, hoping he can read the truth that's at the core of him.

he can see the extra eyeliner billy had put on, covering the red that rims his eyes.

billy's an easy crier, and steve watches in horror as his eyes fill with tears, making them glisten. he's got pretty eyes, with naturally long lashes that makes steve's heart twist every time billy looks at him, and the extra wetness only makes them shine prettier, showcasing just how dark they are. he watches as billy's face scrunches up, cheeks flushing up with the tears as his voice cracks, his words barely coming out.

"yes, you—"

steve can't let him continue this line of thinking. he wants to reach for him, but he doesn't know if he could take billy flinching away from him right now, so he opts for standing firm. tall. steady. "you know i didn't." he says, billy's chin wavering in his face. he can't be the reason for billy crying. he would never forgive himself.

steve's told exactly two people that he's been in love with them. one was nancy wheeler when they had been in their sophomore year, and now, billy hargrove.