We all know by now Andrew and Neil are light sleepers because of trauma and being in unsafe places but I just read some of the extras and I picture this scenario:
Andrew wakes up night after night when the cats jump onto the bed the first few months because he is not used to their weight and they didn't learn yet to do get on from Neil's side.
Neil of course gets woken up by Andrew's panic and gets worried (he's also starttled at first) and tries to help and reassure him, but at the end neither of them goes back to sleep.
At the beggining is fine, they are both used to fucked up schedules but they are people and obvious they start to get cranky and fight a lot (more) during the day for silly reasons. Other people is noticing it too and then it affects their performance on the court.
So one night, Andrew decides to "sleep" on the couch (he thinks he could be awake all night binging some show to avoid beeing paranoid) and this is because he saw that Neil really needed to sleep well at least one night. He does not feel guilty, tho, he's just Andrew and cares for Neil way more than he cares about himself.
Ok.
So that night he innevitably falls asleep and is woken up by Sir who is now on his chest curled up as a fluffy ball.
He starts to get mad, but he can't. Not really when he picks the cat up and it is sooooo soft. And then Sir tries to lick his hands (he might be snacking when he passed out) and lets out a quiet "meow" because he can't reach him well.
And Andrew looses it. He starts laughing to the point he cries.
Because everything is fine. It's just a cat. His cat.
And no matter how broken he is, Sir would love him and do it again a million times more. Because he had chosen him.
Just like Neil who's staring at this situation in silence from the livingroom door.
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he says i hate everyone except you and that is addictive and that is kind of romantic and beautiful because you're young and you're kind of a sarcastic asshole too and you don't like bad boys, per say, but you don't really like good ones either. and you like that you were the exception, it felt like winning.
except life is not a romance book, and he was kind of being honest. he doesn't learn to be nice to your friends. he only tolerates your family. you have to beg him to come with you to birthday parties, he complains the whole time. you want to go on a date but - people are often there, wherever you're going. he's just so angry. about everything, is the thing. in the romance book, doesn't he eventually soften? can't you teach him, through your own sense of whimsy and comfort?
at first - you know introverts often need smaller friend groups, and honestly, you're fine staying at home too. you like the small, tidy life you occupy. you're not going to punish him for his personality type.
except: he really does hate everyone but you. which means he doesn't get along with his therapist. which means he has no one to talk to except for you. which means you take care of him constantly, since he otherwise has no one. which means you sometimes have to apologize for him. which means he keeps you home from seeing your friends because he hates them. you're the single exception.
about a decade from this experience, you'll type into google: how to know if a relationship is codependent.
he wraps an arm around you. i hate everyone except you. these days, you're learning what he's actually confessing is i have very little practice being kind.
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you're grabbing lunch with a nice man and he gives you that strange grimace-smile that's popular right now; an almost sardonic "twist" of his mouth while he looks literally down on you. it looks like he practiced the move as he leans back, arms folded. he just finished reciting the details of NFTs to you and explaining Oppenheimer even though he only watched a youtube about it and hasn't actually seen it. you are at the bottom of your wine glass.
you ask the man across from you if he has siblings, desperately looking for a topic. literally anything else.
he says i don't like small talk. and then he smiles again, watching you.
a few years ago, you probably would have said you're above celebrity gossip, but honestly, you've been kind of enjoying the dumb shit of it these days. with the rest of the earth burning, there's something familiar and banal about dragging ariana grande through the mud. you think about jeanette mccurdy, who has often times gently warned the world she's not as nice as she appears. you liked i'm glad my mom died but it made you cry a lot.
he doesn't like small talk, figure out something to say.
you want to talk about responsibility, and how ariana grande is only like 6 days older than you are - which means she just turned 30 and still dresses and acts like a 13 year old, but like sexy. there's something in there about the whole thing - about insecurity, and never growing up, and being sexualized from a young age.
people have been saying that gay people are groomers. like, that's something that's come back into the public. you have even said yourself that it's just ... easier to date men sometimes. you would identify as whatever the opposite of "heteroflexible" is, but here you are again, across from a man. you like every woman, and 3 people on tv. and not this guy. but you're trying. your mother is worried about you. she thinks it's not okay you're single. and honestly this guy was better before you met, back when you were just texting.
wait, shit. are you doing the same thing as ariana grande? are you looking for male validation in order to appease some internalized promise of heteronormativity? do you conform to the idea that your happiness must result in heterosexuality? do you believe that you can resolve your internal loneliness by being accepted into the patriarchy? is there a reason dating men is easier? why are you so scared of fucking it up with women? why don't you reach out to more of them? you have a good sense of humor and a big ol' brain, you could have done a better job at online dating.
also. jesus christ. why can't you just get a drink with somebody without your internal feminism meter pinging. although - in your favor (and judgement aside) in the case of your ariana grande deposition: you have been in enough therapy you probably wouldn't date anyone who had just broken up with their wife of many years (and who has a young child). you'd be like - maybe take some personal time before you begin this journey. like, grande has been on broadway, you'd think she would have heard of the plot of hamlet.
he leans forward and taps two fingers to the table. "i'm not, like an andrew tate guy," he's saying, "but i do think partnership is about two people knowing their place. i like order."
you knew it was going to be hard. being non-straight in any particular way is like, always hard. these days you kind of like answering the question what's your sexuality? with a shrug and a smile - it's fine - is your most common response. like they asked you how your life is going and not to reveal your identity. you like not being straight. you like kissing girls. some days you know you're into men, and sometimes you're sitting across from a man, and you're thinking about the power of compulsory heterosexuality. are you into men, or are you just into the safety that comes from being seen with them? after all, everyone knows you're failing in life unless you have a husband. it almost feels like a gradebook - people see "straight married" as being "all A's", and anything else even vaguely noncompliant as being ... like you dropped out of the school system. you cannot just ignore years of that kind of conditioning, of course you like attention from men.
"so let's talk boundaries." he orders more wine for you, gesturing with one hand like he's rousing an orchestra. sir, this is a fucking chain restaurant. "I am not gonna date someone who still has male friends. also, i don't care about your little friends, i care about me. whatever stupid girls night things - those are lower priority. if i want you there, you're there."
he wasn't like this over text, right? you wouldn't have been even in the building if he was like this. you squint at him. in another version of yourself, you'd be running. you'd just get up and go. that's what happens on the internet - people get annoyed, and they just leave. you are locked in place, almost frozen. you need to go to the bathroom and text someone to call you so you have an excuse, like it's rude to just-leave. like he already kind of owns you. rudeness implies a power paradigm, though. see, even your social anxiety allows the patriarchy to get to you.
you take a sip of the new glass of wine. maybe this will be a funny story. maybe you can write about it on your blog. maybe you can meet ariana grande and ask her if she just maybe needs to take some time to sit and think about her happiness and how she measures her own success.
is this settling down? is this all that's left in your dating pool? just accepting that someone will eventually love you, and you have to stop being picky about who "makes" you a wife?
you look down to your hand, clutching the knife.
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Honestly? I think Aisha had a crush on Taylor, and it makes her character so much more fun too. Her first meeting she gets to tease her a bunch and then the next time they meet she sees that Taylor is incredibly brutal and idk. I think she's weird enough that that would make a spark for her. Obviously Taylor barely noticed Aisha, and ends up dating her brother, so I think this crush withered a bit and likely made her kinda bitter as a whole, in large part because Aisha hurts a lot when people she wants to notice her don't. She thinks she's over it when Taylor leaves, she's been hurt enough already, and then Taylor comes back and oh no she is not over it at all and so she flirts with her a few times through Gold Morning, and she has an actual emotional moment with Taylor where she tells her it's ok to feel things, and she gave up on the crush but maybe she can still be important enough for Taylor to notice and not dismiss.
And then Taylor is barely Taylor, and Aisha is following her through portal after portal, watching as the fun-to-tease dumbass that made her heart flutter becomes more and more unhinged. Taylor is unraveling at the seams, and she's doing it all alone, even surrounded by thousands of capes for her army she's so alone. Except for Aisha. Taylor doesn't even know Aisha is there, she's never noticed her anyway, but she's alone and she's breaking down and she's still the woman Alec teased her about liking all those years ago. So Aisha does all she can to soothe her even as she stops being her, she sings soothing melodies, fixes Taylor's hair, gently rubs her back. So many things Taylor would never let happen, but that she needs to have. And then the golden man dies, and everyone is surrounding Taylor and wondering what to do with her, and she's going to attack them, and Aisha finally lets her power down and Taylor notices her for once. The joy from that hardly makes up for having her free will stolen and a knife put in her mouth as a threat, and if Aisha could move she'd let out a bitter laugh about how fitting it is that this was the time Taylor noticed her.
And then Taylor is gone. She's not coming back this time. And despite Aisha's best efforts, she can't quite move on from the crush just like she can't move on from Alec's friendship. So she does what she wishes people would do for her, she makes sure Taylor is remembered. She confronts Shadow Stalker and lets her know just how much Taylor mattered, because all those people afraid of Khepri and wanting to forget her didn't see her as tears streamed down her face and blood dried on her skin and her posture slumped like a corpse. They didn't see how human she was, how much she sacrificed. But Aisha did. Aisha saw the girl that she had fun teasing in the apartment slowly disappear. She saw someone so determined that they left their mind behind for the greater good. She saw Taylor at her lowest, and she was the only one who really saw her. She'll never get over seeing the hollow shell of Taylor Hebert breaking down as she sings to her, she'll never forget her. So she has to make sure other people don't forget her. It's her love language, and sometimes it feels like no one else speaks it.
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contacted the GIC yesterday to see where i'm at on the waiting list and was informed it would be approximately another four (4) years before my first appointment with a specialist. i initially got referred way back in 2020, so that's an eight year wait in total - and it'll be another year, possibly two, before i can get any kind of gender-affirming treatment or surgery on the NHS, so let's make it a round decade to be on the safe side. now tell me why every other month some trash newspaper publishes the same fucking scare-mongering article about how gender clinics are dangerous because they're "rushing" people into transitioning "before they're ready"
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